A/N: Hi y'all. Some big stuff in this chapter :D

Very good news! I have become the lead co-author for the story Last Hope of Westeros (on archive, though there is a version posted here). The original author and co-author were unable to continue on it, so instead of letting it be abandoned they passed the torch to me. Another outlet for my talents, so come on down and check it out!

I PASSED THE TEXAS STATE BAR EXAM! I am officially a lawyer in the State of Texas!

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 5: An Indecent Proposal

Winter trotting out of the woods, Lyanna was in a daze. Mind clouded with thoughts of the man she had seen in the clearing, only coherent thought through the verses of the song replaying in her mind being that of getting out of the woods ahead of him. Not any man… Rhaegar Targaryen. The Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

Prince Daemon… my Prince Daemon.

Everything spun as Lyanna rode into the tourney grounds, head throbbing and her body shuddering from what she had witnessed. Is it possible to fall in love with someone just hearing him sing? Lyanna shook her head. No, it was impossible. She had been so angry, so terrified at the prospect of marrying that oaf Robert Baratheon, she would be entranced by any decent-looking man. Especially if he was tall, handsome, serene... beautiful… breathtaking...

Gods, Lyanna, you have it bad.

She hadn't even met him, and yet the daughter of Winterfell couldn't get the Crown Prince out of her mind.

"...looks barely bigger than an Imp!" Lyanna stopped in her tracks, hearing a grunt of pain.

"Cunt's sure weak enough to be one of 'em!" Shouts and yelling were common on the tourney grounds, enough to cause most to tune every loud noise out. But these voices were so… hostile, it caught the she-wolf's attention. Dismounting Winter with a trained ease, she quickly tied her to a post and crept around a storage tent. Peeking across the corner to where the sounds were coming from.

Three burly young men, each at least five ten but no older than Lyanna herself, were surrounding a smaller figure that had been knocked to the ground - small of stature but with a rather nimble strength about him. He tried to scramble for a three-pronged spear laying in the dirt, but a kick to his face sent him sprawling back. Lizard-lion sigil on his leather gambeson visible to her. House Reed. "Stay down, motherfucker!"

"I am the Lord of Greywater Watch…!" the small-statured man yelled only to get another kick. This time in the gut.

Lyanna recognized him now. Howland Reed, one of her father's bannermen and the Lord of the crannogmen in the Neck. He had been a rather quiet one during the journey south, but Lyanna had thought well of him.

"'I am the lord of Greywater Watch…'" mocked one of the boys in a bad falsetto, clearly the leader of the gang. "I squire for Waldron Frey, and he's told me all about you mud people. Little better than wildlings." Another kick followed while Lyanna's blood boiled. Of course the Freys would employ dirtbags.

Laughs came from the other two boys. "Ser Boros says they like to toss dwarves at pins like with bowling." The squire leered at the moaning Howland. "Why don't we try the same with him?" His comrades seemed to agree with the idea.

At this, Lyanna couldn't take it anymore. She had always been one to stand against cruelty - several Wintertown boys with their teeth knocked in for groping the washerwomen could attest to that - and the honor of a Northern Lord at stake only served to further convince her. "Hey!" The three squires stilled, looking to her with a mild irritation at being interrupted. "Stop it!"

"Piss off, cunt!" the Frey squire hissed. They moved to kick Howland yet again.

Drawing her sword, the sound of steel scraping against the scabbard drew their full attention. "I said, stop it."

"Don't want to get yer' dress in a twist," laughed the third squire, pitchfork-emblazoned shield strung across his back. House Haigh.

Lyanna narrowed her eyes, standing tall. "Does it make you feel like men to pummel someone smaller than you? Tired of getting black eyes and losing teeth from the boys your own size?"

The Frey squire sneered, leading his comrades to abandon Lord Howland in the dirt. "What part of piss off do you not understand, bitch?"

A deep laugh left Lyanna's lips. "Bitch and cunt. You must get a lot of attention from the women with that talk." She grinned, enjoying how she was riling them up. None of them recognized her. Good. That just made it all the more fun. "I take you keep your coin purses full when trying to fuck."

Only the Blount squire seemed to understand the insult, flushing red like a tomato. "You'll pay for that, cunt!" drawing his sword and charging. Blade high, chopping wildly, it didn't take much effort for Lyanna to knock it to the side and ram the pommel of hers into the squire's gut. A kick to the shin sending him to the ground.

