A/N: Thanks for all the kind support, everyone!

I know a lot of the story is moving fast and glosses over some political factors, but we're dealing with a week-long tourney first. The politics will rear their ugly head soon.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 7: Repercussions

"My Lords, If we may…"

"Silence, Rhaegar," Aerys said curtly, waving him off. "I'll handle this." He leaned forward, hands on his chin - an almost gleeful smile planted on his face. It wasn't just the announcement that pleased him. Rhaegar could tell he was just itching to see which Lord or religious figure first talked themselves into an execution for treason. "Tell me, my Lords. Repeat it again, why is this betrothal such an issue?"

In front, swaddled in their flowing silks or simple armor were several lords of Dorne. Representing the interests of Prince Doran in his absence. Princess Elia was one of them and rather well-liked in her homeland, and a slight to her honor was a slight on all of Dorne. "If I may, your Grace," stated Ormond Yronwood, one of the most powerful Lords and leader of the assemblage. "It is a grievous insult to Dorne to set the Princess Elia aside for another bride."

If Aerys saw this as treason, he did not show it. "I don't see an insult. No one said that the Princess would be set aside."

"If you mean for the Prince to take two wives as King Maegor, such cheapened the reputation of each bride," Lord Oller piped up, a thin, reedy man. Rhaegar wished he could sink into the furniture. He personally saw nothing wrong with what Maegor did in the beginning, but the idea that either Elia or the beautiful she-wolf that haunted his dreams would be cheapened made the Prince disgusted with himself.

His father on the other hand had no shame. "Maegor gave each wife of his the honor of continuing to grace his bed, even after they failed him," hissed Aerys, causing Oller to flinch. Laughing, he turned to Yronwood. "If either Prince Martell has an issue, they can come and tell me personally. But they would be wrong because Elia belongs to me now." Rhaegar wanted to punch his father for his arrogance, but stayed silent. It would only make things worse. "She is a member of House Targaryen, and so will Lady Stark before too long."

"Bigamy is against the will of the Seven!" All eyes turned to the young Septon of Harrenhal. A young firebrand, rather handsome with a chiseled chin and brilliant blonde hair - Rhaegar thought the young maidens of his village cried when he devoted himself to the Faith - burned with devotion to the gods of the Andals. "The Prince will burn if he allows himself to take another bride!"

Rather than order Gerold or Arthur to behead the firebrand, Aerys erupted into laughter. "Rhaegar is a dragon. Dragon's don't burn you pompous fool!" More laughs, even Rhaegar and some of the Dornish joining in. The Faith wasn't popular in Targaryen circles. Aerys didn't care, while Rhaegar had his own spirituality he kept in the privacy of his chambers. Not wise to antagonize them, however. "The High Septon can kiss my ass if he thinks his child-buggering self can meddle in my affairs."

The Septon continued to stare down the King, the chances of someone losing their head only increasing. "Perhaps we should confer with the High Septon personally about this matter," Rhaegar interjected, calming down the simmering tensions. "Have you spoke with Prince Doran or Prince Oberyn, Lord Ormond?"

As Lord Yronwood continued to prattle on about propriety and the need to follow the will of the gods - not that it didn't stop him, given the prevalence of various knights in his keep named Sand - a servant snuck in through one of the side doors. Rhaegar noticed him out of the corner of his eye, one of his father's 'favorites.' As such he snuck past the kingsguards and approached the King, whispering something into his father's ear. The frown turned into a look of interest and then into a wide smile. "Good, oh most good," Aerys exclaimed, interrupting Yronwood. "Tell him to deliver them to my chambers and hold them under guard." The servant bowed and darted out.

Rhaegar leaned in to his father. "Is something the matter, your Grace?"

Aerys blinked and turned to his son, as if in the moment he had completely forgotten about everything. "Oh, my son…" The King glanced at the Lords. "Umm… take care of this. I have pressing matters to attend to." Standing, all in the room fell to one knee. Gesturing dismissively to them, Aerys made his way out with Ser Gerold and Ser Jonothor following.

The Crown Prince saw his chance to end this. "Lords of Dorne, I understand your concerns over the Princess Elia, but the succession rights of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys will not change. I fully intend to continue my lifelong commitment to the Princess Elia."

"Such a marriage disrespects the gods!" proclaimed the septon. His ire was raised while the Dornish were… somewhat placated by his earnestness. "The Faith will not permit it!"

