A/N: Hi all. Been busy so couldn't get this out yesterday. Here it is though and I hope you like it :D
Good news... in the near future I'm gonna be publishing a smutty one shot for the Empire of Ice and Fire universe. Hope y'all will check it out alongside my other GoT stories.
Enjoy.
Chapter 80: Playmates
Pushing open the wide doors - paneled with fine panes of glass rather than the solid wood other keeps would use - Stannis inhaled a breath of the fresh sea air in pure relief. The atmosphere inside was stifling, both literally and figuratively. Over four hundred guests pouring into the great hall of the Hightower to toast the great victory Davos Seaworth, Oberyn Martell, Wylis Manderly, and he won over the Greyjoys was already heating up, the event of the decade for the Reach and it attracted all sorts of social climbers.
Stannis couldn't stand any of them.
The victory was one to be celebrated, for sure. Over three fourths of the enemy fleet sunk, captured, or damaged, only the squadrons of Victarion Greyjoy and Maron Greyjoy having escaped in any sort of good order with minimal losses to their own fleet. Euron was missing, presumed dead but Stannis didn't hold his breath. Roaches always survived. But the highborns of Oldtown and the Honeywine were using the victory as an excuse to basically act like degenerates and claw their way up the social ladder. Prince Oberyn and his paramour were greatly enjoying themselves - Stannis was sure they had led two highborn ladies and a recently knighted lad out of the great hall for… whatever they were supposed to do together - but the hero of the hour Ser Davos…
The Baratheon knight had stopped counting the number of maidens and ladies that tried to seduce the victorious admiral when he ran out of fingers. Davos politely declined all offers being happily married, but the actions said less about him and more about the ladies of the Reach - supposedly pious and kind but just as immoral and scheming as they said those of Dorne or Lys were.
"Gods," he muttered, "How can anyone stand these flower knights?"
"You get used to it after a while," a light, airy voice said from behind him.
Stannis turned to see a beautiful young woman approach him in a dress of white and green. He knew this woman from when Lord Leyton welcomed them at the docks. "Lady Lynesse," he bowed. "Please forgive my words…"
She waved him off, giggling. "No, I prefer a person who has no airs. I may be used to the way things are done here, but that doesn't mean I like it." Lynesse was truly gorgeous. Her golden hair was silky smooth, skin the color of cream. Except for the light brown eyes and the hair just being a shade darker than silver, Stannis could've mistaken her for a Targaryen. "So you're the great Stannis Baratheon, hero of the Arbor."
He shrugged. "Ser Davos is a hero. I am but his subordinate."
"Modest, also something not seen much around here… and I suppose not at your home either." She raised an eyebrow, daring him to make the connection.
Stannis smirked in spite of himself. "My brother can be quite larger than life, I agree. Many are in disbelief that we are actually related."
"I can believe it. Blue eyes." She pointed to Stannis' face. "Azure blue, all Baratheons have such a color."
"Have you met many Baratheons?"
Lynesse gave a coy smile. "Only one, and he's standing before me." She giggled as he snorted. "But I read in a book that all Baratheons had blue eyes… a trait gotten from the Durrandons."
Now this surprised him. "You're well read?"
"A woman can be well read, Ser Stannis. While those…" She looked inside, seeing yet another maiden giggle at something Davos said. "...Friends of mine prefer embroidery to books, I am not one of them. My family's wealth allows me to live comfortably and have access to knowledge on interesting places and people, so why not indulge myself?"
Sounds like Lyanna Stark in a way. Another girl Robert's own notions would have suffocated. "And if a future husband of yours would rather you be the type of meek wife that embroiders and acts as a hostess?"
She didn't hold back. "I would hope a future husband of mine would seek to indulge both my lifestyle and my knowledge."
Reentering the great hall, Stannis saw that several of the tables had been refilled with desserts rather than the main courses of meat and stews and breads he had seen before leaving. How long was I gone? Apparently his conversations with Lady Lynesse were much longer than it felt.
"Ser Stannis." Lord Leyton Hightower approached him, a goblet in his hand and a merry smile on his lips. "The second of the Avengers of Oldtown," he proclaimed, a title he bestowed upon the admirals that faced the Ironborn. "Here I am having spent much of my toasting with Admiral Seaworth, but never with the man that actually faced Euron Greyjoy blade for blade."
His shoulder twinged from the blow of Euron's sword, bruise still quite painful - but Stannis refused to let anyone see his pain. "I am sure the bards shall exaggerate it to the level of the Battle Above the God's Eye, but I can offer my victory was to superior plate and the fact that a strategic mind doesn't automatically translate to being a skilled fighter."
Slapping his back, Leyton bellowed a laugh. "Modest, I see. Quite a rare trait to see from a Baratheon of Lyonel's line, especially since I knew Lord Lyonel in my younger years." My father was quite modest and loyal - led him to his death. But unlike Robert, Stannis knew enough tact to not speak up. His victory over Euron would do well to elevate House Baratheon after many embarrassments and he wouldn't dampen it. "I have known many clever men, and often they use such cunning to cover up for their lack of battle prowess."
It was then that Stannis noticed that the Lord of Hightower was leading him away from the other revelers. Not that he minded - the feast was rapidly approaching the stage where the guests would disappear to the privy in order to… clear their stomachs for further indulgence. Fuckin' Reachmen. But it did raise an eyebrow. "Is there something you wish to speak with me about, Lord Leyton?"