Right behind came the pitchfork squire, but his comrade fallen caused him to hesitate… a perfect opening for Lyanna to smash her elbow into the boy's face. Blood spurting from a broken nose as he howled in pain. "Is that the best you can do?" she mocked, scoffing. "A girl of ten and seven knocking you on your ass?"

Unlike his friends, the Frey squire darted in, feet quick yet in a firm stance. Such were his only attributes, blows as sloppy as the others. Trained by the best fighters among the Winterfell guards, not to mention her own brothers, Lyanna parried the first strike - blade twirling in her wrist to knock it out of his hand. Sword clattering on the ground. He moved to grab it, only for Lyanna to punch him in the jaw.

Up came the first boy, arms wrapping around her. Breath hot on his ear as his hands moved to grope her breasts. "Yer' mine, whore," he hissed.

Seeing red, Lyanna let out all of her anger and rage on the little cunt. Elbow ramming into his gut, she spun around and kneed him in the stones. Grunting in pain, she uppercut right into his lower jaw, teeth fountianing into the dirt.

The Frey squire moved for his sword, but Lyanna mock lunged with hers. "I'll keep this blade, thank you." She lunged again. "Run!" The two boys grabbed their moaning comrade, dragging him out as they booked it out of there. Leaving a rather proud Lyanna to strut about the field.

Watching the whole thing with mouth agape, Howland Reed tried to stand only for the ache in his stomach to bring him down again. "Seven hells," he cursed through gritted teeth - pushing back up onto his knees. This time, a hand was offered to steady him. Bringing the crannogman face to face with the gorgeous face of his savior. "Thank you, Lady Stark."

She smiled warmly, high cheekbones, pure white teeth, and dimples making it one of the most beautiful smiles he had seen. "Pish, it was my privilege to take down those fuckers." His widening eyes at her language made her giggle. Most highborn girls never cursed, but she wasn't most girls. "And call me Lyanna, Lord Reed."

"Then call me Howland." He chuckled but it changed into a grimace. "Sorry, it hurts to laugh."

"Let's get you to a maester, and a cup of the finest ale. My treat." Draping Howland's arm around her shoulder, she helped him to her waiting horse.

All unbeknownst to the silver-haired Prince that had watched the entire thing from the treeline.


"You have to be japing me, my Prince?" The Sword of the Morning's lips were pressed together, as if struggling not to grin.

The Crown Prince's eyes narrowed, glaring at his Kingsguard and friend. "If I would jape to you, Arthur, would this be what I would use?"

Arthur Dayne thought for a moment, then nodded. "No, I suppose not." The two of them walked through the halls of the great castle, journeying towards his father's chambers. Except for a few servants that they dropped their voices to a whisper around, this wing of Harrenhal was empty. "I heard that the ladies of the North could be a wild bunch, but to take on three burly squires… and to be your bride, no less?"

"Quiet," Rhaegar hissed. "Do you want everyone and their mother to hear you?" The Prince had been the only child in the Red Keep during his youth - the last child of House Targaryen it was said, given the extinction of all other lines due to illness or war and his mother's frequent miscarriages. Aerys isolating him for so long, by the time Viserys was born Rhaegar was ten and seven and approaching marriageable age. Thus, it was only when the young Arthur Dayne arrived at the Red Keep to win the King's Tourney did Rhaegar have a close friend he could call his own. While he was on good terms with the entire Kingsguard, he and Arthur were thick as thieves. His most trusted council along with Rhaella and Elia. "I saw it with my own eyes and still can't believe it - she was good, Arthur. In need of some refinement but very, very good."

"I'd like to see her compete against some real opponents, but I'll take your word for it, my Prince." Arthur looked him over from underneath his helmet, as if searching for something. "Are you… pleased with your new bride?"

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar envisioned the raven-haired Lyanna Stark. Fluid movements with sword in hand. The way her dress clung to her willowy yet toned frame. Her raven hair shimmering in the sunlight. No woman, not even Elia - though she had come a close second - had ever enamored him so easily as the she-wolf of Winterfell… and he hadn't even said a single word to her. And yet in the hours since his quick glimpse, Rhaegar couldn't get his mind off of the woman that would be his second bride.

