A/N: Reception for this story continues to amaze :D
Lot of discussion about Cersei... fundamentally - as we will see - she isn't the bitter harpy she was in the show. Not yet at least.
Be sure to check out my new collaboration Last Hope For Westeros
Also, there's a new story I read called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest and it's really, really good! Check it out!
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 8: Guess Who's Coming
Household guards clicking their heels in attention as she walked past, Princess Elia Targaryen made sure to offer them sweet smiles. Acknowledging her approval of their diligence. Such was a reason she was quite popular in the capitol, much like how she was popular all over Dorne. She and Oberyn always treated the smallfolk and servants as human beings rather than furniture - though for Oberyn it was at least half-motivated to get under the skirts or into the pants of all of them - while Doran was more circumspect as a highborn was expected to behave.
If Elia cared for how people expected her to behave, she didn't largely care. Frail as she was, she was still a descendent of the Warrior Queen Nymeria, and would make her voice heard. Luckily, Rhaegar was compatible with that, even if their compatibility was frayed in other respects.
But her mind didn't focus on this, or even her usual risks and problems. With Aegon with his nursemaids and Rhaenys at her early lessons, the scroll in her hand needed attending to - and there was only one person she trusted enough to discuss it with.
No one willing to stop or sideline her with the King at Harrenhal, Elia threw open the door to the nondescript bedchambers despite the muffled grunts and moans emanating from within. They only grew once entering, eyes zeroing in on a tangle of sweaty flesh locked in the heat of passion. "Of course I find you here."
A scream left the throat of the pretty blonde chambermaid, eyes flying open to find the Princess staring at her with arms crossed. Mouth open as he emptied inside the warm cunt he had been enjoying, the burly guard turned and gasped. Pulling out and spilling his seed on the sheets, scrambling to find his trousers. After a moment, both hurried out of bed and bent the knee. "Your Grace."
Nodding at them, Elia shifted her gaze to the third person on the bed. "If you expect me to bend the knee, you can just execute me now… your Grace," Ellaria said sarcastically. Here she was, already on her second climax sandwiched between a powerful cock inside her and a beautiful maid to devour, only for her mistress to barge in.
Annoyed, Elia simply waved her hand. Dismissing both the guard and the servant, both of whom fled with all due haste. The Princess turned back to her lady in waiting. "Do you have any discretion? Like, any at all?" she huffed.
Standing, her nude body on full display - growing up in the Water Gardens, Elia was no prude, just private for her own activities - Ellaria walked towards a chest laid out on a table. "Stop being so paranoid, Princess. The King is out of the city, and you have free reign of the castle." Taking a flagon of moon tea from the chest, Ellaria downed it. While she had no compunction sleeping with the smallfolk, only one of noble blood could sire a child in her womb. "My offer still stands on joining me. There are several maidens that would love to have the future queen lick their cunt."
Elia blushed beet red. "That's… no… I am the wife of the Crown Prince. Even the appearance of impropriety could damage me."
An eyebrow rose, the Princess declining in a very… oblique way. Something to consider later. "Your loss," Ellaria shrugged, finally donning a robe - though the silky fabric left nothing to the imagination. "So why are you here interrupting my fun?"
Conversation finally changed, Elia sighed. Holding out the scroll. "It's done."
Brows furrowing in confusion, Ellaria took the dispatch, unfurling it and reading quickly. Her eyes widened almost immediately. "He did it already? His Grace doesn't waste time." She clicked her tongue, nodding. "So should I call you Ceryse Hightower now?"
"Shut up, this is serious… and I did bear Rhaegar children."
"It's said in Dorne that the Citadel and Most Devout used spells to make old Maegor childless, but I digress. It's official, the Prince is to be married again." For once, Ellaria's face twisted in concern. "How do you feel?"
"Honestly…" Plopping onto the bed, not caring that all manner of fluids were likely coating her orange dress, Elia covered her face in her hands. "Fearful. For this Stark girl… for Rhaegar… His Grace will only make them as miserable as he made me. Rhaegar especially, I worry so much for him…"
Ellaria sat next to her. "Because you love him?"
Another huff. "Because he's the father of my children and my friend."