"The Faith permitted both the Pact of Ice and Fire - a pact both blessed by the Most Devout and the High Septon at the time - and the Doctrine of Exceptionalism," hissed Connington, proving his appointment as Hand did not cause a loss in skill from Tywin. "His Grace Prince Rhaegar is a Valyrian, the Last Dragon, and is therefore not under the domain of the laws of the Andals."

Bristling, the Septon pointed an accusatory finger at Rhaegar. "You have no dragons anymore. Be wary of what you seek… my Prince." With a huff, he left.

Milling about, uncomfortable at the turn of events, the Dornish Lords didn't hesitate to flee once Rhaegar dismissed him. The Prince wanting a stiff drink as he rubbed his temples. "I don't anticipate a problem with Dorne until my dear goodbrothers get involved."

"No, the Dornish have been… rather lax in their morals," Connington chuckled, eyes growing wistful - as if remembering something fond from his memories. "The Martells' ire will be personal, but the Faith is another matter entirely. I shall see to it that the septon has an accident."

Rhaegar shook his head. "That would just cause more headaches. Notify Varys and your contacts in Oldtown to bribe the High Septon. A man that doesn't want his predilection for boys under the age of ten would likely proclaim visions of leaving House Targaryen alone if the price is right." Connington nodded, slightly proud of his normally straight-laced friend for his cunning. "Anything else?"

A sigh from the Hand of the King. "Well, Rhaegar… your mother is currently meeting with Rickard Stark to negotiate the bride price for the Lady Lyanna." Connington's nose wrinkled in distaste.

Burying his face in his palm, running it down his face, Rhaegar felt his head pounding. "I'm going to get that drink now."


The council room was ornate. House Whent was a very wealthy house, it's Lord soaring no expense. Lushly decorated with the finest Myrish rugs, ironwood paneling, and crystal chandeliers, Rickard Stark could just imagine Harren the Black sitting in the finery, imagining himself the King of all he surveyed before Aegon the Conqueror burned him alive. Winterfell was never even close to approach something like this, and while his spartan northern sensibilities rebelled at the thought it didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it.

While he was one with rather southern tastes in his love of life, Brandon didn't have the same sense of appreciation. Instead, he was rather irritated. "Where are they?" His feet tapped anxiously on the carpet below, stomping upon the intricate flower designs. "I bet the Mad King is making us wait. Yank our chain."

Rickard glared at his heir. "Hush!" Brandon was impetuous and hotheaded, but such was unacceptable. "You must not speak like that here!"

Fortunately, Brandon was summarily chastised. "Forgive me, father. The last day has been… quite harried on my emotions. This betrothal out of nowhere, and Lord Baratheon…" His fists clenched in a suppressed fury. "I still wish I could strangle the cunt."

While the heir was a fire mountain, the Lord more approached a slowly creeping sheet of ice that ended up tearing apart whole boulders. "That was a… mistake on my part." Ned punished himself for the oversight, but Rickard knew it was he that bore the real blame for the misguided betrothal. "I should have been more tactful in the betrothal negotiations."

Shaking his head furiously, Brandon placed his hand on his father's. "Do not blame yourself, and Ned shouldn't blame himself either. This is no one's responsibility but that adulterous pig that forced himself on and then disrespected Lyanna." Such was the way many Lords were - Brandon couldn't excuse some of his behavior either - but Lyanna was his sister and someone precious. A beautiful winter rose. She deserved only the best. Who better than a Targaryen Prince?

"Ned spoke highly of him, but anyone who wouldn't wait for consent will never get my Lyanna," Rickard said firmly. "And that includes Prince Rhaegar." Suddenly the doors opened and in walked Ser Jaime Lannister, resplendent in his shining uniform and brilliant golden hair. The two Starks had just managed to stand when the breathtaking form of Queen Rhaella Targaryen entered, dressed in a form-fitting red gown and wearing her silver hair in a loose bun. "My Queen," Rickard bowed.

The Queen smiled, gesturing for them to take their seats. "Forgive my husband and son, my Lords. They were both tied up by urgent business and requested me to speak with you in their steads." Actually, Aerys had ordered her to do it while Rhaegar was very likely kept in the dark, but Rhaella wasn't about to inform them of such. Probably told me the wrong time in order to make them wait. Aerys loved his mind games.