"Aye, Ser Stannis." The man's attitude changed, all business now. "We're both light in our cups, so I wish to discuss it here rather than elsewhere." Stannis could appreciate it - Lord Steffon always said to seize the initiative rather than wait for better ground. "I wish to unite our houses in marriage."
Stannis blinked. "What?"
"I've given much thought on this. Given what we've lost in the last decades our house needs fresh blood and marital strength, while I am sure after his Grace's ransom price following the Rebellion House Baratheon is in need of coin."
He couldn't deny that the last few years in Storm's End had been lean ones - especially counting Robert's profligacy - so he just refused to speak. "I presume you've already had a particular union in mind?"
Leyton did not mince words. "Your brother, Lord Robert, and my youngest daughter Lady Lynesse."
Eyes widening ever so slightly, Stannis felt like his knees were about to buckle. Lady Lynesse? Only moments before did they share their only conversation, but imagining the sweet maiden of the Reach being pawed at by his lecherous brother made him burn with jealousy. "I must decline, Lord Leyton, though House Baratheon is honored by your offer."
That, the Lord of Hightower hadn't expected. Surely perhaps a haggling over terms, or perhaps demands that his other daughters divorce their useless husbands so as to satisfy Robert's tastes - his sources indicated the Lord of Storm's End enjoyed women with very dark hair, and Lynesse was closer to blonde than black. But he never expected outright refusal. "Decline without even consulting your brother?" Leyton crossed his arms.
"Intuition on my part, but he would refuse as well. My brother is not desirous to marry any time soon and I am certain he would reject Lady Lynesse." Wishful thinking on Stannis' part, but he had no doubt Robert would deflower her once and then leave her bed cold and empty forever more.
"Perhaps another of my daughters…"
"I would sully myself if I demanded that they end their marriages." Things were progressing fast, but ultimately he had no choice. Lynesse… he fancied her, and there were worse things that could happen to him. "May I propose an alternate that would satisfy all of us, given I find your offer of union between our Houses to be beneficial to my House."
Leyton nodded. "Go on."
He took a deep breath before continuing. "Let the betrothal be between Lynesse and me."
Blinking, Leyton was again surprised. "Do you fancy my daughter, Ser Stannis?"
Another steeled breath. "She is beautiful, Lord Leyton, I cannot deny. But that is not the reason." He thought quickly. "She and I are closer in age, and it is bound time for me to marry and I am amenable to it unlike my brother. Additionally, I am equally maritally inclined as Robert with the added advantage of holding naval experience." He hoped it would sound reasonable.
"You make good points," Leyton remarked. He stared at Stannis pensively before smiling. "Alright, I see no problems with it." Clapping his hands, he grabbed Stannis on the shoulder. "I have a feeling I've just accepted the true Lord of Storm's End as my goodson." Laughing, he moved to rejoin the feast.
Sheen of sweat covering his forehead, Stannis glanced over at where Lynesse sat with her sisters and friends, giggling over something or other. Her eyes, he noticed, were focused on him rather than any other - the pools of brown were warm. Friendly… inviting. But looks could be deceiving. Gods, what did I just land myself into? The dour, plodding Stannis Baratheon leaping into a decision out of pure passion. Robert would have bellowed out laughter at seeing this.
But shifting his gaze to where Selyse Florent looked at him, he was forced to ease on himself. Could have been vastly worse. Seeking out his captains, Stannis resolved that for tonight he would get completely drunk. Best to bury the swirling thoughts before they consumed him.
Today was a day for symbolism. Banners dotted the parade ground outside of Casterly Rock, the keep itself not spacious enough to hold such ceremonies. The black and red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen centered on the King and was therefore most prominent, but were outnumbered by the red-gold rearing lion of House Lannister that heralded most of the soldiers present. Also joining were the grey direwolf of House Stark, less numerous but equally respected as the birth house of the Queen.
Many eyes were on House Stark's colors that day, for the new Lady Cersei Stark wore them. Not a hint of her house colors apart from the golden hair styled to perfection graced her body, the form-fitting bodice and frilly skirts of her dress embroidered in greys and whites - direwolves stitched into them. Her new house, her new husband's house.
"I love that dress on you," Ned murmured into her ear.
Cersei shuddered at the subtext. "I am glad," she murmured, knowing he'd prefer stripping the dress off her much more. Part of her wished to just drag him back inside and have her way with him, but that wasn't in the cards. Ceremony had to be followed… and their son was there.
Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell. He looked the part too, outfit a miniature of his father. "I'm bored, papa," he complained. "Can we go inside?"
Ned laughed and lifted him up in his arms, not caring for propriety. "Why doesn't papa tell you about each of the banners arriving today?" That calmed Robb down, and made Cersei fall just a bit more in love with her direwolf.
The King and Lord Hand Tywin were already up to greet the first Lord Paramount, arriving with the vital reinforcements to make up the Army of the Seven Kingdoms. "Garlan!" Rhaegar laughed, embracing his former squire with a fatherly fondness. "You've become a man and I haven't been there to see it! Such deserves my apology."
Tall and dashing as any knight of the Reach, Garland Tyrell waved his King off with a chuckle. "You need not apologize, your Grace. I hold no ill will."
"And yet I hear you are a father to a beautiful young lady." Rhaegar draped an arm around his shoulder, smiling broadly. "Any more along the way?"
"Unfortunately not, your Grace. But I feel like the father to my younger brother and sister, so I have my hands full."
