TITLE: Wolves Aflame
AUTHOR: 372259
DISCLAIMER: Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of George R. R. Martin. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review or hate it enough to flame ;)
STORY IMAGES: I found them on Pinterest, and cannot for the life of me sniff out their original sources. If anyone knows, I would appreciate the sources so I can give them the credit for it!
STORY SO FAR:
In chapter 1: Rhaegar Targaryen loses in his one-on-one against Robert at the Battle of the Trident, but Lewyn kills Robert by stabbing him in the back. Rhaegar has his knights bring Lyanna and their newly born son (Jon) to King's Landing, where he crowns Lyanna as the Second Queen and starts dealing out "Rhaegar's reparations" (essentially punishing Houses who didn't support him as well as he feels they could have, or Houses who supported the rebels). Queen Elia dies. Lyanna dies giving birth to Rickon. We see an insert scene where a pair of kiddos are in lessons with their Maester. Side question for the peanut gallery: who do you think these boys are? We learn that there are some people who believe that Robert should have been king (calling him Robert the Wronged instead of Robert the Rebeller), and that there are already whispers of sedition being seeded around the Kingdom. Timeline of marriages/births/deaths is available at the end of the previous chapter for your perusal.
A/N: Hi all! First off if you read chapter one prior to like three days ago, I suggest a reread because I added in quite a few details. If you don't want to re-read the entire thing, the two biggest changes were the "tavern wench" scene (courtesy of a reviewer who wanted this character to be born – I'm sure you smarties can figure out who is gestating in that scene) and the Robert VS Rhaegar fight scene. Truth is that there are two characters that were going to die in Chapter 2 (and one who wasn't going to be born), but your reviews saved them and made me consider a different role for them. So again, if you want to see something, let me know in a review and I sometimes will rearrange the story a bit to fit it in, if I can and it works with the plot ;) Mostly as a consequence of reviews, I've eased up a bit on Rhaegar and Lyanna, which you will see in Part 1 and Part 2 of this chapter, respectively.
A/N 2: responses to reviewers are at the bottom. As is casting for the characters, and a sneak peak at Part 2 of this chapter.
A/N 3: Remember: in this fic, Cersei never hears about a valonqar in her prophecy. I.e. her hatred of Tyrion for killing their mother is not amplified by her fear of him one day killing her. And because she initially suspected to wed Rhaegar, she kept her canoodling with Jaimie rated PG (in my head, it was Robert's indiscretions that sent her further into Jaime's arms, even though I'm pretty sure there is canon evidence against that and hinting she was psychotic all along...). Also, remember that this is a younger Stannis – one who didn't get divested of his rightful claim by Robert (after fighting a war, surviving a siege, and risking his life sailing through a storm, etc. for him), and repeatedly spurned by Robert.
On with the show!
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"A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again."
~Renly Baratheon, A Clash of Kings, Chapter Catelyn III
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"Promise me, Ned... Promise me."
~Lyanna, A Game of Thrones, Chapter Ned I
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"The best part of him died with her."
~Gerion, A Storm of Swords, Chapter Tyrion V
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Wolves Aflame
Chapter 2: children without mothers
(Peaches & Promises & Penance)
Part 1
.x.
Rhaegar had thought it justice
281 AC
Viserys idolizes Rhaegar. Well aware of this, Rhaegar attempts to accommodate his little brother's childish whims whenever he can. Whether that means watching the boy learn to hold a sword, or letting Viserys tag along with him to the pier, where the younger prince gapes at the exotic wares of the foreign merchants lining the docks.
But tensions at court and throughout the kingdom have been rising alongside their father's penchant for fire, and Rhaegar has been taking on more and more responsibility. In fact, he just finished spending the entire day listening to complaints and conspiracies, whispering about solutions to his father's worsening madness, and appeasing grubbily sycophantic courtiers. His mind still spins with things he has yet to do, of which includes researching the prophecy of the promised prince, which he has had less and less time to explore. Especially with the upcoming Harrenhal tourney; an event that is in itself a stressful affair to be secretly involved in organizing, as it is just a façade. Harrenhal will be a way to gather all the relevant lords (while Aerys Targaryen's paranoia keeps him in the Red Keep), and to hopefully work together to create a means to deal with the fire-crazed King.
Rhaegar is desperate for some silence, seclusion, and time to better study the prophecy. And so it is with quick steps he makes his way to his horse, eager for a quick trip to Summerhall's burnt ruins. Rhaegar plans to have the meeting with the lords at the tail end of the tourney, and if they cannot come up with a solution for his father, perhaps his upcoming study of the prophecy will. Perhaps the remedy to this ailing kingdom will be found in the meaning underlying its words?
In truth, he only just now, finally escaped his duties. Exhausted and worn out, Rhaegar wishes for nothing more than sleep, but this is the last chance for him to visit Summerhall and still return in time for the tourney at Harrenhal.
So when Viserys bolts across the courtyard and runs into him (a now drained and desperate-to-leave Rhaegar), and then proceeds to clutch at Rhaegar's trousers with sticky hands, begging for attention, Rhaegar. Just. Can't.
"Brother! Brother! You must try these peaches!" Viserys chimes, wide eyed and eager, one hand yanking the hem of Rhaegar's doublet and the other pushing a small orange globe towards Rhaegar's face. The peach in the younger boy's hand is overly ripe, with juice trickling down the child-Prince's sticky hands and then transferring onto Rhaegar's pants. "I climbed a tree for them!" Viserys exclaims proudly. "I gave one to Elia and she said she'd never ever tasted one so sweet here, and that she would get her brother to send some more peach trees from Dorne for me, and–"
"Yes, that's a good idea, why don't you show it to Elia?" Rhaegar intercedes, his mind already half at Summerhall. The feelings associated with the casual mention of his ailing pregnant wife is not something he can afford to entertain right now. A wife who would be unable to produce a third child, according to Pycelle. A wife who he was tied to, whose frailty could cost the realm dearly.
"But—"
"Later, Viserys" And then Rhaegar turns to gather his horse, ignoring Viserys downcast eyes and disheartening frown. Rhaegar tells himself he will spend some time with Viserys when he returns. But right now, he just needs to be alone. Figuring out the prophecy and saving the Seven Kingdoms takes precedence over an attention-starved little boy.
.x.
Rhaegar never had the chance to make it up to his brother. After Harrenhal, so much had happened that there was no time for training, traversing piers, or eating peaches. To this day, Rhaegar hates the site of the sprawling peach trees in the Red Keep. He would order them removed if they hadn't been a wedding gift from Dorne to Elia. Every time he sees the spindly structures he spends the night dreaming of his younger brother, biting into one of the plump fruits then choking. Gasping for air and drowning, like he would have in the cold, dark depths of the Narrow Sea.
