A/N: Hi guys... I'm numb right now... Things were good earlier, but they collapsed into crap. My grandfather, the closest person to me in my family aside from my parents... he's on his last legs. Days at the most. It feels like my soul has been ripped apart right now.

On top of that there was that hate comment I talked about in different updates, the one that both insulted me as a person and racially dehumanized me and my Persian culture, so that can't have helped matters. I've been discriminated against before on account of being middle eastern, but somehow this was the worst (perhaps the timing, IDK).

Update (6/29/2021): my grandfather has passed away.

Posting this chapter to get some semblance of joy I need to cope, so I hope everyone enjoys this. Our characters will be getting the happiness right now that I don't have.

Enjoy.

Chapter 78: I Take This Man

They stared. Oh, they tried not to, but Euron Greyjoy could see the looks. They were the same looks he gave himself through the looking glass, just without the boiling cauldron of rage that accompanied his revulsion.

The eyepatch helped, but it just served as a reminder of what happened to his eye. Of who happened to his eye.

Nevertheless, the war went on. Would he be no better than some weak woman had he sulked and raged alone rather than plotting his next victory? Yeah, I wouldn't be. "Our scout ships report the royal fleet now gathering near Sunspear."

"How many?" asked Cragorn, the new captain of Euron's flagship. With stealth no longer an issue after the failed raid, Euron transferred his command to one of the larger triremes. For actual naval battle, there was no better.

"Bout one fifty, though larger ships overall than us." His scouts varied on the size of the fleet but on the latter fact they all agreed. "Combine that with the Redwyne survivors, that's two hundred to our two-thirty."

"Not much of a numerical advantage," mused Lord Blacktyde, stroking his beard. Euron wanted to beat him over the head, but refrained.

"Won't matter worth a damn, cause I know what's gonna work." In self-imposed exile on the entire journey from Blackwater Bay to the warm waters of the Summer Sea, Euron plotted his counterattack. The big stroke that would rejuvenate the entire war effort after his family's failures and his bad luck. Foiled by a fuckin' girl… "We go for the Arbor."

Cragorn blinked. "We capture it?"

"Aye, it's an island so it should be ours." Perhaps even he would rule it. "But that's secondary. It'll make the royal fleet come to us in the straits and myself, my brother, and all our best captains will be ready."

"You sure facin' the entire royal fleet's a good idea?"

Tensing up, Euron turned to see Lord Blacktyde staring at him, eyes firm. As if he'd finally found his spine. Cracking his neck, the prince of the Iron Isles took a step forward. "Why wouldn't it be?"

For a moment, Blacktyde lost his nerve, gulping… but he found it again and straightened up. "They won't be foolish like Lord Redwyne this time. They'll have cunning and tact behind their strategy."

"Some jumped up smuggler from the slums turned into an admiral?" Euron had heard about this Davos Seaworth and someone of his circumstances was the one sort of individual he didn't bother to overestimate in his planning. "My idiot nephew could take him on and crush him, even if he had Nymeria's fleet for a command."

"You won't have the open sea if you choose the straits. Our maneuverability will count for nothing if there's no room for maneuver. They'll have galleys and longships and triremes too."

A dismissive huff of air. "You worry far too much, Blacktyde."

"I worry you underestimate them and overestimate ourselves."

"Oh, so you think you could've arranged this war? Of how we doubled the realm of my brother practically within a sennight? Defeated two of the greatest greenland houses upon the sea in victories that make Redgrass Field look like a stalemate?" Euron approached Blacktyde, getting in his face but without raising his voice. Seeing his fear, Euron gave a tiny grin. "If you feel that way then feel free, the command is yours."

He began to walk back to his cabin when the Lord of Blacktyde stopped him in his tracks. "At least I wouldn't have had by eye taken out by a fuckin' six-nameday old girl."

Euron faltered in his step, immediately halting. He turned around, face impassive. "What did you say to me?"

A dark smirk formed on Blacktyde's lips, finally finding something that could rattle the unflappable Euron Greyjoy. "You heard me. What kind of weakling woman could find himself unable to beat a wee little girl…"

With the entire crew watching in disbelief and shock, Euron had closed the distance in what seemed a split-second. No one knew where the knife came from, but as quickly as it appeared Euron buried it again and again into Blacktyde's gut. The poor bastard couldn't even scream, so sudden it was. Blood began spraying and oozing everywhere all as Euron kept stabbing with a crazed look in his eye.

Letting the still alive but now screaming Lord fall in a pool of his own blood, Euron went to the railing and grabbed a tied mooring rope. "Your Grace…" called Cragorn, but Euron didn't listen. Instead he wrapped the rope around Blacktyde's shoulders - the wounded man too in pain and weak to resist - and tied it.

Blacktyde didn't realize what was happening until Euron started hauling him up. "Wait… please! Mercy!" His eyes were wide and face desperate.