"With your grandmother living there, I should think so," Tywin stated blithely, drawing a chortle from the King. It wasn't often that the brooding King Rhaegar was so easily drawn to open amusement… let alone Lord Tywin Lannister.
With the Reach knights parading through, the next arrival was more formalistic. It wasn't until the Lord Paramount of the Vale reached Ned and Cersei was there some personal greetings. "Ned, you look like a fresh new man," Elbert remarked, shaking his hand. "And I believe I know who to thank for that." He eyed Cersei.
"She makes me a new man, Elbert. I couldn't be happier."
Elbert nodded. "Take care of this man, Lady Stark. He is like a brother to me."
"I will do my best, Lord Elbert." Something she heard came to mind. "I was informed about your wife. My condolences to your lost babe."
"Aye, it was a problem for Lysa." Lysa Tully… it says a lot that she is considered worse than her idiot sister. "She insisted that I deposit her at Riverrun with her father and brother, much as it was risky for her." More likely that he didn't wish to hear her whining, but Cersei kept her mouth shut. "In any case, I look forward to the hospitality of House Lannister. Ned. My Lady." He bowed in respect before moving on.
The Lord of the Eyrie was polite and charming… He also fathered bastards all over the Vale and likely would here as well, but unlike some Elbert knew how to be discreet.
Others… did not. "Cousin!" If there was one greeting that all members of the royal household wished to forego as Robb wished, it was this one. Leaping off his massive stallion, Robert Baratheon looked like a mountain of muscle and steel in the full plate armor of his ancestor Lord Lyonel, Stormbreaker slung across his back. He strode over to Rhaegar, enveloping him in a bear hug that nearly had Arthur and Benjen skewering him. "It truly begins, cousin! The sport of Lords and Kings!"
"Robert," Rhaegar said without emotion. Not since the ransom price was paid did the King pay him any heed, the image of the man who tried to steal his beloved Lyanna and cave his chest in with Stormbreaker not leaving Rhaegar's mind. And yet… he looked absolutely eager and friendly. Almost too friendly. "I am glad you brought your banners to this fight." He had the largest and most battle-hardened host, so much as all of them wished to… none could antagonize him.
"Are you kidding?! I've been looking forward to this for moons now! Just as mi'father and yer'father would've wanted! Cousins marchin' off to war together, cavin some squid heads and burnin' the fuckers to the ground!"
"I'd hope that the burning would be saved for after Lannisport is liberated," Tywin mused.
A snort from Robert. "Classic lion. When in a bind, call in the dragons and stags." While Robert laughed and Rhaegar tried not to look awkward and uncomfortable, Tywin was expressionless.
Which Cersei knew to be when he was the most angry and humiliated. Not a slight he'd forget, though it might be decades before he exacted his payback.
Rhaegar quickly gravitated to greeting the lesser lords that had arrived with their men, from Baelor Hightower to Selwyn Tarth to Yohn Royce. Garlan and Elbert went with him, but Robert gunned for the one man he was most itching to see. "Ned! Ya' ol' son of a bitch!" The bear hug was even tighter, lifting Ned off the ground to contemptuous stares from many of the northmen… and Cersei. "It's finally happened, thank the seven! You and me, brothers in battle!"
"Aye, Robert," Ned choked out, trying to catch his breath from the bone-crushing hug. "Just like when we were little."
"Cept now the squids we fought are real now. Just remember, you slash, I crush." He punched Ned's arm, laughing. "And I 'ere you got married again. Never figured you got 'round with the ladies." Robert gave him a lecherous grin.
"Um, yes." Ned took Cersei by the hand. "My bride, Lady Cersei Stark."
"A pleasure, Lord Baratheon," Cersei lied. The only good things she could say about Robert was that he was pledged to fight the ironborn and that he didn't reek of booze that moment.
Robert regarded her with an… appreciative eye. "First that Tully beauty and now the Light of the West." He slapped his knee. "I should get tips from you now, Ned. I must say your quality is top notch." His eyes were zeroed in on Cersei's breasts while he said it. "And yah didn't waste any time either?" Robert crouched in front of Robb. "And who might you be, little one?"
The scion of two proud bloodlines, Robb held himself straight. "Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell."
"Ah, so Rhaegar legitimized your bastard son?" Cersei wanted to slap him, but Robert squeezed Ned's shoulder. "He's a strong one, Ned even if he's all lion. Raise him well, and maybe we can unite our families as should've been." The lioness' eyes widened. Over your dead corpse.
"I shall endeavor to raise him right, Robert," Ned replied, saying nothing else. It took all of her willpower not to glare at her husband.
At least until they were snug in their chambers for the night. "How were you even friends with that pig?" If the servants once had any ill words for Cersei sharing a bed with Ned during their betrothal none voiced it. Now that they were married, there was no need to even give a second thought to what others would think. While other ladies her age would've blushed madly when Malera or Jeyne giggled at a particular loud moan she gave during the night, Cersei merely smiled proudly. Everything with Ned regarding their private lives was enjoyable… even the simple act of undressing before bed.
His friendship with Robert Baratheon was the notable exception.
Unfastening the straps of his leather cuirass, Ned sighed. "Cers…"
She sat at her vanity, brushing out the braids and tangles in her golden locks. "No, he's atrocious, Ned. How in the seven hells can someone so kind and honorable ever have anything to do with the likes of him?"