Rhaegar had thought it justice – the branding of the Baratheons. Justice for his mother, justice for his younger brother, and justice for his sibling not even yet born; all of whom would be breathing beside him, yet instead lay lost and dead in their watery tombs. He could have taken Stannis and Renlys' heads, and he was tempted to, but it seemed almost too quick an end to soothe his rage over Robert Baratheon's destruction of his plans. In truth, perhaps Stannis's punishment was so severe because it functioned as recompense for Robert taking Rhaegar's own arm. An action which rendered him no longer able to defend his family with his sword, leaving Rhaegar only his name and his words to wield against current and future foes. At the time, Rhaegar saw no choice but to enact the reparations. He needed to ensure that all Seven Kingdoms knew he was still their leader even without an arm. He had only sparred the Starks for Lyanna, and the Martells because he knew Dorne would never rise against Aegon.
In truth, Rhaegar thought he had been as merciful as he could be in the situation, had thought his actions to be a just punishment for their family's treason.
Elia had disagreed.
To this day, he still remembers Elia's words, and her persistent vitriol towards him after Harrenhal. Prior to that tourney, they had not been in love, but they had at least respected each other. Been kind to each other, fond of each other; they had even been friends.
"When people remember you and your beautiful Lyanna, it will not be with love."
Elia had been right.
Perhaps the only person more hated by the Seven Kingdoms than Lyanna was himself, by smallfolk and nobles alike. He knew the moment he took the throne that his reign would not be one where love powered their loyalty. And so, he needed power to power loyalty. He had enacted the reparations to showcase his uncontested power, in the hopes that the country's love of Elia would nullify their hatred of Rhaegar when it came time for Aegon to take the throne.
And it would be Aegon.
He knows that there are some whispers that he meant to depose Aegon as his heir, and give the seat to Lyanna's son. But that had never been the intent. It had not gone the way it was supposed to. Lyanna was supposed to have a daughter. Not a son. A daughter to be the third head, three Targaryens, a pact of ice and fire, dragons reborn – spreading their wings and flying across the sky.
Cersei grew up craving power
Cersei Lannister: a beautiful girl born with a name that demanded respect, in a castle that exuded status, and in finery that screamed wealth. She grew up accustomed to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. And perhaps the consequence of such an indulgent upbringing is the desperate drive for the rare item one is without. In her case, that elusive entity had always been power.
For all the power inherent in her family name, others refused her the same power that they gave freely to her brother. And so she grew up craving it, yet having it continually wrenched from her keen grasp. She wanted to learn swordplay, yet her father forbade it ("Ladies don't fight with weapons, they fight with whispers and heirs"). She wanted to save her mother, yet the Gods refused her ("The gods have no mercy, that's why they're gods"). She wanted to be Queen, and Rhaegar Targaryen denied her ("The King has ordered you wed Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End").
Power: denied to her solely based on her gender. Cersei never forgives the world for this.
284 AC
Stannis Baratheon is not as handsome as his brother is purported to be, is Cersei's first thought as she notices the young man at the end of the aisle, standing before the Storm's End Septon. The dark and thick fabric of his duvet ends at his elbows, baring the mottled skin of his burned arm for the world to see.
Cersei holds her head high, draped in white silks intricately laced with gold, collared by luminescent diamonds and haloed by a ruby studded veil. She knows herself to be a vision. "The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms," the Storm Lords and their Ladies whisper in awe as she takes her dainty steps towards her new name. 'And yet for all my beauty,' she thinks bitterly, 'I am no Queen. I merely move from being the daughter of a Great Lord to the wife of one, still with no power to call my own.'
Her husband-to-be is unexpectedly unimpressed with her magnificence (or at the very least, very good at hiding his desire). The stoic man's expression remains unchanged, despite the gapping mouths and hungry eyes of his bannermen. 'Perhaps he is a sword-swallower,' Cersei ponders caustically, 'at this point, after these past tumultuous years, I would hardly be surprised with anything.'
Cersei stands before him now, and uses this closer view to gauge that while he is no Robert Baratheon, Stannis is hardly unattractive either. She imagines most would forgive the larger jaw and heavy brow for his striking cobalt eyes and smooth ink-black locks. He is sinewy, but tall and broad-shouldered. He towers over her by almost a foot, despite being only a year older.
Her subtle appraisal of the man done, she returns her attention to the Septon and realizes the old badger is deeming them husband and wife forevermore. Cersei is caught off guard at that. She had not realized that she'd already said the marriage vows in tandem with the not-unattractive man standing in front of her, but clearly she had. Their hands are now locked with a ribbon, while a thick yellow and black cloak rests on her shoulders.
'You'll not be a lion forever.' A jeering voice echoes in her mind – the words once spit out by an ugly witch in Lannisport, an old woman whose croaking Cersei had last heard many years ago. 'You'll be more black than red, manic then dead.' The voice tries to continue, but Cersei internally shakes her head. She shoves the crazy crone's words back into the depths of her mind, dismisses them as she did long ago. 'The old Frog's predictions were already proven false,' Cersei reassures herself, 'no need to put stock in the rest of her senseless words.'
Cersei tugs her attention back to the present, and she finds herself sitting at the head of a grand table, facing a dining hall in the midst of a wedding feast, by the side of her new husband.
Cersei Baratheon.
She tests the words in hallways of her head. They don't quite fit, not yet.
The new Lady of Storm's End looks out at the men and women she (her husband) rules over. 'Strangers. All strangers. Not a single familiar face among them.' She wonders if they love her or hate her, love her for her beauty or begrudge her Lannister features. She doubts there will be much complaining during the bedding. At that thought, she almost wretches. She will be stripped down, degraded, in front of strangers. Prodded at and laughed at, by men who see her as nothing more than a body for her husband's heir. Strangers for whom she will be put out on display, her entire body bare before them. No one had ever seen her so exposed, and now these vulgar men would see her at her most vulnerable. A proud lion, to be used for the entertainment of sheep. She takes an especially large gulp of wine at the nauseating thought.
She is not supposed to be bitter about Tywin and Jaime's absences.
When her pending marriage was cooly disclosed to her in her father's solar, Cersei had been so uncontrollably furious at being sent away from Casterly Rock that she had demanded they not follow her, lest she claw off their faces. Jaime had been especially affronted by that, and had thrown out some ill-timed witty remark about the integrity of his pretty face. In other circumstances his lackadaisical words might have gathered a laugh from her, but at the time, they had pushed her into slamming the door and stomping away.
She knows why she really banned their presence here.