"She… intrigues me, Arthur."

Rhaegar could almost feel the Kingsguard frowning underneath his helmet. "I'm sure you could tell me more."

Arriving at the entrance to his father's chambers, Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan bowed at their Prince. "I'm sure I could, Arthur." Winking at his friend, Rhaegar entered through the door with a grin.

A grin that promptly fell as he found his father sitting alone in his chair, staring out at the God's Eye from the window. Completely on the other side of the mammoth chambers, his mother was reading a tale to his baby brother. "Rhae!" Silver curls bouncing atop his shoulders, Viserys ran over to him.

Wanting to laugh in joy but restraining himself - out of the three of them, he was the most likely to set his father off - Rhaegar instead picked up his brother. Growing body as light as a feather to him. "Good afternoon, my Prince," he smiled. "What have you been up to?"

"Muna is reading about the Conquest." Viserys chirped excitedly, always did when learning about the history of their family. Rhaegar himself remembered sitting on his mother's lap, thinking with childlike wonder of the dragons and dragonriders of old. "I can't wait till the Field of fire!"

Rhaegar frowned for a moment. Why, father, why? His mother always steered him towards the love stories and tales of great statesmanship until he was old enough to understand the perils of violence - Aerys was clearly imposing his own view of their history on his brother. "Alright, dear Prince," Rhaella cooed. "How about I take you for a pastry for being such a good boy?" Leaning in to kiss her eldest son on the cheek, afterwards she whispered in his ear. "He received a raven from Casterly Rock."

The warning was well noted, the Crown Prince waiting for his mother and brother to leave before approaching his father. Not willing to antagonize or irk, he bent the knee. "You summoned me, your Grace?"

While Aerys wished for full formalities to be observed to him, he didn't reciprocate. "Rhaegar, good." He turned his chair around, manic grin on his face. "Did you hear what that pompous kitty cat told me?"

"I have not, father."

"He says he's 'ill' and cannot make it to my tourney. Sending his cunt of a daughter instead, as his 'representative.'" Aerys snarled. "Fucking Tywin, sending a woman to represent himself to me as if he thinks women are worth anything. That insect knows exactly how to piss me off."

Why does it have to be Cersei? It wasn't as if Rhaegar hated her, but the way she threw herself at him did put the Prince off. "I do not think Lord Tywin will react well when she tells him of your decision, your Grace."

Aerys whistled. "I should fucking hope so. The only thing I regret is not seeing the look on that fucker's face. Him and that Baratheon shit. Why father married Rhaelle to his dolt of a grandfather is beyond me." The King's eyes blazed with anger. "All Dunk's fault. If he only acted like a damn man and not some weak woman… 'Oh father, I love this common harlot. Release me from my birthright…'" It wasn't the first time Aerys mocked his dead older brother in that manner. "The gods did right that night in Summerhall. Dunk got what was coming to him and I got my heir." He smacked Rhaegar on the back.

Rhaegar wanted to vomit - but he had to play along. "I have no doubt, your Grace." He thought of what he could do to mitigate the damage. "Should I bring Lord Stark and his family to have lunch with your Grace and muna?"

"Don't worry about that. I'm planning on inviting them to the King's table at the feast tonight. Nothing but the best for the family of the new Princess." His smile was wide and largely jovial…

Rhaegar didn't believe it for a second. Father, please don't do anything reckless.

He may as well have asked water not to be wet.


Fingers jerking and twisting, Lyanna had enough at the third time Dacey yanked at her hair. "Seven hells, it's my hair, not a bloody longship rope. Be gentle."

Suppressing the laughs that were leaving her lips, Dacey completely failed. "I can't help it, Lya. Just thinking of how those dumb fuckers must've felt realizing they got their asses handed to them by a beautiful maiden…" She dissolved into laughter again, though managing to finish off Lyanna's hair rather well. Sighing, Lyanna did have to admit that having a lady in waiting who could both spar with her and polish a perfect traditional northern double braid was a good thing. "I wish I had seen it! You go girl."

Lyanna couldn't help but chuckle as well. "I was just… ugh I needed to burn off some anger and those cunts were right there, beating up on poor Howland."