"I grew up with him under Lord Arryn since we were boys only able to play at being men. He was my only companion during those early days." The boys of the Vale, calling him a 'northern barbarian," other than the busy Lord Jon it was often only Robert that would grant him companionship. Ned, honorable as Cersei said he was, couldn't set aside such childhood loyalty even with all that had happened. It wasn't how Jon raised him to be. "He's not so bad once you get to know him."
She fought the urge to roll her eyes, working on a particularly painful knot in her hair. "I very much doubt it."
Hearing her scoff, he simply sat and toed off his boots. "Please Cers, give him the benefit of the doubt."
"Like you did when he nearly raped your sister?" she countered back, setting down her brush and standing. Once she turned and saw the anguish on his face from that bitter memory, Cersei immediately regretted the biting tone... but not that she said it. "He did that twice, if I recall, and almost killed the King simply due to the fact she chose his Grace over him."
Ned looked like he just bit into an unripe lemon. "That's not the Robert I grew up with." Sure, he had been a gregarious lecher, but never once did he force himself on anyone. The simple fact that the maids and peasants were not in a position to resist a handsome, young highborn didn't register to the honorable Ned Stark - it did to Cersei. "I'm sure he's gotten better since, given the peace."
Cersei offered him a wan smile, walking forward and merely kissing him on the cheek. "You are a noble man. Eddard Stark." She journeyed to her side of the bed, slipping out of the woolen robe. Leaving her in simply a thin shift of red silk Cersei enjoyed wearing for him to bed. "There are few in this world who would be so loyal to their friends and family and I love that you are one, but thank the gods you have me now."
Blinking, distracted by how beautiful his wife looked with her curves accentuated so sultrily by the red fabric, Ned took a moment to process her words. "And what does that mean?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
Slipping under the thick covers, Cersei leaned forward - letting her cleavage on full display for him. "You are strong and true, my wolf, but I'm afraid you're still blind to how the game of thrones truly is." Catelyn Tully was an idiot and unable to be the wife Ned needed. Cersei didn't plan on being an idiot or shortsighted - she was a Stark now and she would ensure House Stark prospered.
Ned took no offense at that, he knew it was true. "You are a more comely version of your father, that is true." He slipped off his tunic, leaving his chest bare for her eyes.
She did not bother to hide her ogling. "I dare think I am a bit more sentimental than my father, and far warmer as well." Cersei opened her arms, inviting him into the bed.
"Thank the gods you love me, Cers." He gave a false scowl, pulling back the covers to step in. "Had we been opponents in the game, I have no doubt you would have had me executed the second I wronged you."
"Executed…" Cersei frowned at the thought. He was teasing, but the image was painful. "No, of course not." She made herself smile, shifting to happy thoughts. "You have too many uses to get rid of you as such." She runs a hand down his side, meaning obvious.
"Oh?" Ned leaned in, beginning to kiss her neck. "And what use am I to you?"
"Ohhh," she moaned. "You… you keep me from becoming my father." Cersei purred, his hands moving up her sides until they cupped her breasts over the silk. "You… you gave me love… a son… a reason to live and be happy."
The smile was now back on his face. "And you keep me from proving right the saying about the starks in the south." Ned peeled down the straps of her shift, exposing the ample chest and rosy nipples to his attention. "You bring light into my life, my lioness." He sucked one into his mouth, feasting as a starving babe would.
"Perhaps," she smirked, trying not to collapse into a lustful mess at his attention. "Though by now your sister is… mmmm... largely seen as, oh yes... among the dragons."
"That she is," Ned chuckled against the nipple, switching to the other. "And hopefully we will stand proud alongside them as their most loyal bannerman."
Unable to resist his attentions any further, Cersei grabbed his head and yanked him up to hers. "Stand later, my Lord. Please your wife instead." He said nothing, only kissing her deeply. His underclothes were quickly crawled off, while Ned rather enjoyed slipping the silk nightgown off her supple body. Cersei sometimes wondered why she wore them - they always ended up pooled on the floor sometime during the night
Not that she complained.
He had her pinned beneath him, too impatient to bother with the slow lavishing of attention Ned normally partook in. Yes… "Please, Ned. Take me hard." Cersei wanted it hard, wanted to be dominated and beaten down by her strong wolf. She reached down to claw at his rear, urging him forward… "Ahhhhh, yes!"
Ned made her mewl into his mouth as he entered her. A feeling neither of them would ever truly lose reverence for. "You're mine, Cersei," he growled, a wolf in every respect. "Never…" A grunt as he thrust hard, bottoming out inside her. "Letting… you go."
"No… I couldn't… fuck… live without you…" No further words left Cersei's lips, the lioness losing herself to the pleasure.
Huffing, Jon let out an exhale of breath and crossed his arms. "Muna, this is boring. Why do I have to be here?" They were both seated upon the Iron Throne, hearing petitions being brought forth to the crown.
He was irritated, but Elia couldn't help but smile down at him. When her little Baelon was miffed, he acted just like Lya did and the Queen loved him for it. "Oh, pup. This will be your duty as a King, and a Prince of Dragonstone before that. Hearing the cases of the petitioners that come before the court."
"But what's the point? Hand can do that. I wanna train and fight and be a dragon like kepa! I wanna see the world that n'cle Aemon reads about with us."
A sigh. Rhaella's told him too many stories about great dragonlords while Aemon's filled his head with a sense of adventure with his books. Elia was glad her son was blossoming into a proud dragon and honing his intellectual curiosity, but to be a good ruler one had to be adept at the game… however boring it was. "My son, you often see kepa sparring or riding or going on trips around the city, no?"