And that is the horrible truth: they would not have come anyways. There was still tension after the war, lands to be rebuilt, lords to appease, power to display, and Tywin needed his heir to show solidarity, etcetera, etcetera, and etcetera. Jaime would never go against their father, not even for her. She had banned her father and brother because at least then she felt she had some control over the situation, as if she had made the choice to not have them here. She could pretend to be a girl who was choosing to leave, instead of a girl being thrown out of her home, bartered away to another land, and not even given the care of a familiar escort.
'Did I mean so little?'
She shoves the stray thought back deep into her mind. It brings up feelings that twist her gut, feelings which she prefers to ignore. She has her goblet refilled.
'I'd even take Tyrion,' she admits to herself now, a pleasant buzz settling in her head. 'At least he could be good for conversation, if nothing else.'
Tyrion Lannister: her Imp of a brother, the persistent thorn in her side. Cersei was never quite sure what to do about him. The brat had killed her mother, ripped through her on his way into the world. And yet he was a Lannister, another person not held as high in Tywin's eyes because of his status as 'not-Jaime, not my heir, not worth my time—'
"TIME FOR THE BEDDING!" Shouts a Lord, and Cersei freezes. 'NO!' She screams in her mind. 'Touch me and I'll have your hand sliced from your arm, I'll have your head on spikes, I'll have your—'
"There will be no such thing." She hears the heavy and imperturbable voice of her new husband. "Sit down, Lord Horpe." Stannis orders. "Enjoy your food, I believe the musicians are plenty sufficient entertainment for tonight." The latter courtesy seems forced from his lips, and Cersei hears the warning in it as his eyes stay steady on his Vassal Lord.
The large man - Lord Horpe, she assumes - grumbles, then wobbles, but re-takes his seat. Chatter and music resume as they were.
Cersei unclenches her fists, her smooth palms dented with faint little half-moons of almost-blood. 'Thank you.' She thinks, but can't bring herself to say, starring down harshly at her plate because she is unable to look at her husband.
.x.
When Stannis takes her hand, and leads them out of the hall to retire for the evening, the newlyweds have still yet to a speak a word to each other. Not since the Sept when they said their vows in synchrony, phrases Cersei can't even remember saying, but ancient words that now lock her to him for life.
They enter what she supposes are their chambers, and Cersei no longer holds her tongue. "Why no bedding?" She spent the rest of the feast analyzing his intervention again and again, and found no ulterior motive. But surely there must be one. Everyone always as a reason. ("No favour comes without a price," Lord Tywin once advised eight-year-old Cersei).
Stannis turns and looks at her, a confused bend in his dense brow. "I imagine the whole ordeal is a barely tolerable practice for women, even when they have at least their father and brothers to ensure no feast goer's hands become too inappropriate. It is one thing when it is being done by men who have known you since childhood, and respect you enough not to be too aggressive, despite being drunk. But I would not subject you to that here, where you know no one, where these men know you are a stranger to me, and have no reason yet to care for your comfort." He pauses, and his nose twitches. "I am also not duty-bound to offer you to them as some sort of show."
Cersei still doesn't understand. "And why does my comfort matter anything to you?"
Stannis frowns, still standing in the middle of their chambers, just like her. "I do not know what you have heard of me, My Lady, but I hope it is nothing to suggest that I would force you to do anything against your will."
Cersei gives a pointed look to the bed behind her shoulder. "I imagine my comfort won't matter for much longer, My Lord." Her bitter words are forced through a tight smile, at this point she expects him to shove her onto the bed and hoist himself atop her, ripping off her dress before ripping through her maidenhead. After all, that is what she knows. Men who take because they can, women who get taken from because they don't have the power to stop it. (Power, and her lack of it, that is what it always comes down to in the end.) She looks down to her feet, focuses on her silk slippers and notes their delicate nature, gut churning at how easily they could be torn.
Stannis sighs. "A wedding is not complete until consummated. I wish we did not have to do this as strangers, but we have a duty to our houses and a duty to our kingdoms to see this marriage complete."
Cersei is unsurprised, still waiting to be shoved, eyes now glaring holes into the carpet.
An outstretched palm enters her field of vision, and she looks at it, confused.
"Once to satisfy our duty, and I swear never again unless you expressly permit it."
'The choice is mine,' realizes Cersei, staring bewildered at his open palm. It is the burned one, she realizes, as her eyes follow the mottled skin. There he is, willingly offering her the weakest, most scarred part of him. Cersei has never been given a choice before. She has fought for control, of course, wrestled the world relentlessly for her own ability to choose. But, she has never had control given to her so freely, not like Stannis offers now.
Cersei is ordered to wed Stannis. That is not why she stays with him.
A month into being the Lady of Storm's End, and Cersei is… surprised.
After the first night (when dawn's light fell against two bare bodies under a sheet, one asleep and the other held to consciousness by racing thoughts), she suspected his open palm to be an empty gesture, a trick that she had naively fallen for so he might tell his honorable self that he had not forced her. She had thought it a false move, but he held true. He did not ever barge into their chambers drunk, demanding his rights as her husband. He instead enters their chambers quietly in the evening, and sleeps on his side of the featherbed, not a hand out of place.
So, she quickly came to accept that he would not physically force her, but her thoughts continued to race. She instead suspected he would try other ways to manipulate the situation. In fact, she expected him to ignore her, avoid her, and instruct his staff to do the same. She thought he would leave her alone in this new kingdom and this new castle, until she grew so desperate for any attention that she threw herself at him. Only that did not happen either. Quite the opposite.
Stannis actively invited her presence. He asked her if she wanted to sit in with him to hear the complaints of the smallfolk. He invited her to the meetings where the Storm Lords came to report the statuses of their Keeps. He asked her if she wished to join him in approving the stone masons' sketches and numbers for rebuilding war-damaged lands. She even stood by his side as they both worked to figure out which lands to refurbish first so that they could be prepared for the planting of new crops.
In these meetings, she was not just a trophy. Not just a pretty silent thing for him to carry on his arm as an accessory. No, she voiced her opinion and he listened. She never needed to shout for his attention, to fight for his consideration. He gave it to her freely.
He respected her.
And slowly, with every night he doesn't force her and every day he asks her opinion, she begins to respect him too.
'Perhaps it had been respect that I had really craved.' She thinks one night, staring at the ceiling of their chambers, well attuned to the slumbering form not even a meter away from her. 'Before… had I mistaken power for respect?' She turns towards her husband, whose face looks so much younger when it is not fixed in the stoic frown he wears in the day. She has the uncontrollable urge to trace his true face, and her hand is halfway across the bed before she stops it with an iron force and a clenched fist. 'He is my husband.' She chastises herself. 'I'll not steal touches as though… as though...' She turns herself huffily in the other direction, her back to Stannis, not finishing her thought and frowning at the way her hand tingles.