"Better hope the blood loss kills ya' before the sharks do." And with a shove, Euron sent him into the water - the rope was soon taut, dragging him along in the warm summer seas. Wiping his hands of the blood, Euron looked at his men with a nonplussed expression. "Anyone have anything else to add?" There was silence. "Good. Send a raven to the Shield Islands. We have ourselves more greenlanders to send to the drink." That at least perked up the crew.

Once secure in his cabin, Euron let the mask slip. "Aaaaaaahhhh!" he grabbed a chair and threw it at the bulkhead, watching it smash into a dozen pieces. "FUCKING GIRL! FUCKING BRAT!" After years cultivating his image, after moons making himself the most feared name in the Seven Kingdoms, all of it crashed down due to a tiny little girl who was lucky enough to be holding a spear. "I'll fucking rend her alive when this is done!"

But suddenly his rage seemed to vanish, a warm, calming sensation coming to him. It was sudden but gentle, as if the warm seas slowly enveloped his body as he submerged into the water. With them brought calm… but also resolve.

It brought clarity. "She'll be my salt wife. By the drowned god, she will be my prize."

And that would begin by sending this jumped-up Flea Bottom turd to the floor of the sea.

The last time Ser Davos Seaworth of Sealion Point had been to Sunspear was on a smuggling run. Dorne hadn't been the problem vexing him at the time, Tyrosh was. Getting the pilfered silks and spirits into the Sunspear harbor was the easy part of the voyage, allowing he and his men to enjoy the pleasures Dorne had to offer.

What Marya didn't know couldn't hurt her… and he hadn't done it again.

But never in his wildest dreams did the knight of Sealion Point - seven bloody hells, never did he dream of being a landed knight either- imagine that he'd dine with the Prince of Sunspear himself in the palace banquet hall. All of it was… quite surreal.

"Once again," began Prince Doran, who no longer hid the stiffness in his legs as he hobbled in with the aid of two attendants at the start of the banquet. "We of Dorne grant our thanks and well-wishes to the Royal Fleet. May they engage the pirates upon the seas and send them to their god."

"Here here," chorused the other Dornish Lords present.

As admiral of the fleet, Davos obtained the place of honor directly adjacent to Prince Doran, Prince Oberyn and Princess Arianne right across from him - apparently, Princess Mellario was again in a spat with her husband and had departed for Norvos. Doran didn't look to unbothered by it. Perhaps he has a mistress or lover? Given Oberyn and Queen Elia's nature, he couldn't discount it in his curiosity.

"Ser Davos."

The admiral looked up from his plate of shrimp in a spicy sauce and rice to see the Princess smiling at him. "Yes, Princess Arianne?" He was polite, but still showed off his Flea Bottom accent.

Many would look at him with derision due to that no matter what finery he dressed himself in, but not the Princess. The cousin of the Targaryen brood. "Your wife, she is the Lady in Waiting to Queen Rhaella, no?"

He nodded. "Aye, she is." Quite a step up for the both of them, it turned out to be. Davos had to admit she looked ravishing in the fine silks and lace that his newfound wealth could buy for her.

"Did that mean she was caught in Euron Greyjoy's dastardly attack on the Red Keep?"

Chewing on the rather hot flavors of the shrimp, his heart clenched and not because of the spice. "I'm afraid so, but by the grace of the old gods and the new she was safe in the nursery with Lady Ashara, protecting Princesses Alyssa and Myrcella."

"Grace of the gods indeed, Ser Davos," replied Prince Oberyn, polishing off an oyster. "I wouldn't imagine what I'd do if my beautiful Ellaria was threatened by such a brute." He reached out to squeeze the hand of his paramour. She smiled back at him, kissing his cheek. Davos could tell she was with child - Oberyn's second with her and… fourth overall if he remembered correctly. What is it with the Dornish?

"Euron's not a brute… not in the sense that he's stupid." Davos scooped up a forkful of rice and used it to lessen the fire of the spice. "I've been studying everything I can get on him, from his personality to his battle tactics. He's probably the best mind for battle since Bloodraven or Daemon Blackfyre."

"He is bold, I'll give him that," Arianne mused.

Shaking his head from beside Davos, Ser Stannis Baratheon took a sip of watered wine. "Not simply bold, Princess." Much as the Stormlords and Dornish disliked each other going back millennia, he was polite. He had no grievances beyond those against his elder brother. "Victarion is bold without mind. Rodrik and Maron are bold without mind, that's what caused their defeats at Bear Island, Castamere, and Oxcross. Euron is… intricate."

"Please explain," the young Princess replied, crossing her arms. She was barely two and ten yet already with the hallmarks of a great beauty.

"He's plotted this entire war to the last detail, and extended the Ironborn beyond their capacity of attacking and holding."

From beside Ellaria, the young Quentyn Martell scoffed. "If he did that, then why has he won every engagement until the Red Keep?"

Stannis frowned at the arrogant reply. "Because it's a calculated gamble. He bet on the Seven Kingdoms being unprepared for such boldness, and he was right."

"In short," Davos finished. "He wants to bloody us enough so that we seek peace. They cannot win a protracted war, even from the sea, so he's captured what he could and is destroying our fleets piecemeal. First the Lannisters, then the Hightowers, then half the Redwyne fleet. He's marshalling the entire Iron Fleet right now in the Shield Islands to finish us off, something I am duty-bound to stop."