Jon nodded vigorously. "He's the best King."
Again, her boy simply was perfect to Elia. "He is, my love." She hugged him tightly, kissing his cheek to which he giggled - Baelon was still at that stage where he craved a mother's sweet affections and Elia wasn't about to take it for granted. "But oftentimes, he spends his days mostly doing this. Hearing petitioners and sitting in meetings of the Small Council."
He looked shocked, purple eyes widening. "Really? But it's so boring."
"In all honesty, your father thinks so too. But he is the King and he does what he must for the good of the Realm." Kissing his brow, Elia cupped his cheek. "As the future King, the safety of every man, woman, and child in the Seven Kingdoms will be on your shoulders, my beautiful boy. Can you handle that?'
Staring at her for a moment, face initially overwhelmed, Jon took a deep breath and nodded. "Aye, muna. I'll make you and kepa proud."
You already do, sweetling. Elia ruffled his raven curls and leaned back on the Iron Throne. "Bring in the next petitioner."
Barristan motioned to the guards at the doors and they hauled them open just enough for the two new figures to walk in. "Lady Mel," Jon exclaimed, recognizing one of them. Elia stiffened - she owed the red priestess everything, but there was still an… unsettling feeling she endured whenever she was close. But she trusted her nonetheless, and the children liked her. "Who's this?"
Melisandre smiled at Jon, curtseying. As always, she looked gorgeous, exotic looks swathed in a crimson dress that hugged her curves and showed off plenty of cleavage. This wasn't new, she was a fixture of the Targaryen court. What drew varying levels of interest was the other woman with her. Dressed similarly in a long-sleeved dress of darker crimson, this woman had jet-black hair and looked… innocent. "Your Graces," curtseyed Melisandre. "Allow me to present Kinvara, the newly elected High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. The Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, and First Servant of the Lord of Light."
Studying her, Elia knew the position conveyed much influence without much actual authority. Not someone she could afford to antagonize in any case. "I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, Lady Kinvara."
"The pleasure is mine, your Grace," replied Kinvara. Her voice was childlike, adding to the allure of innocence. Elia didn't buy it. This woman is dangerous if one is her enemy. Her opal eyes set on Jon. "And this is Crown Prince Baelon. Melisandre has said many things about you, of how strong a King you will be."
He stood straight, acting composed. "I will be a King like my kepa."
"King Rhaegar the Sunrise Dragon. I cannot think of a more honorable royal to model yourself on." Approaching the Iron Throne, Barristan moved to block her but Elia waved him off. This was… intriguing. Kinvara ascended the steps, kneeling in front of the young Prince. "In my city, we are ruled by a collection of kings that do not compare to the wisdom of your father."
"You mean the tri… tri… tria…"
Kinvara smiled. "The triarchs, aye. Smart as well as handsome and dutiful." She pinched his cheek. "The Seven Kingdoms shall be in good hands."
"What do you wish of us, Lady Kinvara?" Elia was growing impatient. This woman was in no way the innocent beauty she portrayed herself to be. "Our time is quite precious and Lady Melisandre's sponsoring of your claim only affords a certain amount of consideration."
She stood and eased herself down the dias, impressed at Elia's grace and power. "You truly have grown from your frail past, my Queen."
"My muna isn't frail. Take that back."
Kinvara bowed. "Forgive me, my Prince. I mean no offense."
"Your Grace," Melisandre cut in. "The Red Temple requests your authorization in order to build a temple on Westerosi soil… namely in King's Landing."
"In King's Landing?" Lord Varys, behind the throne, stepped out. "I must advise against this, your Grace. Tensions with the Faith are strained enough without inviting the Red God to our capital any further than…" He looked at Melisandre. "We already have."
"But the old gods are here," Jon countered, looking at the Master of Whisperers. "How is this different?"
Varys smiled at the Crown Prince. "There were followers of the old gods in Westeros since before the Andals. The followers of the Red God… are newcomers. We cannot harm the fabric of our society, especially with tensions as they are. Besides." He looked at Kinvara. "They are notorious for misreading prophecy for their own gain."
"Everything is the will of the Lord of Light, Lord Varys. But men and women make mistakes. I do not feel myself omnipotent or above being judged by the will of the Lord and of his champions… nor the champions of his wife."
Elia raised an eyebrow. "His wife? Your Lord has a wife?"
"Oh yes, I do believe you are familiar with her." Kinvara smiled sweetly as Elia's eyes widened. Stunned that she knew that.
Clearing his throat, Baelon spoke up. "There's plenty of land south of the city, muna… could they build their temple there?"
Brought out of her surprise, Elia parsed through Jon's words. "Why my son, you are wise beyond your years." He smiled widely at the praise of his mother. "Then it is settled, you shall be permitted to build a temple on the south bank of Blackwater Rush, outside the city limits."
"But your Grace…" began Varys.
"I have made my decision, my Lord," Elia cut him off. "It is so decided."
He sighed. "Of course. I live to serve." Varys bowed and stepped back.
Shaking her head, Elia looked at the two Red Priestesses. "Naturally, I would expect someone the crown trusts to be the Head Priest."
"You are correct, my Queen. I am planning to appoint Thoros of Myr, but given his… let's just say adventures and eccentricities." Kinvara smirked, glancing over to Melisandre. "I am certain that Lady Melisandre will be truly in charge… if that is acceptable?"