.x.
On her wedding day, Cersei was a maiden.
Not in every sense, of course. She had lost her first kiss to Jaimie when they were children. Had almost convinced herself that she held non-familial thoughts for him before the Mad King had him sent away to King's Landing. They'd never gone further than secret kisses and straying hands, too young to know exactly what to do next and both all too aware that if Cersei wed the Prince she would need to be intact.
That first night with her husband had been… awkward. Far from romantic, but it had been… kind. And he had been perhaps more than a bit endearing in his innocence. She had liked that he had been somewhat lost, a sign to her that he was nothing like his reputed whore-mongering brother.
But each time she feels the weight of him on their bed, each time she follows the way the muscles in his back move when he switches from one shirt to another, she feels an ache in her stomach and a burning between her legs. While Cersei was a maiden prior to her wedding night, she is hardly a septa. She recognizes her growing desire to be with him… her rising need to have him desire her.
And yet he keeps his virtuous vigil, steadfast in his resolution from their wedding night. At first, Cersei starts to grow annoyed. He has the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms in his bed, and yet this man does nothing!
And then Cersei begins to get paranoid.
'Perhaps he has a lover?' Her mind taunts, 'one even more beautiful than you.'
'Not possible.' She snarks back. But then a deeper fear is uncovered. Perhaps it is not his eyes that she does not hold.
Does he not succumb to her beauty because his heart belongs to another? He had never been betrothed before her. But… what if… that had been intentional? Had he held off his own betrothal for a secret lover? Someone low in station, someone who he loved so much he would not dare lust for his wife? Some buxom redhead with smooth skin and long legs, or a svelte brunette with free curls swirling about a pretty face? Stannis did come to their bed at night, but who is to say he didn't visit his lover during the day? Perhaps he sought out the whore when he was away from Cersei's eyes. Perhaps they secluding themselves in a secret room. Perhaps he whispered sweet nothings to into her ear as he bedded the wretch, all while telling her how he loved her and could never love his wife. What if Stannis had only played innocent their first night just to allay Cersei's suspicions? Or perhaps the open palm had been his own shield, a way to keep them from hurting the woman he truly wanted to be with. Did he make his little vow to not force his wife only to prevent an heir? Perhaps he meant to claim Cersei as infertile, annul their marriage and take his lowborn whore into his house and his bed – appease his bannermen with an heir, and with a new Lady who he'd let be bedded on their wedding night. Did all of their kingdom's lords and ladies know? Did they laugh behind her back, at the gullible Lannister girl who knew not that another held her husband's lov-affection?
'No!' Cersei seethes. 'I will not be so shamed in my own home. I'll not allow my husband to stray. I'll find his conniving little whore, and rid us of her.'
So she resolves to be with Stannis even on the rare occasions when there were no smallfolk to be seen, lords to be heard, and workers to be ordered. Every minute she could be with him, she spent with him. Keeping an eye out for a place he passed by too frequently to explain, a bypassing servant girl who took too many rounds.
Two moons later, and nothing. No buxom redheads that he passes too frequently, and no smiling brunettes that pass by him too frequently.
'But they will,' her mind whispers. 'Soon he will seek what you deny him from another, and then you will lose him too.'
Stannis hates the mark on his arm.
He is glad to still be able to move it. The contracted scar tissue makes it so his range of motion is not full, but overall the tendons and muscles had been relatively spared, per the castle's Maester.
He had not been the handsomest man before being branded, and part of him is more than a little ashamed of the deformity. A part of him hates that he has yet another unattractive feature to show before his wife – a woman who is lauded by the entire Realm for her incomparable beauty.
Cersei Lannister, now Cersei Baratheon… It has been months into their marriage, and Stannis is still not sure what to think of his wife.
Prior to her arrival, he had been more than a little insecure. He was well aware that had things been different, had Aerys not gone mad, that she would have been Queen. And there was the crux of his insecurity; the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, an almost-Queen, daughter of the richest kingdom, ordered into marrying a second son with a hideously burned arm.
She arrived at Storm's End the morning of their wedding. And when he saw the size of her company, he nearly balked.
The Lannisters had sent her here with nothing more than the basics: some serving girls, some guards, some handmaidens, and a seamstress. Stannis knew why, of course. He had grown up alongside enough Storm Lords with the same perspective as the infamous Lord Tywin Lannister – their support came when their daughter had a child. An heir with their blood. Moreover, this had hardly been an arrangement between two kingdoms. This match had been ordered by the King as part of war reparations, and the last thing either of the war-weakened Stormlands and Westerlands wanted was King Rhaegar fearing the two lands were amassing and plotting against him.
He had welcomed her to the Keep, and then had his staff direct her to the rooms she could use to get ready for their wedding ceremony. She truly was gorgeous, he noted when he first saw her exit her carriage. She was as beautiful as she was fabled to be, but she was coldly polite and formal in her brief introduction with him. He remembers doubting she would have ever considered him for anything – let alone her husband – prior to Rhaegar's Reparations, and feeling a bit nauseous at the thought that this entire situation had been forced on her.
She had strolled down the aisle with the grace of a goddess, absolutely radiant. But when she came closer, he had seen the way her eyes were blank and her small smile was as set as stone. He felt that twisting in his gut again – the knowledge that she was being trapped, and that he was to be her jailer.
They did not speak outside their vows, ceremony to feast, not a word. Her eyes remained blank, her polite smile fixed on her face. But then there was a call for the bedding and he saw it – saw her blank gaze give way to fear, to unbridled panic. He saw the way her fists clenched and her eyes watered.
He knew denying the Storm Lords the opportunity to partake in the bedding with such a sought-after bride would annoy them, but hardly more than that. They respected him for taking his branding like a Stormlander, for outwitting the Tyrell siege as a commander untested, and for all the work he had already done to repair the war-torn areas of their lands. They would not begrudge him this, and Stannis had known that, so he offered his new wife a way out.
And when her words relayed the way she expected him to treat her, he had felt the foulest man in the entire Realm. He still regretted it to this day, asking her to give him her maidenhead the night of their wedding, when they had been naught but strangers. But, it had been their duty so he had done it despite the roiling of his moral compass. And now he heard a traitorous voice in his mind that woke him up every evening, that whispered perhaps he had liked it more than he should have, that perhaps he wouldn't mind having her again.
After their wedding, he asked for her to accompany him to his official duties because, in truth, he didn't quite know how to be romantic. But at least if he kept her involved and busy then perhaps she would not realize it. Moreover, she was smart, he thought. Not unfailingly so, but she had clearly absorbed bits of her father's teachings over the years. She had the ability to see things from the perspective of someone who did not prioritize honor above their goals. She had the ability to know how to sway a man to their view with mere words. Stannis appreciates it, because not all of his lords think as he does, and she has become quite adept at playing Lannister when a Storm Lord needs their reality checked, as well as maneuvering disgruntled lords into accepting his plans.