"Which is why I'm prepared to offer you a gift, Ser Davos." The former smuggler raised an eyebrow - in Flea Bottom, one learned early in life to be wary of gifts from strangers. One of his friends in youth accepted an apple from a man once, and they ended up finding him the next day violated and throat slit. Is it truly different in the halls of power? "King Rhaegar requested ships from Dorne to bolster your fleet. However, due to the proven threat of Euron Greyjoy's raids I cannot deliver them to you."

"You call this a gift, Prince Doran?" Stannis was not amused, glowering at the Dornish Prince.

Doran chuckled. "Ser Stannis, that is not the gift. While I cannot offer the royal fleet my ships, I am offering you three thousand crack spears of my banner to serve as marines for your fleet. My brother, Prince Oberyn, will command them."

"What, me?" Davos looked at Oberyn, who seemed shocked. Had his brother not talked to him beforehand? He's not a novice at this… his confusion is genuine. Was all not alright in House Martell?

"We need the swords and spears, Prince Oberyn," Davos informed the Prince as they walked into his own bedchamber hours later. "Lord Robert's decision to take the entire Baratheon banners to Casterly Rock left us deficient."

A chuckle. "Somehow that sounds exactly like that oaf." He leaned against the wall. "I feel… unprepared for command but it's not exactly outside my ability?"

"You saved our asses back at Starfall, so I have personal experience there." Just as he sat down, Stannis entered the chambers. "Yes, Stannis?"

He was frowning - well, frowning more than usual. "Raven from Casterly Rock - with the King's seal." Davos nodded and had Stannis hand it over before allowing him to depart.

Ser Davos,

Set sail. Crush them.

Take Euron alive. He is mine.

Rhaegar Targaryen

King of the Seven Kingdoms

Falling back on his chair, the five lines on the parchment proved to be more ominous than a thousand ironborn ships.

"So?" Oberyn asked. "What did my goodbrother say?" Davos handed it to him, and the Dornish Prince was through with it in moments, rising to pour himself a goblet of Yronwood red. He downed it in one gulp, and then poured another. "Euron is a fucking idiot."

"An idiot with over three hundred ships at his command, all manned by a battle-hardened crew." He motioned for one of the goblets, which Oberyn obliged him with. Unlike the Prince, Davos only sipped his. "It's up to us now."

"Let me think." Oberyn tapped his cheek. "A hodgepodge fleet of every seafaring house in the seven kingdoms all led by a smuggler plucked from Flea Bottom and given command of a fleet based on doing favors for the Queens? That's who the tide of this war hinges on?"

Silent for a moment, Davos snorted. "Aye, I suppose it is."

Oberyn laughed. "Gods help the dragon then."

Davos rose, a smirk on his face. "In Flea Bottom, we always had a saying that I believe dated back to the Dance of Dragons… though how the fuck would I know?"

"I'm all ears."

He held out his goblet in a mock toast. "If you pull the dragon's tail, you better have a plan to deal with its fuckin head."

Oberyn found that even more amusing, chortling uproariously. "You may just be enough of a jumped-up bastard to pull this off."

Hopefully. Finishing his wine, Davos slammed his fist on the door. "Ser Stannis! Round up the admirals. We're settin' sail!"

"... you look six hundred miles to the north, that's still the North. Three hundred miles to the south, five hundred to the east, two hundred to the west, that's all the North."

Robb looked up at his father with wide eyes. "Wow, is the North really that big, poppa?"

Ned grinned and rubbed his son's shoulders. "You bet, pup. It's larger than the rest of Westeros combined."

"Even grandfather's land?"

"Even that. And it's all mine to rule over."

"Wow." Just two days ago was Robb's fourth nameday, and with Casterly Rock safe from attack by the armies of the Crown and the dragon of the King they could have a proper celebration among the denizens of Tywin's keep. But Robb already had his best nameday present - his beloved poppa, finally here with him and momma. "You just like grandfather." For him, that was the biggest of compliments.

For Ned it was a mixed bag, but he smiled anyway. "But you have to know, Robb. Being a ruler of a land doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."

"Why not?" He was curious, not defiant.

"Because you have a duty to those you rule. Those of the smallfolk, they want land to work, food to fill their bellies, and healthy wives and babes. It is your responsibility to give that to them, not just to take. Understand?"

Blinking, Robb nodded. "I do, poppa."

"He was always a smart lad for his age," Tyrion said from across the room, feet propped up on his chair as he read a book. "Reminded me of me from that age."

Ned rolled his eyes. "I'd rather not have him be like you, Lord Tyrion." His smirk belied it's half-japing nature.

Tyrion laughed. "My sister has rubbed off on you, goodbrother, though I don't have to worry about a cobra being shoved in my cupboard from you," he jested in reply.

"Why a cobra in your cupboard, n'uncle Little?" Robb asked. "Cobra's danger?"

The two adults looked at each other before laughing at his innocence. "Forgive me, nephew, a bad jape."