She is officially the spiritual advisor to the crown, so she can't hold official rank in the Red Temple. Elia was pleased at Kinvara's candid attitude. "That is. Thank you."
At that moment one of the side doors opened and the patter of feet echoed off the tile. "Jon! Jon!" There was Princess Daenerys, bounding towards the Iron Throne… only to stop at seeing what was going on.
"Dany!" Jon beamed. "Look, I'm being like kepa!" Modest as he was, he always liked showing off in front of Dany.
"Forgive me, your Grace," Ser Jaime trotted in behind the Princess. "She insisted on finding Prince Baelon."
Kinvara inspected her curiously, eyes intense and stilling Dany where she stood. "Melisandre? Who is this darling creature?"
"She's Dany," Jon proclaimed.
"Princess Daenerys, Light of Wisdom," Melisandre addressed her High Priestess. "Daughter of Dowager Queen Rhaella."
Her eyes sparkled with recognition. "So you are Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of the Mother of Dragons herself." Slowly she approached the young Targaryen, drawing wary looks from Ser Jaime. "Relax, Ser Jaime Lannister. I shan't harm her." With a gentle hand, she cupped the girl's cheeks.
Dany was uncomfortable, looking to Jon on the Iron Throne before shifting back to Kinvara. "Who are you, then?"
"I am merely an instrument of the Lord's chosen, at the service of the House of the Dragon." Meeting Dany's gaze, Kinvara's eyes were almost spellbinding. "You have quite the future ahead of you, Daenerys Stormborn. I see broken chains... I see fire spreading… and I see something blackened by evil turned to light by your hand." As soon as it began, the moment stopped and Kinvara drew back. "You handle the spiritual studies of the royals, Melisandre?"
"Yes, Light of Wisdom," replied Melisandre. "Though her Grace the Queen Lyanna instructs them on the old gods and High Septon Meribald that of the Faith of the Seven."
Kinvara waved that off. "No consequence… just… keep an eye on this one. She, as her nephew, are destined for greatness." Turning back to the throne, Kinvara curtseyed low. "Thank you my Queen, my Prince. The Red Temple will always be grateful."
"Your Graces," curtseyed Melisandre right afterward, herself following her High Priestess out the doors… and leaving everyone a bit shellshocked.
Luckily, Daenerys had enough spirit for all of them. "Nephew, nephew." She bounded to the Iron Throne, taking Baelon's hand in his. "Auntie Elia, can Jon and I go play in the gardens?"
Jon looked eagerly at his mother. "Kessa, muna. Can we?"
Chuckling, Elia put aside thoughts of the Red Priestesses and pinched both their cheeks. "Just be back in time for lunch in the dining hall. Alright?" When they both nodded, she let them run off. Smiling widely as they laughed together.
"You're bringing her to ruin."
"We're making sure the pup is raised properly."
"She hasn't prayed in days, she's neglecting her lessons…"
"I've taught her every day. What are you speaking of?"
"Not that balderdash, her proper lessons. How can she be a true lady without them?"
"Lord Stark entrusted me with her care. You may instruct her at the times I have designated, but otherwise she is mine to care for."
"I knew this cursed land would bring ruin to Lady Catelyn and her progeny."
While few thought of children to be perceptive, they hadn't met Sansa. She heard it all, understood… most of it, at least the tone and gist. The arguments, morning, noon, and night they dragged on between Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, and Septa Mordane over how she needed to be cared for since poppa left. Old Nan would comfort her with stories and tasty dishes, taking her to see her little brother, but Sansa was lost.
Poppa, please come back. She wanted to be held by him again, wanted to meet her long-lost brother spoken of in his letters. But as the weeks turned to moons, there was no sign of him returning and it was taking its toll on the redheaded girl. Not as vibrant as she once was, Sansa was quiet, withdrawn, spending most of her time in her room looking at the picture books her aunt Lya had sent from King's Landing for her nameday.
The only balm Sansa Stark had was imagining herself the beautiful maiden or radiant Queen displayed by the images, loved by her family and cherished by a dashing prince. An escape, it was. She didn't fully realize why she felt better looking at them, but they were an escape.
Such cloistering worried the household. Mordane demanded more time in the sept and some was given to her to cease her whining. Old Nan thought different, and so brought her to the godswood. "Run along, sweetling," Old Nan said, smiling at the tiny lady. "Go on, we'll be right'ere when yer' done."
Looking up at her and Rodrik, who allowed a smile of his own on his normally taciturn expression, Sansa nodded and ambled through the snow to the heart tree. Already, a calm she never fully understood washed over her. Warmth from the hot springs, but also something innate. Something spiritual.
'We are the blood of the wolf, pup. The gods have a special love for us.'
She trembled, not from the winds that still hit her with tendrils of freezing cold but from the loneliness. Nothing was the same since poppa left. All the love was sucked from their home - not just for her but for her baby brother as well. Sansa always loved going into the godswood with her poppa, but with him not here she had to face it alone.
Even for something as calming as this, it was heady.
Teeth chattering, Sansa thought back to the lessons her poppa taught her. Lessons she memorized even as she stumbled and mashed up the prayers her mother and Septa Mordane tried to drum into her - oftentimes with a smack on the knuckles from the latter. Kneel, eyes kept low before the gods… forehead and palm resting against the bark…
Speak true, and never break a vow before the old gods.