The she-bear only scoffed angrily. "You had every right to want to vent with your sword." Putting the finishing touches on her chestnut braids, Dacey fumed. "Robert fucking Baratheon. What gives him the fucking right to disrespect you like that. Scuffing your precious book and then hiring two… two whores? At least when Aegon the Conqueror laid two women he married them first."

Snorting, Lyanna thanked Dacey for her blunt attitude. No one else was privy to what had transpired between her and Robert, or what she had seen afterwards. "Father wants this alliance… he'd have forced Brandon to marry Catelyn Tully even if they weren't enamored with each other." At least that was according to her brother. She hadn't even met her yet. "And Ned and Robert are so close…"

"Your brother may be many wonderful things, Lya, but he's a northern fool. Too naive." She and Ned had hit it off at the Twins - there wasn't a romantic spark, but an easy friendship had been built. Nevertheless, Dacey spoke true. "I think he'll back you up if you decided to beg Lord Stark to cancel the betrothal."

Blinking back a tear, Lyanna stood. Looking herself over in the mirror, smoothing out any creases in the fancy northern dress and perfect braids. I do look good. Perhaps I shall catch the Prince's eye… Gods, she couldn't get Rhaegar out of her head. The way his voice wafted out the love song, his hair shimmering in the light of the sun… She felt heat in her core at the thought of it. But just as she opened her mouth to tell Dacey about it the door knocked. "Come on, lazy!" It was Brandon, blunt as always. "Let's get a move on!"

"Fuck off!" Dacey shouted back. "But I do think we should go. His Grace is waiting." Lyanna only nodded.

It was said that upon the completion of the great hall of Harrenhal, Harren the Black proclaimed that he could dine all the lords of Westeros within. While Aegon the Conqueror ended the man rather easily, it looked to Lyanna that such a boast had been grounded. Taking her father's arm as her escort for the night, she could only gape at the immense stained glass windows, giant rib vaults, and the intricate starry night mosaic plastered atop the coffered ceiling. It may have bled the Riverlands dry till they chose Aegon over Harren, but it was certainly beautiful. Nothing like the drab simplicity of Winterfell - she did love her home, but a beauty it was not. Yet it seemed only Lyanna cared to marvel at it, though Ned did glance up once or twice as he served as Dacey's escort. Everyone around was too enamored with the plentiful food and flowing drink. While not the boisterous near-fights that northern feasts were, Lyanna could still feel the merriment.

It took mere minutes for her father to be locked into conversation with Lord Arryn and… Lord Tyrell if Lyanna could place the rather pompous man's colors correctly. Yet - out of place in her rather muted outfits compared to all the southern finery - she was glad that Ned, Brandon, and Dacey formed a solid phalanx with her against anything that may have come. Just a group of northerners stuck in the great hall with nearly all of Westeros' nobility, she wondered if anyone would end up approaching…

"Bran!" Even with the cacophony, Lyanna did nearly jump out of her skin as a striking redhead ran between the tables, leaping into Brandon's arms. "Gods, I'm overjoyed to see you again." The woman kissed him rather passionately before breaking away, waiting to be introduced.

Brandon, grinning like an idiot, motioned to the new arrival. "Everyone, this is Catelyn Tully. Dear Cat, this is my brother Ned, sister Lyanna, and her lady Dacey Mormont." Lyanna blinked, chiding herself for not putting it together. You're too fixated on the Prince. Smiling, she leaned in to hug her future goodsister.

The greetings passed like a blur, two others joining them - introduced as Catelyn's younger sister Lysa and the Tully ward Petyr Baelish. While Catelyn grew on her due to her apparent adoration of Brandon, the other two were… Lysa seemed jealous and slightly mad, while Baelish was a snake. Lyanna hated him from the moment his clammy hand touched hers, especially how he constantly undressed Catelyn with his eyes.

Brandon was oblivious to this, or if he noticed he didn't say anything - one advantage of his prime self-confidence. "Littlefinger!" Lyanna suppressed a snicker at Baelish's nickname. A gold dragon for how that name came to be. "I heard you nearly got your ass handed to you by Victarion Greyjoy."

Littlefinger flashed everyone a wide, toothy smile. "A large boor, I'm afraid the Lord of Pyke's brother is. Not as salty as Balon or crafty as Euron. But boors can be dealt with if one has a silver tongue." From how his smile shined on all the ladies, Lya wished that the Greyjoy brute had beaten him into a coma.