Of course he and Cersei disagree, not always but often enough, on how to deal with arising issues. And its takes a while, but he teaches her how not to think of pride first (he suspects she still does, but she is at least less obvious about it), and he learns from her how to truly analyze a man's motives. He even finds his definition of duty growing just a touch more flexible.
They settle into a comfortable routine, and she seems content. He begins to feel a bit better about the life he had stolen from her. But then she starts spending time outside of their work with him, and he is lost. Unsure of what to talk about, or where to take her, or how to deal with her at all, really. (But her shift is easier than Renly's, so he figures he will leave his brother for when he has figured out his wife.)
He has yet to decipher her, and so, is completely dumbstruck when he enters their chambers one evening to see the room lit up with candles, and her dressed in a sheer night dress. He is further dumbfounded when she slowly approaches him. His eyes and mind are wholly entranced by the way the silky fabric brushes against her smooth ivory skin, and then he is jolted aware when he feels her warm hand on his chest. He feels the heat of her palm through his clothes, and he wonders if she hears how loudly his heart is beating against her hand. He is still shocked still, not meeting her eyes and instead alternating his focus from her shoulder to her hand.
He is confused, so utterly unsure of what exactly she wants from him. Until he feels her stand on her toes to kiss the base of his neck. He takes her arms immediately then, and gently pushes her away.
(He is fond of her now, after all these months of being by her side, and unsure if he can take her solely because her father is demanding an heir from her. He ignores the part of him that suspects it might hurt him more than just a little if that is the only reason she wishes to bed him again.)
He stays still, his eyes now on the carpet even has his hands gently grip her upper arms to keep her a distance away. He should let her go, he knows, but his hands refuse to listen to him, glued to her soft skin. She solves the issue though, when she shoves her own hands against his chest and wriggles out of his grip.
"Am I so unattractive to you?!" She yells as she wretches herself away from him.
Stannis stands there, stunned and unsure of what to say because how in the Seven Hells has she come to that conclusion?
She continues in her rage. "That you could sleep by my side, night by night, and not even have a single urge to bed me!"
Bewildered, Stannis sighs. 'Wives,' he thinks, astounded, 'are even more difficult to understand than war.'
He is embarrassed by the hoarseness of his voice, but he responds. "I was quite clear on her our wedding night. And you were too. I am confused as to what exactly you want from me?"
She seems to only be half listening, half in her head trying to figure something out, as if he is the one baffling her, which only confuses Stannis further. Then her green eyes alight in fury, a dark flame he has never seen in her before.
"Tell me true then!" She screams, "Is there another? There must me. Who is she? Tell me, tell me now. I'll have her… I'll have her thrown from the ramparts, I'll—"
This time Stannis cuts off her ranting, affronted. "I'd never dishonor you like tha—"
Cersei seems torn, her rage only intensifying as she cuts him off in return. "You dishonor me by not putting an heir in me! By having the entirety of the Stormlands and the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms thing me barren!"
Stannis was definitely not expecting that. "We've been wed barely seven months," he nearly scoffs, "I doubt anyone calls you barren."
And perhaps his scoff was poorly done, because she steps towards him once more and starts fiercely hitting her hands against his chest, with all of her strength.
.x.
Cersei hits his chest, her heart twisting and her breath barely reaching her lungs. Bang, bang, bang. Her heart and her fists beat in sync, an angry rhythm. 'Why don't you love me!' She wants to scream at him.
And then his hands are gripping her forearms, stopping her sloppy assault. She frowns, then glares down at her feet, not willing to let him steal her thoughts from her eyes. "What is this really about?" He all but orders. "Speak, plainly."
But Cersei will not do it. No, she'll not embarrass herself so. Not anymore than she already has with this stupid, stupid, stupid display. She refuses to splay her heart out for him, only to have him laugh at her face.
"Nothing!" She screeches at the floor. "It was about nothing!" And then she wrenches her arms from his grasp once more, turns, grabs the nearest cloak by the door – ready to wrap herself in it and storm out of this stupid idea that she should never have ever done, and damn it all why is her vision blurring, she can barely see the damned door. She has only just barely turned the knob, hearing the door begin to creak open when –
Her husband's hands close the door.
She feels his sturdy chest behind her, not even an inch from her back, with both his arms outstretched above her shoulders and his palms pressed against the door, preventing her escape. His hands had not shut the wooden door in a loud slam, or an angry thud. No, it had been a soft pressure that had prevented her from indulging her dark thoughts, the ones that tempted her to run all the way back to the Westerlands.
"Cersei," he implores. She jars at that. This is the first time he has used her name, and she likes the way it sounds coming from him. The way his deep baritone says it so smoothly. "Please," he continues "tell me what you want."
And perhaps her name from his lips had weakened her resolve, because she finds the truth slipping from her lips against her better judgement. "I want you to want me. As a woman, as your wife, as…" 'As someone you love. Someone you love more than anything and anyone. I want you to care for me most of all. I want someone to always pick me first, and I want that someone to be you.'
"Do not be offended…" he begins and she feels her gut sink. Cersei feels so foolish in that moment. She had shown him her weakness, and here he stood posing to strangle her with it. Perhaps he senses her bristle, because he is quick to continue. "…when I ask this, but, is this because of word from your father?"
Cersei blinks. 'What?' She turns to face him, her emerald eyes meeting a now familiar dark blue. "What does my father have to do with this?"
.x.
Stannis is unsure how to convey to her that he does not want her to launder herself out to him because her father demands an heir from her. He only knows that they stand on a very precipitous edge, and if he handles this poorly there will be no way to ever undo it. Stannis takes in a deep breath before asking her, "has he commanded an heir of you, is that the only reason you want this?"
'Is that the only reason you want me?' Is what he doesn't ask.
She seems thrown, and he thinks it justice for just a second, for her to finally be the one who is confused.
Cersei's puzzled expression makes way for one of exasperation. "Dear Seven, help me." She rolls her eyes. "How can a man rule an entire kingdom, and yet be so dense?"
He is insulted for a second, and makes to tell her exactly why he is not dense, and list examples, but she speaks again.
"No." She says firmly, truthfully. And then she cuts off whatever he would have said by throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him.
.x.
A few heated kisses and hungry touches later, and they are tangled on their bed. Stannis atop her and gripping her bare hip with one hand and her cheek with another. He pulls his mouth from hers, but her arms around his back keep him close. In that moment he curses his own inexperience. But this time it will be better for her, he will make it better for her. So he pushes the words out through a clenched jaw, and feels heat rush to his cheeks. "I… am unsure how to make it… better for you."