"Please," she murmured, barely audible. "Please protect my poppa, my little brother, and my brother I never met. I's your forever servant if you do." Sansa meant it, swearing herself in her youthful innocence to the old gods in order to protect her family…
When her eyes opened, Sansa gasped, nearly falling on her bum. The pristine whiteness of the godswood was gone, replaced by something different. A field of green grass, chilled from the wind off a big lake… was that an ocean? Sansa hadn't ever seen one before, but it was massive.
"Who're you?"
Blinking, Sansa turned to see two children - children her age. Behind them was a large black castle, taller than Winterfell and more ominous. More imposing. "I… I's Sansa," she replied, slightly wary of the strangers.
One of them was a boy. He looked a bit like her poppa, but with eyes the color of the purple flowers in the glass gardens. Sansa was mesmerized by them. "Hi Sansa, I'm Baelon." He smiled at her innocently. "Wanna play?"
She did, Sansa did want to play. Mordane long kept her cloistered and away from the 'dirty smallfolk boys,' and so she was starved for friends. But poppa always warned her about the danger of those she did not know. "Um… I don't know…"
The other, a girl, giggled and skipped to Sansa - boldly grabbing her arm. "Come on, Sansa." She was even more strange and mesmerizing than the boy, than Baelon. While he had the same Northern features as her poppa, she was completely different, hair the color of fresh ice and eyes the same sparkling violet as Baelon's. "I'm Daenerys, and you can be Rhaenys."
"Rhaenys?"
Daenerys regarded her curiously. "You know, silly, the conquerors. I'm Visenya and Baelon is Aegon. You're our Rhaenys."
"Oh." Sansa knew the story of the Targaryen conquerors. "Sure!"
It was honestly the most fun Sansa had in her life… apart from when she spent time with her poppa, never did she giggle or smile more than with Baelon and Daenerys. "You're the best Rhaenys," Baelon declared, and for some reason it made Sansa quite proud.
Hugging her, Daenerys giggled with a radiant smile. "Best playmate ever."
For the first time since poppa left, Sansa felt at peace and truly happy…
Only for it to end as abruptly as it began, brought back into the godswood. Sansa noticed it and immediately felt a hole in her heart. She whimpered, falling back onto the snow.
"My Lady?" Rodrik picked her up and placed her on her feet. "Are you alright?"
Biting her lip, Sansa fought tears and nodded. "I's alright." Something in her said neither of them would understand… she didn't really understand herself. "Can we go in? I'm hungry."
Nan kissed her forehead. "I'll make you that stew yeh' like. Ow's that sound?" It did sound good - maybe the stew would help take Sansa's mind off of her departed poppa and the new playmates she already missed… at least for a little while.
"The last of their ships left harbor today." Rhaegar pointed at the Lannisport docks, arranged on a well-drawn map of the great city of the Westerlands dating to when Tywin and later Tyrion oversaw the reconstruction of the city's sewer systems. "They're not retreating, we're gonna have to root them out house by house."
"I wouldn't be so sure." Alone with the King, Lord Hand Tywin Lannister pushed back a cowlick of his thinning golden hair - rapidly turning to grey. His stamina and physical prowess weren't the same since he last put on the pin of the Hand when Aerys called him, but he found the role was quite easy to slip back into. He didn't forget all the tricks, and having a King not inflicted by madness and bitterness truly simplified matters. "Varys' whispers have put Victarion Greyjoy back in the Iron Islands. His surviving vessels are all fast craft. If they want to pick up their survivors, they will do so quickly."
Rhaegar and Tywin were alone in the war room of Casterly Rock, going over last minute preparations. They had ample men, but were not going to have them uselessly slaughtered like the first attempt to relieve Lannisport. "They still cannot give up Lannisport to us so easily. It's their last foothold on the mainland and their leverage over us."
"We'll need to wrench it from them." As 'Sheild of Lannisport,' every day the city languished was a day he was humiliated. "I'd advise we avoid the main thoroughfares."
"What, why? If we're going to capture the city, best move quickly."
"They'll expect that, your Grace, but we have the advantage in manpower so I suggest we use it." Tywin pointed his finger at the map, forcing in… following with a scythe cut with his other finger. "Prince Rodrik can't defend the entire city."
Visualizing the movements within his head, Rhaegar nodded slowly. "If you are at the vanguard, where shall I be?"
Tywin's smile was slow and quite promising. "Delivering unto them your House words." Not long after, the King matched Tywin's smile.
A King could not afford to be stuck in the moment. Rhaegar had seen this first hand as well as from his studies of history. Jaehaerys I and Viserys I had ushered in massive prosperity through ensuring peace within the Realm, but the former hadn't seen the consequences of his callousness towards his children while the latter's sentimentality and exact opposite tack from his grandfather unwittingly sowed the seeds of the Dance of Dragons. It was up to him to imagine things many steps ahead, which battered Rhaegar's mind as he walked through the halls of Casterly Rock, escorted by Ser Arthur.
"You're brooding particularly hard, your Grace," Arthur said bluntly. "Anything you wish to unburden yourself with?"
Another facet of Kingship… trust was both fungible and had to be closely guarded. The list of people that Rhaegar could absolutely trust was small, but Arthur was one of them. "The Iron Islands, Arthur. How many times have we or the other Lords of Westeros have fought them only to see the Iron Way still adhered to?"
The Sword of the Morning pursed his lips. "More times than I can count. House Targaryen ended its periodic invasions of the mainland till now, but that can be corrected. Fire and Blood, as Aegon did to Black Harren."