A finger tapping on her shoulder drew Lyanna out of her rather interesting discussion with Catelyn over the vacancy of the Master of Laws. Turning, she came face to face with the man she did not want to see. "My dear Lyanna." Robert smelled of alcohol already, but other than that was rather dashing in his doublet and silk trousers. "Ned, I don't think you'd put up a fuss if I danced with the Lady here?"

Ned shrugged, Brandon laughing beside him. "Go ahead, Robert. I'd be insulted if you didn't dance with her."

Waggling his eyebrows, the stag offered his hand. "Shall we?" Eyes flickering between a murderous gaze at Ned and a pleading look at Dacey, Lyanna realized she was not getting out of this. Plastering a fake smile on her face, she took the proffered hand - barely even yelping as she was whisked to the dance floor.

The tune was a rather serene one, though fast enough so that she wouldn't have to be too close to Robert. "You're a good dancer," Lyanna commented, praying this would end soon.

Robert scoffed. "Jon Arryn taught me and Ned. He loved it, but this shit is borin' to me. Give me swordplay any day." Lyanna fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Now, at our weddin', I won't mind dancin' with you." His speech was slurred, though he didn't miss a step.

"I should hope our wedding would be in the Winterfell Godswood." A dream of hers from the beginning, to marry before the Weirwood tree.

"That may be a problem, sweet Lyanna." Roberts' grin looked like he had passed gas. "Cause after this tourney I intend to take you to Storm's End as soon as possible." The She-Wolf bit her cheek to keep from screaming.

Thankfully - though Lyanna was probably the only one who thought so - the song was cut off by the trumpeting heralds. "Presenting!" boomed one of the royal servants. "His Grace, Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of his Name! King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men!

Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" All present bent the knee as the royal family strode in surrounded by their guards. Aerys in the front, followed by the Queen - behind were both Princes, rounding it out. Combined with the two young children in the Red Keep, the last of House Targaryen in all their glory.

"Well, looks like the dance is over, my sweet Lyanna." Robert seemed put out, while Lyanna hid how relieved she was while they went back to their tables. "Until next time, dear intended." She wanted to spit in his drunken face.

As the King took his seat at the center of the table, Lyanna's eyes were drawn not to him but to the man two spots to the left - seated right next to Queen Rhaella. My Prince Daemon… If anything, Rhaegar Targaryen looked even more handsome that night. Doublet of fine silk showing off his taut frame, long mane of silver hair pulled up into a bun. Lyanna wanted to pull it out of that bun and run her fingers through it… She looked away, blushing red. Gods, Lya, what's wrong with you? Gushing like a lovestruck girl barely after her first moonblood over the handsome knights in the Winterfell courtyard.

Little did she notice the Crown Prince's violet orbs finding her among the other revalers. Nor did she hear the King rise from his seat and speak until halfway through his announcement. "...to truly welcome our Northern guests for leaving their ice gar…" Lyanna watched as both the Prince and the Queen cleared their throats. A flash of something appeared in Aerys' piercing gaze, but he seemed to relax a split second later. "Homeland to celebrate my beloved heir's nameday, I invite them to dine at the royal table next to myself."

Blinking, slightly shocked at the honor, Lyanna rose with the other surprised and stunned faces of her brothers and father - though he hid it well. Walking towards the King's table, her gaze drifted from the smug leer of the King to the stare of the Prince. Their eyes meeting at long last, though both looked away after a mere moment. Lyanna resolved to take the place farthest from Prince Rhaegar at the table.


Lord and Lady Whent had spared no expense for the courses in front of them. Whole roasted boar, honey-glazed pork belly, chicken and quail braised with herbs, pigeon pie, lamb stew with imported rice from Essos, thick grain soup, oven-fresh breads, platters of ripe fruit, and countless pastries. Everyone happily stuffed their faces, drowning down the scrumptious delicacies with gallons of wine and ale, as well as a new drink from the Vale known as 'whiskey.' Lord Baratheon had already guzzled down plenty of it, though it didn't slow him down. Servants constantly brought in more and more, replenishing the dishes of the various lords, knights, and ladies nestled within the great hall.