She still looks a bit dazed from their kiss so he continues. "I don't… frequent brothels or the like. I'm not - I am not sure how to make this easier for you?" He grits his teeth, hating how hard it is to admit something to her, a woman who deserves so much more than his uncertainty.
Surprisingly, she smiles silkily at his words. She then brings her mouth to his ear and whispers with her heated breath, "I suppose we learn together then."
.x.
Cersei quite likes this specific power – the ability to make such a stoic man come undone. She revels in it; how her husband is ice to others, but melts at her touch. She is the only one who has this sway over him, the only one he holds so close.
He had given her his respect and then what he could of his heart, and she finds herself giving him the same.
Cersei does not know what to make of the little Baratheon boy who spends the days wafting about the castle, quiet as a ghost.
'Perhaps you'll be a rambunctious little boy with his bold eyes, driving your father mad with your antics. Or maybe you'll have his quiet kindness, be stern and strong - a leader all the kingdoms will write songs about. I bet you'll be more skilled with a sword than even Jaime, and a skilled commander like my father and yours. Or maybe you'll be our precious little girl – dancing about the castle to the sound of storms with blonde locks flying behind you and my own eyes staring back at me.'
Cersei wonders as she wanders, unable to stifle the small smile on her lips as she rubs her growing stomach.
But then her ponderings of the future are hijacked by an echo from the past.
'A child with a crown.' Maggie the Frog's words resurface, and refuse to submerge back into the depths of her memories. 'A child with a crown, burned to the ground.'
Cersei is so distracted by one ghost she nearly crashes into another.
"Apologies" the black-topped boy whispers before trying to circumvent her and go about his way.
"Stop." Cersei orders, watching the boy's back as he halts his movement. In truth, Cersei finds Renly Baratheon… disconcerting. The boy is always quietly skulking about, avoiding everyone in the castle. She sees Stannis's eyes gloss over in worry every time he looks at the boy. She approaches the younger Baratheon, telling herself as she does so that this is nothing so soft as a gesture for her husband. 'It is... it is a way to ... it is ... well…' She needs him on her side, she justifies to herself. She needs to ensure no one will ever try to take her son's seat. 'That is the reason why I do this,' Cersei reassures herself. 'This is just an occasional kindness to spare my child all sorts of trouble down the road.'
She tells the boy to accompany her to the library, and he does. He almost forgets to take her arm, and she quickly chastises him for it. "Are your courtesies so far gone that you would have a Lady walk by your side unattended?"
He blushes readily, and Cersei quickly quiets her own amusement at just how much he reminds her of an embarrassed Stannis in that moment.
They reach the library, and the boy makes to leave, before she instructs him again that she would like his company while she finds a book to occupy her time. "What if there is a book that catches my interest, and it is too low for me to reach for... in my current state?"
Their arms stay interlocked as they walk slowly through the large shelves brimming with books. Cersei observes as they stroll. She sees how the boy seems to keep his eyes away from her, looking to the ground as if he is but a lowly servant instead of the youngest son of a Great Lord.
Cersei points to a random book on the lower shelves. At his confused pause, she gives him a raised brow that instructs without words that yes, he better well damned get it for her. When he hands her the tome, she struts her way to the nearest upholstered chair and he follows. She refuses to admit she is waddling because she would never do something so unladylike as waddle.
She sits, much to the relief of her back, and quickly eyes the title of her chosen read: Argella Durrandon: The Last Storm Queen. It is a legend Cersei hazily recalls. 'Argella Durrandon - the one who was forced to wed a bastard-Targaryen,' Cersei remembers, before carelessly dumping the book on an old marble side table and eying the boy before her with a stern frown.
"You were never so quiet before," Cersei prods.
The boy shrugs. (And perhaps boy is the wrong word, he may be 8 years of age but already is easily as tall as any young man three years older.)
Cersei nearly rolls her eyes. Must all Baratheon men be so unfailingly reticent? It is like pulling teeth sometimes, getting them to speak their true thoughts.
"Why now?" Cersei continues to prod. "I have spoken with the staff. You scream in your sleep. What is it that you dream of?"
Renly's eyes stay fastened to the floor, but he responds. "I thought they were going to kill Stannis. When he was screaming, and he was screaming so loud, for a second, I had wished the king would just end his suffering. Would kill him just to stop him from being in so much pain. And all those courtiers, they just… they just watched Stannis screaming and they did nothing." His burned hand – the left one - clenches, and he loudly gulps in air before pulling his gaze from the floor and looking right at her. "And when they brought me before the king, I thought… I thought he was going to kill me. I thought he was going to kill me and make Stannis watch. And I had never been so scared of anything."
That Renly had answered so easily and honestly threw Cersei off, and she supposes her surprise shows on her face, because the boy's mouth tugs into a small attempt at a smile before he continues. "It was not some big secret. You're just the only one who has asked."
Cersei nods, unsure of how to reply to such a personal revelation. She falls back on her own upbringing, and imagines what her father might do.
"So will you do about it?" Cersei orders. "The fear?"
Renly bristles. "I am not afraid now—"
"Yes, you are." Cersei interrupts. "You are afraid to be happy lest the King swoop down in the night to take away your happiness."
Renly's eyes widen.
Cersei continues, unfettered by his discomfort. "So I ask you again. What will you do?"
Renly frowns, clearly unsure of how she wants him to respond.
Cersei stands from her seat. "Let me tell you what you will not do. You will not cower. You will not make yourself a ghost in your own home. You will not allow that burn to steal your mind. You will not let Rhaegar Targaryen win. You will find some purpose. And you shall fight for it." Cersei's eyes harden. "When you fight against fear, there is no middle ground. You win or you die."
Cersei picks that time to strategically caress her own protruding stomach. Renly's gaze is drawn to it, his expression becoming pensive.
Cersei announces then, her own lips quirking up, "The Maester says he thinks it will be a boy. Low set, or some other such nonsense."
Renly's brow furrows. "There are so few of us now. Those who are Baratheons by blood. He'd be my nephew. I could teach him, protect him from the King." He looks up to her eyes then. "I think I'd like to be strong enough to protect you too."
Cersei almost reflexively retorts that she hardly needs protection from a child, but keeps her mouth shut. Stannis is in her mind then, telling her to not fall automatically to her pride and instead assess the situation for what it really is. And the situation is this: a boy looking for purpose, who has now found one protecting her child.
"So what will you do about it, the fear? … Let me tell you what you will not do. You will not cower. You will not make yourself a ghost in your own home. You will not allow that burn to steal your mind. You will not let Rhaegar Targaryen win. You will find some purpose. And you shall fight for it… when you fight against fear, there is no middle ground. You win or you die."