"Friends don't coax those kinds of screams out of you at night… well, at least your friends don't."
Elia scowled. "You're impossible."
"And yet you don't want another lady in waiting." Wrapping an arm around Elia's shoulder, Ellaria comforted her as best she could. "Well, all we can do is wait till the tourney ends and they arrive in the capitol. Whether I should prepare for a celebration or a war." They sat silently for a few moments. "I wonder how pretty she is," she said lasciviously.
The Princess smacked her on the arm.
"... and the cook ended up slipping and falling into a sack of flour," Ned chuckled, regaling his soon to be goodbrother of a tale where the Stark siblings conspired to steal sweets from the Winterfell kitchens. Rhaegar listened intently, violet eyes sparkling largely for the first time since leaving his children in the Red Keep to come here. "Father was furious and called us all in his solar."
"Oh, this I have to hear." Rhaegar knew his father would have probably caned him and then had the cook executed, but he wouldn't let his family's darkness poison the Starks. It will once you marry Lyanna. He buried his guilt.
"Lyanna took the blame, saying she was acting alone." Ned smiled wistfully. "Father loves her the best, so she got the least punishment."
Just like defending that young Lord. A proud girl with a sense of justice - everything he heard of his bride was causing his heart to flutter, as if he were some lovestruck boy of ten and three."Your sister is quite a woman." Seeing Ned nod, Rhaegar tried a different tack. "I heard she's good with a sword."
Ned raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Servants gossip."
"That they do." Ned sighed. "Aye, she loves it. Riding and fighting - father didn't let her at first, but she wore him down. She's better than me sometimes."
Rhaegar chuckled. "I'll have to see that to believe it." You already did. "Baelor the Blessed locked his sisters in the maidenvault, but that's an extreme example. Your sister would have freedom in the Red Keep to an extent not seen in most castles. As a Princess, her authority is below only myself, my father, my mother, and Lord Connington."
"Equal to your other wife?" Ned held up two hands. "Not being antagonistic, but it's a fact. You'll have to handle that issue if the north will accept this marriage. Having the Princess Elia being the power and Lya being the broodmare will only insult the entire North."
Exhaling, Rhaegar vowed to himself to make sure Lyanna never felt like a second wife… nor Elia feeling like she was supplanted.
He was capable of loving more than one and so will you - it is in the dragon's blood.
His great uncle's words provided the proper guidance.
Reaching the Stark tent, Rodrik Cassel - the head of their household guard - bowed low as he saw the dragon prince. "My Prince, Lord Stark…" When both tried to enter, he held up a hand. Less in an order and in more of a request. "I'd wait a moment before entering, your Grace. Ned."
Rhaegar blinked while Ned crossed his hands. "And why would that be? Is my brother styling his hair again?" He turned to his future goodbrother. "I swear, he'd perfume his beard when he's not breaking heads."
"Sounds like someone who should've been born in King's Landing," grinned Rhaegar. "So Ser Rodrik, right? Why can't we go in?"
Before Rodrik answered, a rather feminine giggle emerged from within. "Oh, Bran… you are good at this."
Both looking at each other, Ned grew embarrassed while Rhaegar laughed. "Seems you come from a very sexy family, Ned." First Lyanna acts like a proper warrior lady, then Ned 'charms' Cersei Lannister, and now this. He was having more fun than he had in a while.
Not amused at all, Ned slammed his hand against one of the beams holding the tent upright. "Bran! The Crown Prince is here to see Lyanna! If you have something you don't want him to see, please cover it!"
Muffled voices and the quick flutter of clothes came from within the tent. "Fuck, uh… seven hells… come in, my Prince." Letting Ned lead the way, Rhaegar came face to face with Lyanna's oldest brother and his betrothed. Brandon Stark was taller than Ned, less stocky and in possession with a more… classic beauty. His intended was clearly a Tully, fire red hair and outwardly dour… yet seemingly devoted to her betrothed. If he could settle down and she could loosen up, they'd be a solid match. Brandon bowed. "My Prince, it is an honor."