As always, the royal table secured the highest amount of attention from the servants - even in spite of Lord Whent being forced to sit elsewhere to accommodate the Starks. The plates of each man and woman seated there were always full as a result. Though for Rhaegar, nothing had been topped off or refilled. Brooding frown planted on his face, he merely picked at the chicken leg and helping of stew in front of him, the only fully-eaten morsel being the apple core resting off to the side.

A fleck of pork landed on his hand, currently resting unused on the table. Rhaegar glanced to his left, finding young Viserys attacking his food with gusto. "Sweetling," he chided good naturedly. "Slow yourself."

"But this is how a dragon eats," chirped the boy, grabbing a thick slab of pork belly and scarfing it down. Mumbling something unintelligible.

Laughing at how adorable his little brother was, Rhaegar simply tousled Viserys' silver locks - earning a groan from the young Prince. "That may be, but flying dragons aren't Princes of House Targaryen. Use your knife and fork and don't eat more than you can chew.

Once he swallowed his morsel, Viserys gulped and nodded. "Sorry." That earned another tousle of the hair. Even being watched by the collected Lords and Ladies of the realm, there was still a few moments where they could be a family. Given what his father was going to do at the tourney, Rhaegar cherished these few and far between moments.

To his right, Rhaella was peering at the both of them with a knowing smirk. "You could use some of Viserys' eating habits, my son."

"Muna…"

"Don't 'muna' me, young man," she whispered, kind but firm. "No matter how old you are, I am your mother. And I will not let you go hungry, now eat."

Groaning quietly, hoping none of the vultures before him saw their Crown Prince chided by his own mother, Rhaegar nonetheless took the chicken leg and started working his way through it. Even though it tasted divine, once swallowed it felt like the acid was about to eat his way through his stomach. "Father seems happy, for once." Sure enough, Aerys was slowly eating his plate, serene smile on his face the whole time. For a recluse who had less of an appetite than Rhaegar did at the moment, it was… odd.

Suspicious.

Rhaella's voice dropped into an even lighter whisper. "He's imagining how the news will upset the apple cart. Especially with the Baratheons."

Rhaegar wanted to bang his head on the table. They're not my favorite either, but… If the King wanted to go around Tywin, why do it in a way that would give him a natural ally in Lord Robert. The oaf was already on his fifth cup of whiskey, unable to hide his open and wanton gaze upon the occupant of the far-righthand seat at the table.

The Starks were enjoying themselves. Lord Rickard lost in conversation with Arthur and Barristan, while Brandon and Eddard spoke with a beautiful redhead leaning over the table, giving the Stark heir googly eyes - Catelyn Tully. And then there was Lyanna.

Never had he seen someone so beautiful. Wild chestnut locks, lithe body, fair face… and a fiery strength to back it up. Only Elia could compare, but the both of them were so very different that such a comparison was unfair. Looking away before the alone, quiet woman could see him, the Crown Prince took a sip of wine to contain his nerves.

Am I truly falling for her? Rhaegar shook his head, clearing out his mind. Don't be a dolt, you can't afford to be sentimental. Yet one look at Lyanna Stark made such resolve crumble into dust.

But when the King stood, all fell silent. Revelry of even the drunkest ceasing in an instant. "Lords and Ladies," Aerys began, voice even and the epitome of polite grace covering his expression. He looked like the great Targaryen King he had been early in his reign. "I thank you for arriving to celebrate my heir's nameday. My son, Rhaegar Targaryen." Aerys glanced at Rhaegar, and the Prince felt at that moment as if his father truly loved him - inwardly, there was a deep suspicion, but he forced a genial smile on his face. "A toast to him, the Young Dragon reborn."

"Here here!" cheered the crowd. Rhaegar could hear Robert's booming voice above the others, but also the feminine lilt of the Lady Lyanna. Though he hadn't ever heard her speak, somehow he knew it was hers.