Stannis turns the words he overheard again and again in his mind, staring at the mottled skin of his arm.
His fist clenches, and his eyes close.
(Perhaps those had been words he needed to hear too.)
She finds herself tracing Stannis's burned arm in her sleep. The hard skin, the wiry scars, the mottled ridges, she lets the pads of her fingers slowly memorize it all.
She feels it when he opens his eyes, blearily being pulled out of a deep slumber. He turns his drowsy gaze to her, before letting his good hand come to sift through her golden hair. "Who would we have been, if we hadn't found each other?" Her husband asks her, voice husky from sleep.
Cersei meets his eyes, his own question thrown away for now. "You are not to die." She orders him. "Am I clear?"
Stannis seems more alert at her command. He gives her a strange look before staring at her stomach, his hand twitches and she rolls her eyes before taking his hand from her hair and placing it on her stomach.
Stannis's voice grows hoarser. "Then you are not to die either."
He voices a fear that lingers too close to the front of her mind; her own mother had died in the birthing bed. Would Cersei? She knows that she would, if it was a choice. She would die if it meant saving her child. But… if she died, would Stannis hate her child the way her father hated Tyrion? The idea repulses her. And then she is struck with a cold realization. One that nearly drowns her in guilt.
It had not been Tyrion's fault.
'What would mother think of me?'
What would her mother think of how she and her father ignored Tyrion. Of how she insulted her youngest brother for not being beautiful like her and Jaime. Of how she diminished any of his achievements, and cheered at his failures. Of how she had prayed for his death for months after his birth, begging the gods to kill the monster and give her mother back. Of how she hated the child her mother had sacrificed her life to bring into this world.
'She would not forgive me.' Acknowledges Cersei. 'She would hate me, just as I would hate any who dared harm my child.' Cersei's eyes begin to burn, and she sees Stannis's eyes widen in alarm. "It's not you," she lets out, hating how wet her voice sounds. "It's just… it's just these damned hormones." She asserts. And yet, she still lets Stannis pull her close to him, wrap her in his arms, and guide her face into the dip of his neck. She breathes through her tears, inhaling his familiar and comforting scent.
Cersei walks into Stannis's solar, full of intent and self-assurance. "I am writing a letter."
Stannis quirks a brow from his seat behind the desk. "And you're asking permission?" He hedges, clearly unsure of what to make of her declaration.
"Of course not." Cersei huffs. "I am merely informing you that my younger brother will be coming to stay with us."
Stannis gives her a confused look before turning to finish signing off on whatever he had been writing. He sighs wearily, clearly not too keen on facing her reaction to his upcoming words. "Tywin is unlikely to let Jaime leave Casterly Rock until he gets an heir on his wife."
"Not that brother. The other one." Cersei corrects, and Stannis stops writing. He looks to her, almost cautiously.
'Really?' she internally grumps, 'I have not been so mercurial that he should censure his every thought!'
Perhaps he reads her growing annoyance, because he quickly voices his contemplations. "I was under the impression that Tyrion Lannister was the only thing you were happy to leave in Casterly Rock."
Cersei's next words are sharp, biting. "I am not so cruel!" And she isn't (not anymore).
Stannis backtracks, his hands before him, palms toward her in a settling motion one might use to calm an irate animal. "I was too blunt, I did not mean to offend you. Of course he can stay here."
Cersei purses her lips, petulant. "I wasn't asking."
Stannis gives her a knowing look and slowly nods "Of course not." His face stays the same but his eyes are clearly amused.
"He will be good for Renly." Cersei announces.
"You do not need to convince me, I have already agreed."
"I am not trying to convince you, because I am not asking for permission. I'm merely informing you, as I have already said." She says emphatically.
"Consider me informed, my lady." His lip quirks to the side, and she feels her own stomach clench at the look. 'Damned hormones.' She struts up to his desk, and takes great pleasure in dramatically grabbing his own ink and quill set before making her way out of his solar.
(His almost-smiles are hers. She is the only one who brings them out, and she takes a good deal of pride in that. She imagines when he holds his son, she might even get a grin out of him.)
.x.
The Stormlanders respect her. They see her standing tall by Stannis's side, acting as his partner, and they begin to consider her one of their own. The Stormland's nobles and smallfolk alike grow in their affections for their Liege Lady. She is no longer Tywin Lannister's daughter to them. She is Cersei Baratheon: fierce and unyielding, like the strongest of storms.
.x.
285 AC
Cerseis stands out on the balcony of their chambers, gazing at the darkening sky and the darker waves that crash against the ragged cliffs. She is maybe days away from her delivery, if the Maester's words hold true.
Her husband quietly comes up behind her, and places his warm hands on her shoulders.
"The night grows colder," he tells her. "You should rest, inside."
Cersei doesn't move, her eyes fixated on the waves.
She hears Stannis sigh. "Cersei, please come inside."
Transfixed, Cersei cannot take her eyes off the way the tides attempt to savagely rip the rock from the cliffs. 'What will it be like, to die? To be ripped from this world, cursed to watch my child grow up without me?' Cersei nearly loses her breath when she sees a chunk of rock become dislodged from its perch. She watches its descent to the sea with morbid fascination.
"If something happens to me—"
Stannis cuts her off with a vehement hiss, turning her away from the destructive view. "Don't say such—"
"If something happens to me," she reiterates, annoyed at being interrupted and manhandled. "You'll not treat my child the way my father treats Tyrion. Swear it to me."
Stannis looks almost as affronted as he had been on their wedding night. "I'd never—"
Cersei sneers. "I'm sure my mother thought my father would never either, but look at how that turned out. Now swear it to me." She raises her hands to clutch his duvet, pulling at it fiercely as she looks up at him. "Swear it!"
"If something happens to you – which it will not – then I will not waiver in my love for our child. I swear it on every god." He looks deeply in her eyes as he makes his vow, likely sensing that she needs this to calm whatever storm is churning inside of her.
"Good" Cersei nods, seemingly calmer. She leans her forehead into his chest, eyes watering, a feeling of dread sinking in her gut. "Good. That's good."
"Evil ends are met by evil children."
The voice laughs.
"Punished for sins you would have committed."
The voice from her past doesn't stop.
"What a haunting end your child will meet, for history loves to repeat."
'If I do not survive this,' Cersei tries her best to stifle out the voice of past and instead seek comfort in her present. It is with a heavy heart that she sinks into her husband's solid hold and embraces the familiarity of his scent. 'If I do not survive this... I am glad to have known you.'
A/N: Review pretty please - what do you think of Rhaegar and Viserys? Cersei and Stannis? The bits of Maggy's prophecy you've heard so far? Grammar/spelling mistakes?