"You shouldn't take your n'uncle too seriously, my son. He has a golden heart but a devious mind." He tickled Robb's sides, making the boy squeal with laughter. Gods, he couldn't wait till the boy could meet Sansa and Rickard back in Winterfell. His life would be complete at that point.

"That's not all I could say about your uncle," Cersei said as she entered the chambers. "But I shan't say them in front of a child."

"You are most generous, sister," Tyrion said.

Robb beamed at his mother. "Momma, poppa tells me North is bigger than all! Can we go? Please please please?"

Leaning down to kiss his brow, she cupped his cheek. "Soon, my love. Soon." The smile widened at her betrothed. "My love."

"My lioness." Ned kissed her lovingly.

She moaned. "Much as I would love to continue this, we are needed in the war council." Ned nodded. "Tyrion, be useful for once and watch Robb."

"I'll have you know my quick wit livens many a conversation."

"We laugh so we can be rid of you quicker," Cersei shot back. "Just watch him."

"Alright, alright."

Letting Ned kiss his son's cheek, she wrapped an arm around his. "Our wedding is to be in a sennight, my love."

Ned kissed the crown of her head. "I cannot wait, my lioness."

Rhaegar was already present in the meeting chamber, as was Ned's prospective goodfather. Lord Tywin stood ramrod straight with his hands behind his back, the picture of confidence and nobility. He likely was always like that, but Ned was sure the Hand of the King emblem pinned on his gambeson contributed to that feeling. Certainly doesn't waste time, does he? "Lord Stark," he nodded respectfully. "Daughter."

"Lord Lannister," Ned replied.

"Father," said an equally formal Cersei, curtseying shallowly. It was known that Tywin did not approve of Cersei attending the strategy meetings alongside her betrothed, but Rhaegar had no qualms about it so he kept his mouth shut. The future Lady Stark made her way to the King, who pushed himself off of where he leaned against the window ledge, brooding like mad. "Your Grace. Lord Eddard has told me what that beast nearly did in the Red Keep. My deepest relief that the royal family is safe." Ned had told her days before what occurred, shaking as he recounted the close run thing Lyanna spoke of in her letter, but Cersei hadn't seen the king since before.

He understood it all, and Rhaegar gave a tiny smile. "Thank you, goodsister. Your relief is greatly appreciated." But he shifted his look to Ned, violet eyes hardening. "Only the destruction of the Greyjoy 'Kingdom,'" Rhaegar mocked, "Will ensure my family's safety, so it must be done."

Ned could not disagree. "Alright. Let's get this done."

There were two banners for the three realms represented there. Lords Bronn and Thorne for the Crownlands, Jorah Mormont and Roose Bolton of the North, and Roland Crakehall and Ralph Spicer of the Westerlands. "Now," Rhaegar began. "First thing, I gave Ser Davis Seaworth the order to sail his fleet against the Ironborn. This morning I received a raven telling of his leaving Sunspear port."

"Your Grace," cautioned Lord Roland. "Is this a wise move? The Ironborn are best at sea, and the Admiral of the fleet is a common smuggler…"

"Watch what you say, my Lord. Ser Davos was my choice to lead the fleet." Lord Crakehall visibly shrank back against the Sunrise Dragon.

Tywin intervened for his bannerman. "I am sure Lord Roland is merely concerned for his lack of combat experience, your Grace."

A snort, this from Bronn Bell. "Not like any of you highborn cunts were able to land a blow against Euron on the sea."

"You will speak to Lord Tywin with some fucking respect…"

A raised hand cut them off. "Their fleet is their power," Rhaegar spoke, leaving no room for dissent. "With it, it doesn't matter what sieges we make or assaults we launch, they can simply draw out their forces and take them somewhere else." He pointed at the Iron Islands. "When this is over, I want the dragon banner waving from the top of Pyke, and to do so necessitates we engage the Iron Fleet in a decisive battle and defeat them in detail. Then, we can crush them on land."

"And you believe Ser Davos' fleet is of enough size?" The question was from Roose Bolton, his tone impassive - giving nothing away. "From the reports I have seen, they are slightly outnumbered by the Iron Fleet."

Silent so far, seated next to Ned with her hand inconspicuously squeezing his, Cersei studied her betrothed's bannerman. She was not daft enough to not know the history behind House Bolton and House Stark. This man was not Jorah Mormont, a loyal subordinate. He was a snake, a mongrel fox that looked at envy at the wolf that ruled the forests. Cersei need not know Roose personally to make that conclusion. She would have to keep his House close… if only to watch over them. "I have seen those reports too, Lord Bolton," she interjected, drawing attention. "Our ships are larger and more powerful than theirs."

"That may be, Lady Lannister," Roose replied, "But that means they aren't as maneuverable."

"Euron Greyjoy's decision to attack through the Arbor straits make that irrelevant," Tywin dismissed. "What he does is to him. On land, what we ourselves face is Lannisport. My subjects are dying, your Grace. We need to retake it."