Aerys continued, the munificent expression still exposed to all. "Special thanks not only to Lord and Lady Whent for their delightful hospitality, but also to the honorable Lord Stark and his charming family." Rickard nodded politely to the clapping of the crowd, Brandon eating it up, while Eddard and Lyanna seemed to wish to melt into the walls. Rhaegar didn't know about Eddard, but he felt that the she-wolf wasn't normally like this… wait… is it me? He shook his head - no, of course not. "While I am grateful that Lord Tyrell, Lord Arryn, Lord Tully, and Lord Baratheon have arrived to represent their kingdoms tonight, for the Warden of the North to break their normal isolation… it is an honor for House Targaryen." It was subtle, but those who knew the King noticed the slight glint in his violet eyes. "I'm reminded of the last time House Stark truly ventured south into the game of thrones. It was during the Dance of Dragons."

Rhaegar fought to keep his jaw from dropping. Now?! He's doing it now?! One glance at his mother found her just as shocked and worried. Father, please no…

"You do remember, Lord Stark?" Aerys asked his guest, Rickard's confusion at the topic delighting him greatly. All that was missing was Lord Tywin and his cunt daughter to watch the auctioning off of the Lady Lyanna… or was it Rhaegar he was auctioning off? Either way, this was the most fun he had since mutilating and burning alive Lady Darklyn several years back. "What happened then?"

Furrowing his brow, unsure of where his King was going with this, Rickard nonetheless spoke up. "Well, your Grace, my ancestor the Lord Cregan Stark signed a pact of support for Queen Rhaenrya Targaryen, the rightful heir to Viserys I - the namesake of your young son, sire." Little Viserys beamed at the praise of such a high Lord, while Aerys scowled for a split second before the regal smile returned.

"Ah yes, House Stark shaking off its isolation to defend the realm against traitors and usurpers in favor of the rightful ruler." Rhaegar wanted to facepalm himself, and could tell Rhaella was suppressing a groan. Aerys hated both Rhaenyra and Aegon… hells, he hated everyone in the family not named Maegor. His duplicity for the sake of both amusement and to satiate his delusions only insulted the Prince's intelligence - and he was forced to nod in agreement nonetheless. "To do so, they agreed to the Pact of Ice and Fire, where House Stark and House Targaryen would be joined before the gods in marriage. Now, where the realm is under siege from traitors yet again, I can't help but think of this pact once more."

It took every bit of courage and fortitude inside him not to let his head smack upon the table with a groan. Why… why… why must he do this here? Why? But he knew the answer. His mother knew the answer. Every single person that understood how Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name, operated. He thrived on the mind games - on watching the dance of a person who found a wasp's nest suddenly dropped on them.

As Rhaegar guessed, the King did nothing to hide his amusement at this point. "It strikes me as odd that this Pact has never been consummated. House Targaryen doesn't take pacts made by sworn oaths lightly, for that's the realm of other illustrious houses." A glance to his right found the Starks just staring at him. Completely clueless. Oh boy, this will be fun. "Therefore, I intend to rectify this injustice by personally announcing the betrothal of my son and heir, Prince Rhaegar, to the Lady Lyanna of House Stark. If it was good enough for Aegon the Conqueror to have two brides, then why not my own seed?" And only to look back and watch the reactions.

One could hear a pin drop in the great hall of Harrenhal. No one moved, no one breathed, not even a fly adding its irritating buzz to break the quiet. Biting his tongue, Rhaegar braved the line of fire to glance to his right. His mother was silent, sitting straight and trying to rise above it all. Lord Stark was totally stunned, mouth gaping at the announcement. His son Brandon seemed to try and choke down the gulp of wine he had taken, while his second son Ned was white as a sheet. Not daring to meet eyes with Lyanna - his betrothed by royal decree - again, Rhaegar found Robert in the crowd, his face purple with rage. Oh beautiful…

"A toast to Rhaegar and Lyanna," the King announced, not bothering to hide the dark smirk on his face. He lifted his goblet, forcing all the lords and ladies present to do so as well.

No one noticed Lyanna in the corner of the table. Look of shock slowly transforming into the smallest of smiles.

A/N: Aerys you magnificent bastard! XD

And so the Knight of the Laughing Tree is born. That was fun to write. Rhaegar is smitten, but he won't have the same moment Lyanna did when seeing him sing for a little bit.

Remember Aerys' hatred of his older brother (Jaehaerys II doesn't exist here; Aerys and Rhaella are Aegon V's children). It's gonna be big.

Hope I introduced Catelyn and Littlefinger well. It's fun writing their young selves.

Next up, the reactions. Enjoy :D