"It is insulting that Prince Rhaegar doesn't have the balls to face us…"

Rickard elbowed Brandon under the table. "Apologies for my son. He is a man of strong opinions." He smiled apologetically at the Queen.

It was returned. "I fully understand. My family is the same way, and the news of last night undoubtedly were trying for your House." Rickard couldn't help but think well of Rhaella - she was a breath of fresh air that enamored everyone in the room. Even Brandon, as it seemed. "I feel that a bride and a groom should not be involved in betrothal negotiations. It tends to… complicate the development of affection."

Blinking, the Warden of the North could only nod. "You speak with the wisdom of someone double your age, your Grace. My son and I can only hope that my daughter and Prince Rhaegar can make such a connection." One she failed to have with Robert Baratheon. "But, we are not smallfolk that may run away for love. With our power and birth comes a great responsibility, and I hope your Grace isn't offended that I cannot obey the King's decree without concessions." A silent prayer to the old gods that it was Rhaella he now bartered with. Brandon might not see it, but she was far more amenable than the mercurial Aerys. They could speak more bluntly.

"Agreed, and I didn't expect you would." The Queen took a piece of paper from a scribe behind her, pushing it across the table to Rickard. "Lord Mooton of Maidenpool passed recently of old age. The position of Master of Laws is thus vacant. This is a royal decree signed by my husband naming you to that position, and all it requires is your signature." She leaned back in her chair and waited for Rickard's answer.

To say that the Starks were stunned was an understatement. Rickard stared at the paper, reading the words over and over again to make sure of what it said. Brandon had no subtlety, gaping like a fish. "My father… Master of Laws? Part of the Small Council?" It was an honor no Stark had held since Cregan Stark in the early days of Aegon III's reign.

"Such is a great honor, your Grace," Rickard answered honestly, ignoring his son. The Warden of the North wished his heir would learn more tact from him - unlike the more taciturn and cautious Ned, Brandon was rash. Impetuous. One of the reasons Catelyn Tully was a good match. The dutiful and pious members of that house would temper Brandon's fire. "However, there must always be a Stark at Winterfell. I cannot accept on such… short notice."

"Father, what are…" Another elbow in the ribs shut Brandon up.

Rhaella's soft smile didn't fall. If anything, she seemed impressed. "You have a third son in Winterfell, correct?"

"Aye, Benjen, a good lad. Wants to be a knight of the realm." An idea came to mind. "I sought to end the isolation of the North in order to prepare better for winter and improve the North out of the provincial backwater most see it as. Already Hoster Tully of the Riverlands has promised supplies of wood and foodstuffs for the North."

"Something House Targaryen can promise to match double, perhaps triple," Rhaella continued. "For an alliance in perpetuity for the length of my husband and son's reigns on the Iron Throne. We are prepared to even offer a shipload of Myrish glass for your glass gardens. I have heard they are quite lovely."

The Queen had surprised him yet again. Leaning forward, Rickard felt this conversation was going perfectly. "I am truly impressed with your knowledge of the North, your Grace."

Her eyes sparkled. "Only fitting to learn of the land of my future gooddaughter." Yes, things were well on track.


My dearest nephew,

The lines in front of him were in High Valyrian - a particularly ancient form of High Valyrian. Few outside of several Archmaesters in the Citadel and scholars in Meereen could parse the script. Even among House Targaryen, it was an art that had come close to dying after the Dance of Dragons. Viserys II wrote it, as did Daeron II. Aegon V was a particularly fluent expert who taught it to his daughter Rhaella. And Rhaella taught it to Rhaegar, using his skills to converse with the man who had taught grandfather Aegon… Maester Aemon Targaryen at Castle Black.

My unseeing eyes keep me from truly comprehending the words in front of me, but that doesn't mean I don't cherish every letter you send me. Keep family close, my nephew, and I pray that your family doesn't sunder itself as mine or your father's did.

Your predicament is one that would both delight and vex lesser men. Two highborn beauties sharing your bed… even I am jealous…

Rhaegar bit back a chuckle. His great uncle had a way with words - one can never be too old to look or to dream. Aemon gave the best advice, which was why Rhaegar wrote so often. One day I will meet you and free you of your exile to the useless Night's Watch. This he swore on every god he knew.