Eying the rather large red mark adorning Catelyn Tully's neck, Rhaegar grinned softly and nodded his head. "So you are the famous Brandon Stark your brother was telling me about." Brandon's brow rose as he looked at Ned. "Don't worry, he only said good things."
"Mostly good things," deadpanned Ned, earning an amused death glare from his brother. Rhaegar smiled wider, already charmed by the close sibling dynamics of House Stark - the closest he'd seen to him was Oberyn and Elia. It heartened him in regards to Lyanna.
Lyanna.
Japes aside, the serious matter underlying all of them was forefront. "I wasn't happy, my Prince." Brandon's eyes narrowed, while Catelyn looked slightly uncomfortable as her intended challenged the Crown Prince. "What his Grace did, without consulting my father, it seemed very much like stealing my sister."
Rhaegar sighed. "That's my father, not me. I have nothing but the best intentions for your sister, and I hope I am a worthy replacement for the betrothal to Lord Baratheon…"
While it was a humbling gesture on Rhaegar's part to earn their trust, the mere mention of Robert's name drove Brandon to anger. "That pig?! I'd betroth my sister to a gravedigger before him!" A gentle touch from his betrothed calmed him down. "I am no longer angry with you, my Prince, but I will not have my sister treated like a common broodmare, do you understand?"
"I understand perfectly." He clasped his hand on his chest. "On my honor as a Targaryen, that will never be my intention." Brandon's gaze softened, Ned smiling. This was going well.
"No, Petyr! Don't!" The four within the tent looked at the entrance, attention caught by the frantic screaming. "You'll die!"
"That's my sister…" Catelyn murmured.
"Get your hands off me, Lysa!" came a reedy but masculine voice. One Rhaegar recognized as that of a smoothtalker trying his best to appear strong and vicious. King's Landing had plenty of suckups like that. Lo and behold, Petyr Baelish stormed into the tent, red as a ripe apple. Clutched to his doublet trying to pull him back was ten and three year old Lysa Tully, eyes wide and tears streaming as she screeched incoherently. Eyes falling on Catelyn, likely seeing the mark on her neck, Baelish's face grew even redder. "Brandon Stark, you wretch! Unhand the Lady Catelyn at once!"
Catelyn opened her mouth to scold him only for Brandon to urge her protectively behind him. "What did you call me, Littlefinger?!"
"Both of you! Hold your tone in the presence of the Crown Prince!" Ned saw an opportunity to calm things down and took it.
Littlefinger's anger abated slightly, going white at the first glimpse of the Prince - rage so consuming that he hadn't even noticed. The thin minor lordling fell to his knees, trembling. "Please, please forgive me for my outburst, your Grace. I meant you know insult…"
Rhaegar waved him off. "Get up. It's obvious that your quarrel is with the heir to Winterfell. I'll act as mediator in my role as Crown Prince." Might as well show his future family that he wasn't some mad dragon breathing fire on everything that crossed him. "Now, what is the problem?"
Rage returning to him, Littlefinger leveled an accusatory finger at Brandon. "This immoral cunt doesn't deserve my Catelyn."
"Petyr!" the Tully girl shouted incredulously.
"Call me a cunt one more time…" Brandon hissed back. "I don't take insults from some no-name lordling with nothing to your name."
He was undeterred. "She deserves someone who actually loves her. Like me!"
Both Brandon and Ned snickered, finding the whole thing hilarious. Rhaegar bit back a laugh as well - this boy was the scrawny son of a hedge knight. Could he realistically hope to marry the daughter of a Lord Paramount? It had happened before, but not often and not for scrawny weaklings like him. "If you wish to make a bid for the Lady Catelyn's hand, you can speak with Lord Tully."
"Petyr, please," Catelyn pleaded, grabbing Brandon's hand. "I've given my heart to Bran, please just let me be happy, as my friend."
Words hurting him beyond belief, Littlefinger fought off tears within his eyes. "No. I cannot let you make this mistake."
Brandon stepped forward. "You heard the lady, get the fuck out of this tent…"
What Littlefinger said next shocked all of them. "I challenge you, Brandon Stark to a duel for Lady Catelyn's hand."
"What?"
"Nooo!" shrieked both Catelyn and her little sister.