"As your brother tried to?" grumbled Thorne, drawing glares from the Westerlords. "I'm not wastin' my men on good fortifications. They won't be your meat shields, Lannister."

Again, Rhaegar interjected. "We will wait until the banners from the Stormlands arrive to reinforce us," he said, a slight undercurrent of pain and rage underneath his tone. "Until then, we maintain the siege."

Cersei leaned over to Ned. "This will not end well," she whispered in his ear.

Her love looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"Lord Stannis is with Ser Davos." Never would she gloss over anything anymore - her wolf needed her to be a smart, vigilant wife. "Robert Baratheon leads the Stormlands."

Even Ned couldn't miss the significance of that. "Oh…" He watched Rhaegar, the King brooding darkly. "Aye, that will be a problem." I hope Robert's in a contrite mood.

"I still think she's too young," Lyanna said, hands clasped together over her heart. Stiffening each time Ser Barristan guided his wooden practice blade at her daughter, regardless of how slow and gentle he was.

Blinking, Elia looked at her with a raised brow. "You actually think that? You?"

The Queen met her wife with annoyance. "I can care about my daughter's welfare too."

"Oh?" Elia remarked, looking incredulous. "And how old were you when you first started begging to be trained?"

Lyanna bit her lip, looking away. "Five."

"A whole two years younger than our little dragon," laughed the Dornish Queen. She wasn't worried for Rhaenys, admiring her enthusiasm as she kept trying to master the stances even at such a young age. Rhae won't be the same cloistered weakling I had to be. "You are a hypocrite, my love."

She sighed. "I just worry for her. She's too young and too precious to lose her innocence." Eager to spar and ride though she was, Lyanna never knew violence or fear in her childhood at Winterfell… "Though perhaps such innocence would keep her ill prepared for the realities of the world."

"Does the fact that she managed to be the first to defeat the dreaded Ironborn Prince that burned Oldtown?" Elia asked with a smirk.

"That does help… I just hope she doesn't harden. That she remains a happy girl filled with love."

"We won't let her know a day without it. Neither of us, nor Rhaegar, nor her siblings and uncles and aunts and grandmother." Leaning up to kiss Lya's cheek, the she-wolf responded by shifting her head and capturing her lips. The two of them moaning into the kiss, hands caressing their growing bellies.

A distinct thunk of wood on wood broke them apart. "Very good, your Grace," Barristan remarked. "You are growing to be a prodigy." Rhaenys beamed at the praise from the old knight - a war hero, he never gave praise lightly.

Both her munas were the proudest in the world, watching her perform with clasped hands and wide smiles. "When will she start with the spear?" Lya asked. While the stances were applicable anywhere, it was clearly the preference of her Dornish family that she learn the spear - a little diversity in the skills of House Targaryen.

"I've discussed it with my brother. He and Ellaria will come to the Red Keep after Pyke burns." She said it nonchalantly, as if it were preordained… which it was, they both had full faith in Rhaegar to make it happen. "He will teach her."

"I do enjoy having them as our guests. They always make things livelier."

Elia giggled. "Be careful what you say, or else he'll invite half of Chataya's into the Holdfast and our Baelon will ask a hundred awkward questions." That caused Lya to groan but grin at their beautiful son - he was always the most inquisitive, curious Prince. "Speaking of our brothers, I still can't believe Ned's getting married… to Cersei Lannister no less."

"She… she's perfect for him." Lya shrugged. "I saw her in person, and she loves him. As much as we love Rhaegar. And he… he's besotted."

"He fathered a child with her. I wouldn't doubt it." How did I not know? How did Varys not know of Robb Hill? A question for another time. "I only wish we could be there for his wedding. We are definitely going to Winterfell on our first royal progress." Best satisfy her curiosity at Cersei Lannister being her goodsister.

Lya wrapped her arms round her wife. "You're going to love Winterfell, and I shall love you and Rhaegar huddling with me to keep warm." They grinned at each other.

The patter of feet on the stone floors caught their attention. "There, Dany!" Prince Aegon turned the corner, followed close behind by the little silver sprite. "There they are."

Lyanna took in their fearful faces. "Egg, Dany, what's wrong?"

Their son was sheepish, almost as if sorry to have bothered them. He had been actively trying to be more active than he was before the Ironborn attack, and while his munas were delighted they worried of him exerting himself. "Dany thinks something's wrong with Jon… oww…" he rubbed where Dany had thumped his arm.

"There is something wrong with Jon!" Daenerys shouted, ire mixed with fear. She was a girl of heavy emotions, wild and fierce as her dragonsblood. "He's sad."

Elia sighed. "What is he doing to make you think that?"

"He won't play with me. Just sits by the window. I'm scared he's sick," said Dany, trembling with fear as her eyes teared up. "I love him. He's my King and I'm his Queen." She fell into Lyanna's arms, sobbing softly.

Lya and Elia shared a look. Safe to say we need not search hard for a betrothal for Jon?