A/N 2: okay, so truth is, this chapter is now being split into two (maybe even three) parts because it is such a monster. Cersei and Stannis, in my outline, were supposed to be like 300 words tops. Just a little peak into what Shireen was born into. But I just couldn't stop writing them *shrugs*. Whoops?
(Also, did you guys catch all the shouts outs to cannon? Hope so ;) Keep an eye out for them throughout the fic. I enjoy using canon lines but giving them to others in my fics)
Anyways, next up on the slate:
-Rhaenys and Lyanna
-Lyanna's thoughts on the rebellion and her choices
-Lewyn's thoughts
-Rickon's thoughts on his brothers
-Rickon and Rhaenys try to run away
Sneak peaks:
"Rhaenys does not hate Lyanna, despite everyone thinking she should."
"Lyanna had never meant for her family to break"
"Lewyn faced an impossible choice: duty or honor"
"Rickon is not born hating his brothers. He learns to."
"Rickon cannot lose Rhaenys, especially not like this, dying in a bed as his mother had."
"They cannot crown a corpse."
Inspiration pics and casting (with mentally edited colouring to match their descriptions):
Inspiration pics and casting (with mentally edited colouring to match their descriptions):
Swap the "(period)" for a period into your browser.
Young Rickeen:
66(period)media(period)tumblr(period)com/aaaeb398ae81461e2dc7a30c464cdeea/tumblr_mt2o312VyJ1qgtn0oo1_500(period)png (if the link doesn't work, to find this pic, google: the wild wolf prince and the stone princess)
Older Rickeen:
66(period)media(period)tumblr(period)com/0024dbb31d202f80a082707779641a8c/tumblr_o9oygs8mtz1qhrh9to3_r1_500(period)gif (if the link doesn't work, to find this gif, google: she is precious to him rickon Shireen)
Rickon Targaryen – a cross between jamie dornan as he is portrayed in OUAT (as the huntsman) and Henry Cavill as he is portrayed in the Tudors season 2&3
Shireen Baratheon – Sarah Bolger as she was portrayed in the Tudors and in OUAT
Rhaenys Martell – google "Elia Martell by LyaStark" – it's exactly how I picture Rhaenys. Link: pm1(period)narvii(period)com/6159/382f80da326450c9281dc6d666932c9cf852a7c3_hq(period)jpg
I guess the actress-equivalent might be Aditi Rao Hydari?
Elia Martell – Freida pinto (google Freida pinto Elia Martell for some awesome manips!)
Lyanna Stark – Adelaide Kane - as she is in Reign
Eddard Stark (pre-Sean Bean) - James McAvoy - as he is in www(period)ablogofthrones(period)com/ideal-casting-game-thrones-roberts-rebellion-movie-mini-series/
Rhaegar Targaryen – Bradley James - as he is in Merlin
Stannis and Cersei – older versions of Aneurin Barnard (Richard III) and Faye Marsay (Anne Neville)
Response to reviews – HUGE thank you to all my reviewers!
Guest - remember, chapter 1 was a lot of gossip and other people's POV, when you see Aegon's POV, hopefully that will add some more balance ;) In part 2 you might see a bit of a twist in the expected 'alliances' though! Thanks for the review!
miles - far point. I tried to give Lyanna and Rhaegar some sympathy, the former in the next part and the latter earlier in the chapter. I still think Rhaegar has zero political acumen though, given how he went about things. Thanks for the review!
Laurenbull – so you (and ichiruki43) get credit for saving Gendry. I went back to chapter 1 and wrote him in, and now have a gendrya plot brewing in my mind. Side note: I have an upcoming "Gendry reborn as a true-born Arryn with all his memories of the past" gendrya fic brewing in my head, chapter 1 outline scribbled down, so if you're interested, expect that in the next few months ;) I definitely like the idea of Gendry being born to Cersei – I've seen a coupl3 of other fics do it – it just couldn't happen in this fic because of some of the future conflicts I'm planning. You will still get gendrya though ;) And dude, you literally called the Arya and Rhaegar bit – but hopefully the way I handle it will be a bit of a surprise ;) Thanks for the review!
AGirlHasNoName – I do some mental time bending when I read Arya and Jaime fics to minimize their age gap. That being said, this is medieval times – e.g. Lysa married a man over 30 years older than her (not to imply that her relationship is something anyone should aspire to have, just to say marriages with age aps do happen in these worlds). Thanks for the review!
XanderP764 – thank you for your review and kind words! : )
RowdyRob – agree wholeheartedly, thanks for the review!
Sageofchaos – thanks for the review! Hopefully chapter 2 was okay : )
Xanmelton – thanks for your points! I totally get that Rhaegar believed he was fulfilling a prophecy, but the dude couldn't think of a not-so-public four-kingdom's-rage-inducing way to go about it? Crowning Lyanna and humiliating Elia was not necessary – in fact, all it did was clue in everyone that R kidnapped L when no one would have thought to put them together before the crowning. Interesting point made about Lyanna and the raven - I will lessen my dislike of her a little if that ends up being canon. Also to your point re: honour, hopefully Part 2 of this chapter (with Lewyn's POV) will clear it up a bit (don't want to say anymore since spoilers ;) )
Re: 20000, I thought that Dorne was reported to be turtle-slow in coming to the Targaryen's aid, and even Prince Lewyn in canon was threatened into going with a Dornish contingent to the battle of trident by Aerys saying he would hurt Elia – was Oberyn involved in any of these battles in the rebellion? If so, I totally did not know. (but for the purpose of me not having to rewrite another section of this story, I'm going to go with the idea that they were pissed at Rhaegar snubbing Elia and thus slow to come to the Targaryen's aid – essentially neutral – and this is why Rhaegar's reparations would have involved them somehow if he thought it would be necessary (which he doesn't because he knows Dorne won't raise against Elia's son, even if they hate Rhaegar). Thanks for taking the time to point these things out!
Ichiruki43 – thanks for your reviews! They're coming up, I promise! Don't want to give too much away right now though ;)
Guest – at the moment I'm heading towards Marg x Aegon, and Willas x Sansa, but those are still up in the air : )
Becky Blue Eyes – LOL those are the points I personally like in !Rhaegarlives! fics too ;) So your Rhaenys/Robb idea totally made me keep Rhaenys alive. She was initially going to die in this chapter, but I read "the false dragon and the young wolf" on AO3 by lilac-winter (octothropes) since I wanted to see what Robb x Rhaenys looked like, and I loved it!
Tor - I appreciate your opinion. thanks for giving the story a try!
Val-Creative - Aww thank you so much! I'm blushing at the praise :$)
Please review!