"Oh just perfect" mumbled Ned to the Prince. "Just what we need, more drama."
A pair of highborn ladies about ten feet away, conversation stilling as Lyanna walked by. Eyes flickering to her in a curious wonder. The tenth time that day alone that someone within the tourney grounds - strangers to her - observed her as a smallfolk toddler would a great knight mounted upon his horse. Her household guardsmen that provided the escort her father insisted upon managed to ward away the more leering male gazes with grunts and half-drawn swords, but chose not to interfere with the more benign ones.
With the murmurings between the two ladies, Lyanna groaned. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this."
"You're practically a Targaryen now," Dacey shot back, smirking. "Get used to it. They get stares wherever they go - even the ones that marry into the House of Dragons, their beauty is still sung of to this day."
"Are you trying to make me feel better? Cause it isn't working." Lyanna was used to such stares in Winterfell, but it was… different there. The North always had a sense of close knit camaraderie due to the harsh terrain and brutal winters. Lords that weren't shy about knocking back ale with their charges and smallfolk that could always count on the swift counsel and justice of their Lords. Not so in the south, where questions of form usually took priority over substance. Lyanna enjoyed being able to slip out unnoticed, the level of anonymity being the daughter of an important but backwater House gave her. Now… "I'm like a caged bird, always being gawked at."
Dacey glanced at her, frowning. "Would you rather be chained to Lord Baratheon?"
There was a pause. "I never said that," Lyanna said finally. "Rhaegar… I don't think he would chain me that way." She wanted someone who would respect and honor her, eccentricities and all - Robert wouldn't, while she felt Rhaegar would. "It's the title that's constricting, not the man." For someone that considerate, she'd endure any sense of social duty required of her.
Sensing Lyanna was done with the particular subject, Dacey switched the topic of conversation. Leaning in to whisper. "I found you a lance."
Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "That quickly?" Each spoke in a hushed whisper only the other could hear. "How'd you get it?"
Her Lady in Waiting grinned. "A girl has her ways, especially a Mormont." Of the two, Dacey still bore a significant anonymity among the highborns given that House Mormont was the backwater of the Realm's backwater. A small house, but a proud one as Dacey had said of it, and Lyanna couldn't help but agree. "Howland is handling most of the procurement though. Short and plain, always overlooked. Said he knew the perfect sigil."
"Oh, and what is it?" Couldn't very well use that of a direwolf, or any wolf for that matter. Too obvious.
Smirking, Dacey shook her finger. "Be patient." A giggle at Lyanna's cross look. "Don't worry, it'll be fitting…" She was cut off as a man bumped into her, nearly sending the slender she-bear toppling to the ground. It was Littlefinger, almost comically angry with a flushed face and glowering expression. "Watch it, cunt!" Dacey hissed.
The son of the Fingers glanced back, but his eyes settled on Lyanna. "Tell your shit of a brother that he's going to get what he deserves!"
Bryen, Lyanna's lead guard, glared menacingly at Littlefinger. "Best be on your way now, lad."
Still smoldering, Baelish turned and stormed off. Blinking, the ladies hurried back to their tent to find Catelyn Tully hugging her inconsolable sister, Brandon and Ned standing awkwardly to the side. "By the gods, what in seven hells happened?!" Lyanna exclaimed.
"Petyr Baelish challenged Brandon to a duel for Catelyn's hand," Ned answered grimly, nervously glancing back at the tent.
"I knew he had affections for her." It was parent by just looking at him, but it seemed to Lyanna that Catelyn had no idea. Is she that clueless about some things?
"He'll be killed!" wailed Lysa, who then glared venomously at Brandon. "Look what you did, murderer!" From terrified screams to enraged snarls. The younger Tully daughter clearly had issues, Lyanna could see.
"This is not Bran's fault, it's Petyr's." Say what one wants about Catelyn Tully, she was completely devoted to her betrothed. "He came looking for a confrontation and he got one."
If it weren't for her sister's grip around her, Lyanna thought Lysa would have charged at her brother. "Is this what you wanted?! My sister to your grubby little wildling paws that you'd kill the best man in the world!"