And yet such unions pose great problems. Visenya grew bitter because though she married Aegon out of duty, she was hurt that he preferred Rhaenys over her. Maegor essentially condemned his brother to be overthrown when he sought a second bride, though I believe most of the anger there was driven by jealousy from the bitter old men within the Most Devout. I hesitate to comment on the particular peril in regards to your father and the current political climate. Your mother, my niece, would be more well versed on that. I can only truly give you proper advice on history and our family.

Rhaegar, you are a dragon. You answer to neither gods nor men, and are recognized as exceptional by even the most zealous members of the Faith. Aegon married both his sisters and didn't look back - the propaganda says different but from the sources of our family Visenya and Rhaenys got along swimmingly, and at the time of Maegor's birth Aegon and Visenya completely reconciled. He was capable of loving more than one and so will you - it is in the dragon's blood. Along with the fighting and the ruling, we are predestined to be masters in the act of love as well.

He was no prude or shy virgin, but coming close to being lectured on the intimate arts by his ancient uncle very nearly turned him into one. Drinking a cup of watered wine to calm his flush, Rhaegar continued to read.

I cannot tell you what to do, but let me elaborate on the same basis of advice I had given you before. Love is the death of duty, but what is duty compared to a beautiful baby in your arms? Compared to two beauties clung to your chest that absolutely adore you? Love… it is of itself its own duty, and those that truly love you would recognize your other duties and assist, not hinder them. From what you told me, Elia is of this and I pray that your Winter Bride is the same.

Heed this, nephew. You'll have happiness as well as greatness.

Your great-uncle.

Aemon Targaryen.

Sighing, Rhaegar refilled his cup - enough to help ease his nerves, but not potent enough to dull his senses. Aemon is more optimistic about Elia than reality. Rhaegar cared deeply for his wife, a far better woman than he deserved. It could be called… love? But his father and both their expectations had strangled any true affection in the crib before it even happened. She would never truly love him, not in the way his uncle spoke of.

Gods hope that Lyanna isn't the same. The girl… she bewitched him with merely a look and a glimpse at her style. She was like no other, a beautiful yet indefatigable northern rose. Rhaegar hoped his mother's negotiations would bear fruit. If the Starks weren't amenable to the marriage, it would be even more loveless than his and Elia's.

A knock on the door interrupted his brooding. "Yes, Ser Arthur?" It could be only one, Rhaegar having given strict instructions not to be disturbed.

"You have a rather important guest seeking an audience, your Grace." The tone was formal - it had to have been quite serious. "The Lady Cersei Lannister."

Yes, very serious indeed. Rhaegar ran a hand through his silver locks, biting back a panicked breath. Stop it, you are a dragon. He took a deep breath and adopted his mask of strength yet polite indifference. "Let her in."

The Lady Cersei Lannister was quite a beautiful woman, bearing the same fair looks as her twin. Lesser men than he would have killed entire villages for the chance to even have one night with a woman such as her, and even Rhaegar had to admit that she would have been an illustrious match. But taking in the arrogant smile and air of almost girlish adoration in her gaze at him, Rhaegar knew why any semblance of this had to be crushed.

His father would kill her - rape her and kill her just to fuck with Tywin. And all she desired was to be Queen. Not him, but to be Queen. Even at their worst, Elia was sincere in wanting to be a proper confidant to him and a mother to their children. Cersei's immature pining was evident in how she bowed an over the top curtsey. "My Prince. I could think of no one I would have rather presented my belated arrival than yourself."

"You flatter me, my Lady," Rhaegar stated without a hint of affection. "Yet you could have done the same while my father and I were holding court."

"Perhaps, but my Lord Father recommended that I instead speak with you." A half lie. Tywin probably had told her to stay away from his father, and Cersei interpreted that to mean see him. The daughter of Casterly Rock had the makings of a power player on the political scene, just not with the subject of her girlish feelings - here she was as obvious as a roaring lion. "I have heard of his Grace's betrothal announcement. It is such a shame to be trapped in yet another marriage you do not want."

Honestly he would have felt that, but even one glimpse of Lyanna had muddled his feelings in that regard. Yet the hopeful gaze in Cersei's eyes, he had to extinguish it. "On the contrary, my Lady, I am quite enamored with my new bride. And she with me." Not a lie as to him, and wishful thinking on her part.