Aye, it's just meant to be, I believe. The romantic side of Lyanna - built as a girl while reading the tales of the dragonlords - wanted to believe that and Daenerys didn't make it difficult to. "I'm sure Jon is fine, sweet goodsister," she said, patting Dany's back. "If you would like, I'll go speak with him. You and Egg can watch Rhaenys train, sounds good."

Egg clapped. "Yay."

Dany smiled weakly, sniffling. "Can I?"

"Of course." Elia guided them to the railing before leaning in to Lya's ear. "What is bothering our Baelon?"

"I think I know," Lyanna replied. "Watch them, I'll get this fixed." They kissed sweetly and Lyanna was off to Baelon's room.

As Daenerys told them, her son was sitting in front of the window. His hands were on his lap and not a word passed his lips - eyes staring blankly ahead. He looked so much like his father while brooding, though the melancholy was alien to Lyanna. She hadn't known Rhaegar back when he was alone and pained, much that it hurt her that her beloved was ever in that state.

And now her son was as well. "Baelon?" she called out. He didn't respond. "Jon, my love." Walking to him, she picked him up and sat in the chair - letting Jon rest on her lap. "What's wrong, my pup?"

He looked away. "Nothing, muna."

"No, something is wrong, Jon. Please tell me." Just like his father, always stubborn and closed off with his emotions. Rhae and Egg were more like Elia in that regard. "Jon?"

"Muña, I wanna train."

She sighed - it was as she figured. Euron's attack drove his sister to fight, and so to did it for Jon. "It's too early, my son. Wait till you're Rhaenys' age"

"NO!" Lyanna stared at her firstborn slawjacked - Baelon seldom raised his voice, if ever. Violet eyes went dark with emotion. "I'm tired of being weak, of seeing Dany scared while all I do is hold her." Unshed tears began to well under his lids. "What dragon cowers? What dragon I be if I can't help?!" He began crying.

Lyanna hugged him tightly. "What happened was not your fault, my darling boy." There was a fluttering in her stomach, as if Jon's brother or sister agreed. "You will be a strong and powerful dragon as your father and a mighty wolf like your grandfather and uncle. Just give it time, you are but a boy…"

"I don't want it to happen again!" He clutched Lyanna tighter. I need be stronger than bad men. Stronger than anyone, so I can save Dany and Rhae and Egg, and Artie!" He was the Crown Prince. The heir to the Sunrise Dragon, and he couldn't even protect his aunt… his best friend… "She's my future Queen, muna. I must protect her."

She kissed his brow. "You're going to be the strongest Prince. The perfect King." Her long ago dream of that strapping man, she was completely sure it was her Baelon she had seen. "I'll speak with Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime, see what I can do."

He smiled up at her, still hugging her close. "Babe," he told the swell in her belly. "I'll protect you and Dany and Rhae and Egg. I'm going to be the very best! Like no one ever was!" Baelon declared, fire evident in both his voice, eyes and spirit.

"I know you will, my son. I know you will."

"The tables have turned, goodbrother."

Ned wiped his hands on the gambeson underneath his cuirass, clearing it of sweat. "Aye. It was you that was nervous at your wedding."

Rhaegar frowned. "I was not nervous, marrying your sister." Ned looked at him wryly, making Rhaegar sigh. "Perhaps I was, but Lyanna is… gods, what isn't she? The divine would be entranced by her."

"As it is with Cersei."

"You really are in love." Rhaegar chuckled and smacked his goodbrother on the back. "The wolf tamed the lion as its sister did the dragon and viper. That's the stuff poems are made from."

"I don't think I could write a poem, Rhaegar."

Another laugh. "Don't worry, I'll do it for you." They grinned at each other, enjoying the brotherly moment.

Soon, Ned was standing alone before the heart tree of Casterly Rock, deep within the Stone Garden - the Rock's not widely known godswood. He never realized it existed, only coming across that information when Cersei insisted on a marriage in front of it. You chose the right woman to love, Ned. He could almost hear his brother tell him that, smacking him on the back. The twisted weirwood's tangled roots choked out all other growth in the cave so it wasn't as pleasant as Winterfell's, but he could still feel the magic.

It grounded him, for all his dreams were to come true today.

The Northmen and Westermen were all assembled within the cave, his banners and Tywin's banners. Rhaegar trotted up to the tree, volunteering to officiate. Ned nodded his thanks at his goodbrother, which Rhaegar dismissed with a modest wave.

And then he saw the most beautiful sight in the Seven Kingdoms.

Cersei wore a gown of blood-red crimson fringed with gold underneath her cloak. It exposed the top of her chest without revealing cleavage, fitting out her waist perfectly while hips and legs disappeared under ruffles of lace and wool. Gods, she looked heavenly. A golden goddess, hair falling free in a simple northern style.

Her breath hitched as she spotted Ned in his armor, forcing Cersei to hold her father's arm tighter to steady her gait. Warmth flooded her as their eyes met. It had been a moment she had pictured for years, and now it was at hand. Getting closer, taking in his smile, she returned it, completely in love with her handsome direwolf.

Finally, the bride had reached the base of the heart tree. Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

"Cersei of House Lannister," Tywin said, voice professional and composed. The pin of the Hand of the King felt heavy, for the arrangement had to be sealed tonight. "A woman of age and true of birth."