Brandon snorted. "I'm not going to kill him, and I doubt he'll even come close to me." Normally arrogant, from the looks of Petyr Baelish the arrogance on her brother's part was well founded. "Ned, Cat. I need to get something to eat. The morning's…" His eyes flickered suspiciously away from Lyanna. "Discussions and this… whatever it was made me hungry." With a look of longing from his bride, Brandon left.
Clearing his throat, Ned walked to his sister. "Lya, there's someone in the tent wanting to see you about something. Go talk to him while I escort Catelyn and Lysa back to their father." He looked at Dacey. "Mind helping me out?"
"Of course," Dacey replied, smiling at Lyanna who only raised her eyebrows. Who wants to see me? From the way Dacey jumped to go with her brother, it had to be Howland. You fool, why are you here so blatantly… Determined to chew him out, she marched into the tent only to stop in her tracks. Grey eyes meeting a breathtaking shade of violet, knocking all words… all thoughts out of her.
Rhaegar Targaryen smiled at her. "Lady Lyanna," he bowed. Up close and personal, he could feel this woman's effect on him, an enchantment that consumed his very soul. A betrothal he had been dreading for weeks, suddenly upended in… has it only been a day? Since seeing Lyanna Stark fighting those squires, all bigger than her, he haunted his every thought and he just couldn't stop it. Do I want to?
Owl eyed, it took a moment for Lyanna to comprehend who was standing before her. Blushing, she curtseyed, simple tan dress billowing out as she did so. "Your Grace." Trying to ignore the look of him in the dragon-emblazoned gambeson that showed off his toned muscles and trim waist…
There was no denying Lyanna Stark was a beauty. Harsh and wild, but such only enhanced her charm. A direwolf… wild winter rose. "I spoke with both your b...brothers," he said, stammering slightly. "Given our… situation, I feel we should be properly introduced to each other."
Standing there, fingers fiddling with the pleats of her dress, Lyanna's heart thudded out of her chest. The normally unflappable daughter of winter knocked for a loop by the close proximity of the handsome Dragon Prince. "I… I see nothing wrong with that." Here to meet her, to be formally introduced. The last time a man had come for that from her, it hadn't ended well - but this one was different. Lyanna wanted to speak with Rhaegar. "Um… would you like to take a seat, your Grace?"
Falling back on his chivalrous demeanor drummed into him while a squire for Ser Barristan, Rhaegar nodded - containing his amusement about how flustered the Northern beauty was acting. It was both comical and undeniably sweet. "Lead the way, Lady Stark."
Confident but polite, Rhaegar's attitude only flustered Lyanna more. The young girl wanting nothing but to jump him and find out if his lips were as delicious as they looked. "Follow me, this way," she croaked, leading him to her sleep quarters.
"I'm curious as to why House Stark needed a tent." Rhaegar couldn't help but ask, it was not important but gnawed at him. Wanting to know. "As the Warden of the North, Lord Rickard could have had his pick of guest suites in the keep provided by Lord and Lady Whent."
Lyanna shrugged, trying to keep it together. "We got here after the other high lords, and besides. We northerners like to stick with each other." Pushing aside the privacy flap, Lyanna did a double take. Strewn about her cot and chest were bundles of clothes - dresses, sleepwear… underclothes. "Oh gods…"
Pursing his lips, it took all of his strength not to collapse into a fit of laughter - also to hide a spike of desire at seeing the garments his intended wore under her form-fitting dresses. "I take it that these weren't meant to be seen by me, Lady Stark."
Face flushed beet red, she dashed to the bed, scooping clothes and dumping them in her chest. "Stupid servants, stupid Dacey." Lyanna began breathing quickly, humiliated beyond belief. What is fucking wrong with me… Gods, I'm panicking like a little girl… in front of Rhaegar Targaryen… oh Gods…
Unable to stop himself, Rhaegar snickered, finding Lyanna's frantic back and forth an absolute disaster. One of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, enchanting him greatly, here she was acting like a clumsy maiden… and it only served to increase her charm in front of him. Eyes flickering to the chest, something caught his eye. Rhaegar strode to it while Lyanna was busy gathering her shifts in a big ball. "I know this book." Sure enough, the lettering on the spine confirmed it - the binding was the same as the copy in the Red Keep. "Dancing Dragons, by King Viserys II."