Cersei's smile fell. Hope curdling into a mix of worry and pleading. She had readily accepted to lead the Lannister delegation to the tourney with her father's reluctance to be in the same kingdom as Aerys to not only see her beloved brother but to finally seduce the Prince she loved. Hearing of the betrothal announcement hadn't dampened her resolve, since it seemed clear that Rhaegar didn't want it. But now he seemingly did. "My Prince, you need not let the spat between my father and your father affect things. You will be King…"

"Will be. I am not now - if I marry you, my father would kill you and then disinherit me."

"Just for disobeying…"

"Not just for that. He hates you, hates every Lannister. Ever since your mother spurned his advances so many years ago." Rhaegar didn't want to do this, but he needed Cersei to get out of his hair to keep the peace. "I am to marry the Lady Lyanna and keep Princess Elia."

Cersei felt her plan rapidly collapsing. "My Prince… I love you…"

Gods, spare me these blushing maidens. "You don't, my Lady. You only wish to be Queen. That I blame on your father and I can't fault you for his ambitions." Motioning for Ser Arthur, he gently guided her to the door. "But it will not happen, so I suggest finding someone else. You are a beautiful, desirable catch and I have no doubt you will find someone worthy of you."

"But…"

"Good day, Lady Cersei." He shut the door in her face, hoping to the gods that this would be the end of her meddling.

Staring at the oaken door with pure shock, Cersei just couldn't believe it. For the King to reject the betrothal request solely out of enmity to her father was one thing, for it had nothing to do with her. But for the Prince to point blank reject her to her face… How? How can he choose that weak Martell girl or the… the… Northern girl over me? She was meant to be queen. Raised from birth to be queen. Told by the great Tywin Lannister that she would be queen…

"Best get a move on, my Lady," Ser Oswell stated bluntly. "The Prince has heard your piece already."

Shock turned to anger. "I am the daughter of the Warden of the West! You do not command me!"

The son of the Lord of Harrenhal smiled politely - it was far more condescending than a sneer. "Such is true, but you do not command me either, Lady Lannister. Please find someplace else to loiter or I will summon your brother to do it for me."

Mouth opening to retort, even in her anger Cersei realized that all of this was pointless. Turning, she stormed off, stormcloud crackling atop her head. "Good thing the Prince didn't marry this one," she heard the Sword of the Morning say to Whent, who laughed just as she turned the corner. It only served to stoke Cersei's rage.

So consumed was she in the ire over both Rhaegar's rejection and the insults of the Kingsguard, Cersei didn't realize she was set on a collision course till slamming right into a person turning into the hallway from a different corridor. The man stumbling but staying upright while Cersei toppled back. Crying out from the sharp pain on her backside. "Fuck!"

Regaining his balance, Ned Stark immediately was at the side of the woman he had absentmindedly knocked over. Noticing her fine spun silks, she was clearly a woman of high status. Honorably, he quickly pulled her up by the hand. "Please, forgive my lack of attention my La…" Ned trailed off, tongue tied as he finally caught a glimpse of her face.

The woman in front of him was stunning. Golden hair, honey skin, vibrant green eyes… she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen - and that included the dozens of highborn ladies that had congregated in Harrenhal to find proper intendeds. Opening his mouth, Ned tried to speak but found himself unable to.

Other than a cursory glance at his face, All Cersei could see was the direwolf sigil on the young man's leathers. A Stark! It was as if the gods continued to torture her that day. "Stuff your apology, northern fool!" And with that she disappeared down the corridor, leaving a befuddled Ned Stark staring at her retreating form.


At the second knock on the door, Rhaegar groaned. "Can this girl not take a hint?" he muttered to himself, this time not waiting for Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell to open it for him… Only this time it was not Cersei Lannister. Watched by the shit-eating grins of the two Kingsguards - they greatly enjoyed every latest development of the betrothal that didn't create cause for alarm, especially anything that would result in their Prince's annoyance or embarrassment - there stood Eddard Stark. Trying to appear stern and unyielding, but something was on his mind that didn't involve being here.

Nevertheless, he still bowed. "Your Grace."

Rhaegar nodded respectfully. "Lord Stark." He motioned with his hand. "Please come in." The second son of the Lord of Winterfell had the look of a Stark - almost perfect in that regard. Light brown hair that reached down to brush his shoulders, comely but ruggedly so, and a tough kind of wiry frame. And Rhaegar could tell, Eddard Stark wore his emotions on his sleeve - naturally brooding, but honest.

The Prince liked him already.