"Still not that simple, Arthur. I could kill the Greyjoys and elevate someone else, but the Iron Way would never end. I need to stop it, bring them into the fold… but how?"
"You could take stock of how the North was truly integrated into the Realm." Rhaegar looked at his loyal guard, the man that had been with him and his family through thick and thin. "Sure, the Lords of Winterfell paid their taxes and once contributed troops, but it was always apart from the rest… till you married her Grace. Now, the Northmen are all over the place." Including my bed. Gods, Arthur missed Dacey and their little one, the lights of his life.
Catching his friend's homesickness, Rhaegar chuckled lightly before continuing. "What do you propose I do then?"
Arthur shrugged. "Find a way to bring them into our fold rather than annihilate them and hope for the best."
"It's too late for the sons of Quellon Greyjoy."
They turned the corner into the residential wing. "I wasn't referring to them, your Grace."
Pondering Arthur's advice, Rhaegar noticed Ned Stark's personal guard standing outside the nursery. On duty with sword and spear, but preoccupied with something else… or namely someone else, a pretty brunette that seemed to hang onto his every word. "Well, do you consider this a proper protection of the Warden of the North and his family?" Rhaegar barked, breaking the couple out of their shared laughter.
Jory Cassel, initially planning on telling the busybody Lannister guard where to put his tongue, paled at the sight of the King… as did his companion Malera. They both fell to their knees. "Your Grace…"
Sharing a look with Arthur, the kingsguard merely rolling his eyes, Rhaegar bit back a grin. "Queen Lyanna and the royal family were attacked in the Red Keep, and you would risk the same happen to Lord Eddard because you can't keep your cock in your pants?"
Close to pissing himself in fear, Jory kept his head down, trembling. "Forgive me, your Grace."
"We were just talking," Malera murmured, equally fearful. "Lady Cersei dismissed me for the night and I just wished for a pleasant conversation."
Getting a thump in the arm from Arthur, Rhaegar decided he had tortured the poor youths enough. "Get up, you two," he stated. They complied. "I can see she's rather beautiful, Cassel, so I understand. Feel free to speak with her but make sure to keep vigilant."
Jory gulped. "I shall, your Grace. I promise."
"Good, now may I have entry?" Jory scrambled to let in the King.
"You're sadistic," Arthur quipped under his breath.
"Lya always said I brood too much," was his whispered response.
The scene made him smile. Ned was lying on the ground, laughing with his son as he helped the boy play with a series of war figurines and direwolves and lions upon the floor. Cersei was seated and watching it with her own delight, as did Benjen perched on the wall. He was dressed casually, but still held a blade at his waist.
When they saw him enter, Benjen snapped to attention and bowed. "Your Grace."
Cersei rose to curtsey, but Rhaegar waved her off. "No, goodsister, you are family. No need to be so formal when it's just us." Unbuckling his own sword belt and handing it to Arthur, Rhaegar crouched right next to his goodbrother and nephew. "Ned, you look like you're having a lot of fun."
"Stark and Lannister protecting Westeros from the Andals," Robb chirped, miming a lion and wolf mauling a man-at-arms.
Looking at Ned with a glint in his eye, the Lord of Winterfell shrugged. "House Lannister is discovering its First Man roots again. What can I say?"
"You need not say anything, my love," Cersei interjected. "You are rightfully proud."
Rhaegar grinned. "Oh, she's good for you, brother." It felt to him that Ned had finally obtained a happy family as he had… all that was left was Sansa and Rickard fully bonding with their new stepmother. Ned didn't have the luxury that I had, Rhaenys bonding almost instantly with Lya before our marriage.
"Uncle?" The King found Robb looking quizically at him. The same green eyes as his Lannister uncle - the elder uncle specifically.
"Yes, nephew?" This child was Lya's blood, so Rhaegar felt a bit of affection for him.
"Do I have cousins my age? In the Red Keep?" He bit his lip. "Momma and Poppa say I do."
He could see it in his head, the heir to Winterfell as close to his brood as Orys Baratheon was to the three Conquerors. House Stark and House Lannister forever bound together with House Targaryen, shaping the realm together. "You do, nephew. Two, as a matter of fact, only a few moons behind you in their namedays - if you count those that are a little older or younger than you, then three others of my line and one from your uncle Jaime's." Myrcella was by blood a Lannister as well as a Targaryen, in spite of holding the latter name.
Robb looked intrigued… and hopeful. "Can you tell me about them?"
Rhaegar nodded. "My son Baelon, the Crown Prince. He's just as much a budding fighter as you are, and I know you'd be good friends." Jon had his siblings and Artie Mormont if he needed friends, but Rhaegar wished him not to be cloistered. He needed to know plenty of young lords and knights his age, able to call on many to serve and give counsel. Who better to start with than his blood cousin? "And my sister, Daenerys. She's your age as well and very spirited."
"Sister?" Robb seemed confused. "But… you're old."
Sharing a look with Ned and Cersei, it didn't take much silence before all three of them burst into laughter.
A/N: So Sansa, Jon, and Dany finally met for the first time in a manner of speaking. Instant connection, no?
Jon and Dany are continuing to be cute together, though Kinvara gives a heady prophecy.
Stannis and Lynesse - thoughts?
Robb is adorable, while Robert is the same as always.
New chapter comes in a week after 30 comments. Big battle scene.