Dropping the bundle of clothes, Lyanna blinked. Eyes widening. "Did you read it, your Grace?"
"Of course. It was my favorite as a child - still is by a matter of fact."
Her embarrassment and frantic worry fell, a warm hitch in her heart. "It is my favorite too…" Was she asleep? No, she couldn't be dreaming - this was something she wouldn't have comprehended. "My brother gave it to me as a tenth nameday gift from the Vale."
"Your brother has excellent taste." Opening the book, taking great care to not damage the pages or the binding, he looked at her with keen interest. "Unlike his father, Viserys wasn't an exceptional warrior. He was smart, but contemptible of maesters as well." Waiting for her leave to sit, Lyanna nodded, sitting on her cot and beaming when the gorgeous Valyrian Prince sat next to her. Setting the book back in her lap. "Ended up writing the most accurate take of the Dance of Dragons ever written, even though the Citadel keeps trying to ban this book."
Lyanna looked at him, surprised. "Why would they do that?"
Rhaegar shrugged. "He fought the official historical account written by the Maesters. Knew what they did to Maegor's reputation and was not about to let it happen to his mother and father." This was greatly pleasing to him. Elia liked to read but they couldn't get past their reservations to be that… intimate. His mother was his mother, Connington didn't care for history, and none of the Kingsguards could really be bothered. The Prince wanted someone he could discuss these things for hours on end - and it seemed like he found her. How did I never know of this woman till now? "The maesters insist that Prince Daemon only married Rhaenyra for her throne."
"That is a lie," Lyanna stated vehemently. Their romance had shaped her childhood and adolescent dreams of love, as stated in the novel. "They were madly in love, just like the book says." At his sigh, she placed her hands in her lap. Looking at him pleadingly. Worriedly. "Weren't they…?"
Sighing again, Rhaegar leaned back. "The Maesters wanted to discredit Rhaenyra, largely because she was a woman and their patron, House Hightower, was the blood of the Greens. However, from what our house's sources say, Daemon did initially marry her for the throne, plus for her beauty. Those stories of her growing fat… hugely exaggerated." As he spoke the light in her grey eyes started to dim. As if he had just strangled to death the most precious thing to her. It broke his heart. "But that's not the whole story."
The northern beauty hung on his every word. "Tell me, my Prince."
Gods, this girl would be the death of him. "Something about a dragon… we are temperamental and rather impulsive, especially in our love lives. But when it comes down to it, we mate for life. Such as it was with Daemon. He couldn't help but fall for his she-dragon, even going so far as to leap to his certain death at the God's Eye just to protect her." Glancing at the she-wolf, she was close to swooning. Clutching the book to her chest as if having made a long-sought discovery. "I only wish Winterfell wasn't so far away. Had Cregan Stark got there sooner, Daemon and Rhaenyra would have sat on the Iron Throne for a long time."
Gleeful, Lyanna impulsively reached over to poke Rhaegar in the chest. "You see now the power of the Direwolf. Winter comes for our enemies." Realizing how informal she acted, her eyes widened and she drew away. Opening her mouth to apologize, Lyanna caught the glint in his violet eyes and suddenly they burst into laughter. "Please," she said through her giggles. "Forgive me for that, your Grace."
"Don't worry about that," he said gently, reaching out to place his hand on hers. "And you're my betrothed. Call me Rhaegar."
Rhaegar… The flutter in her heart returned. A pleasant warmth pulsing from his hand onto hers. If this is what the touch of his hand on mine feels like… Lyanna crossed her legs, hoping he didn't notice the sudden heat in her core. "I… like that… Rhaegar." His name felt so good on her lips. "Call me, Lyanna."
"Lyanna. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." She could barely reply. He thinks I'm beautiful… what happened to me? Whatever did, she didn't mind. "So, Lyanna. Tell me something about yourself."
Blinking, Lyanna stared at him. "You want to know about me?"
He peered at her as if he couldn't fathom what she said. "We are to be married. Of course I want to know about you." What had happened to the stunning winter rose? "Why would you think I didn't care to ask?"