"Who gives her away?"

"Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, and Hand of the King." With that, he squeezed Cersei's arm and made his way to where he would stand next to his brothers, sister, and younger son. He kept his gaze up, not giving Tyrion a second glance. The dwarf still smiled, genuinely enjoying himself.

"And who comes to wed her in the sight of the Gods?" Rhaegar continued.

Nothing could dampen the joy Ned was feeling - it cut through his normally dour exterior. "Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Lord Paramount of the North." Thanking the gods Cersei went without a veil, he reached out and took Cersei's hands in his - staring into her green eyes. "I take her to wed."Some would mock him for being sentimental, but he didn't care.

Cersei had to struggle to breath, so overjoyed was she. "You may now cloak the bride," she heard Rhaegar say, one tradition of the Faith she insisted on keeping for the symbolic value. "...and bring her under your protection."

Turning, Cersei shivered with desire as Ned's warm fingers brushed her bare neck, slipping the crimson cloak from her shoulders. No longer a Lannister. Soon, a grey and white cloak replaced it, warm and comforting around her. Now I am a Stark.

"Do you take this man to wed?"

"I take this man," she said without hesitation. The love of her life, the father of her beautiful boy. All was finally as it should be.

Rhaegar slowly took a strip of grey cloth, tying it around their joined hands. Literally tying the knot that would seal their marriage. "In the sight of Gods and men, I hereby bind these two souls together for eternity." And it was done.

Ned barely had a time to move before Cersei surged forth, kissing him with all the love she had held for him in their time apart. Not complaining in the slightest, he did the same.

"Grandfather?" Robb asked, looking up at the older man that he never understood why people were so tense around. He was nothing but a lovable old lion to him. "This is itchy."

Uncharacteristically gentle, Tywin lowered himself to his knee, clasping Robb's shoulder. "Grandson, you are a Stark and must look the part." He was clad in boiled leather armor and a direwolf gorget specially made for a boy his size - an ape of his father apart from the coloring of his hair and eyes. "You know what's going to happen tonight, correct?"

He nodded. "King Rhaegar make me a Stark like poppa."

Tywin smiled. "Just remember what I and your uncle told you and you'll be fine." Rising, he kept his hand on Robb's shoulders and guided him into the great hall.

It was a celebration worthy of a northern wedding. Ale and wine flowed freely, whole roasted hogs and aurochs being carved up by serving girls for the gullets of boisterous knights and warriors. But all fell silent as the young lad and old lion marched towards the head of the hall… where the table of honor lay.

Rhaegar stood, clapping his hands. "It was my honor to officiate the wedding of my goodbrother and friend, Lord Eddard Stark, to the woman he so desperately loves." He gestured to the happy couple, very much in love. "Which is why I now bestow to them my gift and the gift of the crown itself."

"Brother, what are you…?" Ned asked first, only to be silenced by Cersei. Seeing their son, she knew exactly what was happening.

Standing before young Robb, Rhaegar held out his hand. "Robb Hill, do you swear your undying loyalty to myself and to House Targaryen as your father and your mother's father have?"

Robb slowly bent the knee. "I do… your Grace." Ned's eyes widened as realization dawned on him.

"With the will of the gods bestowed upon me I, Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, First of My Name hereby declare you to be Robb Stark." He rested his hand upon Robb's thick golden curls. "Trueborn son of Lord Eddard and Lady Cersei Stark, and as their eldest child and son, Heir to the titles of Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Lord Paramount of the North."

Knee hurting on the ground, Robb somehow felt the gravity of the words the King was granting to him. He ignored the pain and struggled to remember the words his grandfather and n'uncle Little made him memorize. "You… honor me, your Grace. I… will always be… loyal." Shifting in his place, now he was facing his poppa. The man he had idolized for so long, now finally here in the flesh. "Father… I swear to up… uphold your name and your tra...tra..tradition." His poppa looked to be close to tears, while momma smiled wider than he had ever seen her do so. "I will… make you proud, poppa, and be… worthy. I swear."

Unable to stand it, Ned stood and rounded the table. He grabbed Robb and hauled him up into his hold. "You already make me the proudest father in the world." Ned kissed Robb square on the cheek, showing the beautiful boy off to all his bannermen. "My son!"

"Robb Stark! Heir of Winterfell," Rhaegar boomed, smacking the table.

"Heir of Winterfell!" The Northern lords threw up their fists in raucous cheers. Golden complexion of a lion or not, Robb was healthy, he was bright, and a strapping specimen that would clearly grow up proud and strong. No better man to take over for his legend of a father. "Huzzah! Huzzah!"

As if struck dumb by how happy she was, Cersei watched her now husband begin making the rounds of his banners. All men she had seen at the wedding, and those who had come to the head of the table to congratulate her, Ned, and her father for the successful betrothal. Too enamored with the fact she was finally Cersei Stark, the Lady of Winterfell hadn't caught most of their names yet… but she would. He doesn't deserve or need another Catelyn Tully. Cersei would be a worthy wife for her handsome direwolf, she swore it to herself.