"Forgive me for being blunt upon our first words," Ned began, "But I just ran into a rather enraged woman in the corridors not a few minutes ago?"

Blinking, suddenly Rhaegar couldn't help but laugh. "Oh that." He shook his head. "Lady Cersei Lannister. Came to speak to me about a betrothal between us."

Cersei Lannister… The beauty now had a name and a house - quite unattainable for a second son of a backwater, but for the goodbrother to the future King… No, don't jape yourself, Ned. "So that's who she was?" A wary look the Prince's way. "And did you accept?"

"Not in the slightest. I am… happily married to the Princess Elia, and the only other attachment would be to… your sister…" Rhaegar knew he was treading on thin ice, and wanted to make a good impression.

Expression hardening, Ned crossed his arms. "Do I have leave to speak freely, your Grace?"

Rhaegar waved his hand. "We are supposed to end up family, so I would only think less of you if you didn't, Lord Stark. And call me Rhaegar. You are in private and my future goodbrother, so you have leave to."

"Alright." The Prince had a charm about him, one that one couldn't help but like on an almost ordinary level - though the silver hair and stunning Valyrian features branded him as anything but ordinary. "I cannot lie and say the prospect of my sister being the second wife of a man is not concerning to myself and my House."

"Completely fair, Lord Stark…"

"If I am to call you Rhaegar, you may call me Ned."

A smile formed on the dragon's face. "Ned… if I have the honor of marrying the Lady Lyanna, she would be a Princess and Queen on equal footing as the Princess Elia. Targaryens are different from other families, and our blood leaves us quite… passionate with our love."

"As was Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel… at least at first." Ned regarded him with new eyes. He could see what his sister saw, what the singing represented. There wasn't anything underhanded about Rhaegar Targaryen, at least not in his own personality. The man was quite naturally a decent person, same as Lyanna. Knowing now where to look, Ned could tell. "You said 'if I have the honor.' You would seriously refuse your father's orders?"

Sighing, the Prince ran a hand through his hair. "I would hope such an event doesn't occur, but if need be I would never force your sister into a marriage she would not want." Such had essentially occurred with Elia, and Rhaegar was damned if he would do it again. "You have my word as a Targaryen, Ned." He offered his hand.

Ned took the offered hand, squeezing it. The Prince had a strong grip, but didn't show it off by crushing the other as Robert would have - a small but welcome sign. Were the signs all there? "You seem to be a good man, my pri… Rhaegar. But I wouldn't call my judgement of a person the best after the last few days."

"Why is that?" Rhaegar was genuinely curious. This man would be his goodbrother, after all.

"Nothing…" Ned shrugged. "Just that I thought my best friend, Lord Baratheon would be an excellent match. Turns out he was… for House Stark. Not for Lyanna." Grey eyes found Rhaegar, narrowed. "It doesn't matter what I think, or what House Stark thinks. The North hasn't participated in southern politics since the Dance and we really don't need to now that our alliance with the Tullys is going through. I will not support any marriage alliance - not even one with the Targaryen Crown Prince - unless my sister approves."

Regarding the second son of House Stark, Rhaegar felt his respect for the young man only increase. A little naive but that comes with age and pedigree. With the right wife, he should have been the heir to Winterfell. "Frankly, Ned, I wouldn't expect anything else from honorable men."

Tension seeming to wash away, a small grin appeared on Ned's face. "Would you like to meet her?"

"What?" Rhaegar blinked, hoping he'd heard Ned correctly.

"Lyanna seems, taken with you, though she has told me you've never properly met." He wasn't going to betray her secrets, but her feelings for the Prince were obvious enough. "I think that should be rectified."

Rhaegar gulped. "I would very much like that, Lord Stark… if there is no trouble."

Grinning openly, Ned motioned to the door. "That, my Prince, would depend on Lyanna." The dragon and the wolf shared a chuckle before making their way out of the solar.

A/N: I told you I'd be subverting expectations on this story. Gonna make sure they make sense but at this point in the timeline of GoT, the personalities are radically different enough to be able to start over :)

The first smatterings of pushback from the Dornish and the Faith. Expect more from the Dornish in the short term. We'll see more of Elia soon.

Rhaella is smart, and Master of Laws is probably a job well suited for Rickard.

Gotta love Aemon, and we'll see more of Cersei's reasoning. Let's just say that she will be on a different path.

Next up, Rhaegar meets Lyanna and we see more of Baelish ;)