"I…" Wiping her eyes, Lyanna just smiled warmly at him. Robert hadn't even bothered to ask. Rhaegar is not Robert. Had she ever thought she'd end up so lucky? Her Dragon Prince just got more and more beautiful with each passing moment. My Dragon Prince… "What would you like to know?"
"Everything," he rasped, captivated by her smile. No woman in his life had ever truly enchanted him in the way she did. "I don't know what it is about you, Lyanna. But ever since I caught a glimpse of you… at the feast, you've never been far from my mind."
Blushing bright red, she tucked her head between hunched shoulders. Feeling like a lovestruck maiden… which she was. Despite how Robert treated her and the violation she felt, nothing would have made Lyanna happier than if Rhaegar leaned in and kissed her - so hard she had fallen for him, the plummet neverending. "You can say the same for me, Rhaegar. I've never met a more… breathtaking man." Gently, she stroked his palm with her thumb. Enjoying the calloused yet soft skin of an accomplished swordsman.
Matching her smile with one of his own, Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Your brother told me how much of a rider you are." Honestly, it was the first thing that came to mind. "Said you could put a Dothraki screamer to shame while mounted."
Face sparkling with joy, Lyanna pondered for a moment then stood. Tugging on the Prince's hand. "Why tell you when I can show you, my Prince." The last was teasing, letting Rhaegar know what kind of a woman he was to marry. From the twinkle in his violet eyes, he clearly didn't mind in the slightest.
Outside the tent, a quick rush to the stables of the northmen found a particular stall. "Alright, what is it you want to show me?" Rhaegar asked.
Whistling, Lyanna laughed when Winter poked his head out of the stall. Nicking happily and brushing her muzzle against the she-wolf's hair. "Winter, girl… stop it," she laughed, a more beautiful sound Rhaegar had never heard. "My Prince, this is Winter. I raised her since she was but a little foal." As the dapple-grey mare calmed down, Lyanna felt slightly nervous. The Prince of Dragonstone likely had every manner of fine mounts in the stables of King's Landing. What would he say about the stalwart northern breed? She didn't even think about showing her off to Robert.
Approaching the horse, Rhaegar found Winter staring at him. Huffing and attempting to knock him away when the Prince raised a hand to stroke her head. "Hey, shhhh…" He moved to calm the agitated horse. "Gīda riña, gīda," he cooed softly, hand gentle against the animal's hide. "Issa sȳz, Sōnar." High Valyrian tumbled from his lips automatically, the language he used when speaking to the animals on Dragonstone. Amazingly, the horse calmed down, stilling and accepting Rhaegar's touch. The Prince smiled, Winter reminding him so much of Lyanna. "Iksā iā gevie anne, Sōnar. Sepār gevie."
Lyanna stared with mouth agape as Winter nicked, nuzzling Rhaegar's shoulders the same way she had done for her. "Winter is never that good with strangers…" He's perfect… and mine. She couldn't hope to contain her excitement and joy.
You'll have to share him…
The daughter of Winterfell put that aside for now. "Would you like to go for a ride, Rhaegar?"
Giving one last stroke to the stunning horse, Rhaegar almost said yes. "I'm afraid I'll have to pass on that, my dear Lyanna."
Her face fell, though Lyanna passed it off with a grin. "Are you scared that your betrothed would beat you in a race?"
Rhaegar chuckled. "As fun as that sounds, it is getting late in the evening. I wouldn't want to keep you past dark." While she was sad about it, it was clear the lady understood. I think she's close to perfect. "Would you like me to escort you through Harrenhal? I've been here plenty of times before, so I can give you the grand tour."
The grey eyes that so captivated him lit up. Without hesitation, she looped her arm in his, not wanting to be parted from the dashing Rhaegar Targaryen at the moment. "Lead the way, my Prince." It was as if they had always known each other.
A/N: Couldn't have been any more different than meeting Robert, right?
I had so much fun writing the Elia scene. Nothing's boring when Ellaria is your lady in waiting, and she and Oberyn were made for each other.
I know Petyr didn't duel Brandon until he got to Riverrun, but what the heck?
Next up: Cersei confronts Jaime and Ned confronts Robert.