"Well well, father finally gets what he wanted." Cersei looked over to see Tyrion pull himself into the seat next to her, goblet in hand and reaching for a chicken leg.

Cersei was too happy to be bothered by her brother. "Aye, a grandson of his in control of the largest Kingdom in the realm. Not the Iron Throne, but still impressive for him."

"Not just him, sister. You as well." She eyed him curiously as he chewed on a bite of the drumstick. "The Starks are effectively Kings in the North with all the autonomy they get, and you therefore are effectively a Queen."

'You shant wed a Prince, but you will wed into a House of great Kings.' It had come true, the first part of the witch's prophecy. Cersei closed her eyes to ward off the rest. "I am, and I will not let the vultures of the world harm my Ned or my family."

Tyrion nodded. "I wouldn't have it any other way." But he was still quizzical. "By family, I presume Ned will include Robb's two half-siblings."

"Aye."

"And you?"

Cersei shrugged. "Any child of Ned's will be my responsibility as well." Truth be told, she could never hate anyone of Ned's loins. He hadn't betrayed her, and the child of his was part of him.

"That is… quite noble of you, sister. I am pleased to see it." Tyrion dropped the bone on the plate, picked clean. "But even though Robb is older, he wasn't legitimized until after his trueborn baby brother. The Tullys will have words with the babe being supplanted."

"If the Tullys have any problems with our son being heir," Cersei said, the smile on her face bringing a shiver up Tyrion's spine. "You don't need to be Jaehaerys the Wise to know who would win between a lion and a fish."

Tyrion ended up laughing. "That's right, we eat fish, they fear us." He raised the goblet. "Good to see love hasn't make you any softer, dear sister."

She raised it in return, looking out at her two beloved men. "You know what father says, you win or you die." I don't have any intention of letting any of us die.

Witch be damned.

Entwined, the two lovers tumbled around the bed. Sheets rustled from their passionate movements. Two powerful beings of the most august, fierce blood in the seven kingdoms lost in each other, driven by lust and love to ravish the other. Years had passed since they fell hopelessly for each other, and only hours since they were bound in the sight of the old gods.

Neither could wait any longer.

Pinned under his powerful form though she was, Cersei kissed him fiercely. Desperately clawing at his back and shoulders. "Stay with me, Ned," she begged into his ear before pulling the lobe into her mouth. Sucking on it harshly.

"Fuck, Cers…" Ned stared into her eyes, reaching for his length and positioning it at her entrance. "I'm here." Never would he need to deny himself again. This beautiful lioness was finally his, and Ned felt it right to be selfish for once.

She gasped, biting his muscular shoulder as her husband slid deliciously into her. Cersei held on for dear life at Ned's steady thrusts. He was well endowed and stretched her wonderfully. "You… won't be…" Thoughts bounced back and forth between dread and wondrous pleasure. "You go off to war…" She was cut off as Ned kissed her thoroughly.

The passion, the hunger in how she kissed him, it drove Ned mad with desire. His wife, one that came to his bed willingly and happily. Only for him, only his. "I must," he husked, kissing down her cheek until he nuzzled her neck, sucking the pale skin as Ned thrust harder into her. Needing to devour her as her cunt closed around his length like a vice. "It is my duty."

"Your… gods… duty…" Cersei couldn't keep her eyes open, the pleasure overwhelming her. "Your duty… is to me." One hand raked down the planes of his back, the other worming between their bodies. Finding her nub. Needing to rush this because Cersei was burning up with need. He did this to her. "To me and to our son… our children."

"I do this for them, my love." Lifting onto his outstretched arms, Ned jerked his hips. Slamming into her, going as deep as he could. "Wrap around my hips," he begged, and she complied. Letting him go so much deeper inside her. "So that you may know peace."

"You and I," she chanted, almost like a prayer. "You and I… and the children… please Ned. Finish me." Cersei bucked up into his thrusts, screaming as he scraped against places she never knew existed. "I love you, husband… I love you… I love you… oh fuck… my wolf!"

White filled his vision. "Cers!"

They held each other tightly, bodies driven to exhaustion by the acts they engaged in. Sweat covered their flushed skin, pressed together in a tangle of limbs and torsos. "Please don't go fight, Ned," Cersei urged, her voice a murmur after such screaming earlier. "You need not prove anything."

"I cannot let my brother down, Cersei." He played with her golden hair, never thinking he would ever see it again all those years ago. "The Ironborn must be stopped or else they'll reave more. Burn more. Kill more."

"They cannot reach Winterfell," she urged. "What if you fall in battle? Your son can't lose you… I can't lose you…" Tears filled her eyes. Never did she care for anyone this deeply since her mother died. Not until she met Ned and had Robb. Now they were everything to her.

Ned held her close to the chest, rubbing her back. "I will return to you. I promise." It was a promise he fully intended to keep.

He found his love. His family was finally complete. No man or god would stop him from returning to Winterfell.

A/N: Hope y'all liked Nedsei finally marrying.