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Chapter 11: Chains Broken
"I WANT HIS HEAD!"
Kingsguards standing at attention around the solar of the royal quarters, Rhaegar tried his best to hide his nerves. Stilling his trembling leg. "Father, I think…"
Interrupting his pacing and ranting to cast a murderous glare at his son, Aerys gestured madly. "Am I some simple smallfolk turd shoveller? You are to address me with the proper respect, sweet son," he spat.
Rhaegar lowered his head, properly chastised. "Yes, your Grace."
Mollified, if only slightly, the King wheeled around to Lord Commander Hightower. "Ser Gerold. You and your men combed the entire castle and campsite did you not?"
"We have, my King. No sign of the Knight of the Laughing Tree. It appears as if he had disappeared into thin air." Gerold didn't lie - he and the Household Guard of both House Targaryen and House Whent had searched high and low for the mystery knight. While he would have followed Rhaegar's secret directive and let the poor man flee, but they didn't even find him. "Forgive me for my failure."
Instead of rip into Gerold as he would normally have done, Aerys resumed his frantic ranting. "Dunk told me, that malevolent piece of shit!" The Crown Prince and the Queen shared a look as the King's back was turned. Imagining Prince Duncan Targaryen once again - Aerys' favorite vision in a manner of speaking. "I have to find this cutthroat cunt. Ser Oswell… you spoke to the Freys and the Blounts?" House Haigh was too tiny to even warrant the King's disgust, let alone attention.
Oswell cleared his throat. "They spoke of their squires being in a scuffle with some Crannogman Lord and his 'whore,' but…"
"Bah! A woman and a swamp homunculus," Aerys waved dismissively. "My royal ass they were responsible!" He rested his hands on a table, hunched over in despair. "Duncan! Why can't you leave me be!" wailed the King.
Rhaella stepped forward, gently clasping her husband's arm. Hoping that the kind Aerys from before was still somewhere there. "Your Grace, calm down. Perhaps we should simply have a private meal in our chambers and relax ahead of our son competing tomorrow…"
The Queen suddenly pitched back, falling upon the ground after Aerys slapped her hard about the cheek. "Do not tell me to calm down, weak woman!" he thundered, spittle flying from his breath. The Kingsguards watched in horror, but were unable to intervene. Much as they wished to protect their Queen - especially the terrified and enraged Jaime Lannister, fists clenching around the hilt of his sword as his beloved Rhaella collapsed - their oaths were sworn to the King and the King only. "The knight must die! He works for Tywin and the Doom, I just know it!"
Anger boiling even hotter than Ser Jaime's, Rhaegar also couldn't intervene. "If I may, your Grace," he began evenly, hoping to distract his father from his mother. "I can lead a party into the woods around Harrenhal. Find this scoundrel before he truly escapes the King's Justice."
Their violet eyes staring at each other, Aerys considered his son's offer. "Alright," he finally said, ignoring his wife as she cupped her smarting cheek. "Take the Kingsguards and do it. Bring me the bastard's head." With that, he stormed off into his bedchamber, slamming the ironwood door behind him.
In an instant, Rhaegar - and Ser Jaime - had fallen to their knees by Queen Rhaella. "Muna," the Prince said softly, taking her hand in his.
Fighting back tears, Rhaella shifted upright as Jaime pulled her hand away, inspecting the palmprint of the 'King's Justice' on her face. "It hurts, but I'll be alright," she stated. "I've had worse from your father."
"His Grace should treat you as you deserve to be treated," Jaime said with fire in his youthful voice. Both Rhaegar and Ser Barristan wanted to cuff him on the head - what he said was absolutely correct, but not at all smart.
"Calm yourself, Ser Jaime." Rhaella leaned on the two men to stand, smoothing out her dress. "I shall make my leave. Good luck, my wonderful son." Kissing his cheek, the Queen made her way out, followed by Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan.
Sighing, Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, my Prince?" Arthur asked, a worried look on his face.
He had since Ser Oswell gave his report to the King. "It can't be. She's ill in her tent, and the knight was clearly a man." Arthur nodded, but the agreement didn't reach his eyes.
Removing the kettle of spiced cider from above the crackling fire, Ned gently poured two cups for his brother and soon to be goodsister. Handing each of the steaming brews to them before pouring one for himself. "This is a traditional Northern drink for the winter climes. Granted, those who don't have glass gardens to grow the southern apples rely on hartier northern varieties. Stronger, not as sublime."
"Easy Ned," boomed Brandon, grinning. "The lady doesn't want to fall asleep listening to you prattle on about apples." Lyanna would have probably thrown an apple core at him, but Ned merely cast him a cross glare. Which his brother found hilarious. "Still, dear Catelyn. He's right about the drink. Gets us through many winters."
Used to the many varieties of wine favored among Andal-based cultures, Catelyn nevertheless sipped at the brew. Wrinkling her nose. "Sweet… but with a kick."
"That's how you know it works!" Gulping down a mouthful of the cider, Brandon didn't notice how his betrothed set the cup down after barely drinking it. Ned noticed and said nothing. It wasn't his place. "Can you believe the Mystery Knight today? Completely turned the day around after Jon Umber lost the damn melee - finally someone from the North wins something."
"How are you sure that the person is of the North?" Ned asked his brother. "As of this point, all we can be sure of is that the knight is a man." And yet, we never did see his face…
Brandon waved him off. "Don't be daft, Ned. The laughing weirwood? Sounds like a mocking jape from someone north of Moat Cailin."
"It isn't just the Lords of the North that follow the old gods," Catelyn added. "House Blackwood does too - father and I have visited Raventree Hall plenty of times. The dead weirwood there is massive, and they have resisted calls to worship the Seven since the Andal invasions." The daughter of House Tully ended the last with a slight tone of distaste. "Brynden Rivers, the Targaryen Bastard, followed the old gods because his mother was a Blackwood."
As before, Brandon was oblivious. "I understand, Cat, but the few remnants in the south of our faith - House Blackwood, House Dayne, and the like - are pretty muted about it. Up in the North, we're proud of our heritage and defiance. Especially with our gods." He leaned down to kiss Catelyn's neck, causing her to giggle. "They'll be your gods as well once we marry, my little trout."
The happy, lovestruck expression on Catelyn's face that was always there around Brandon seemed to vanish upon the mention of the old gods… and her likely conversion. Eyes fluttering shut and a quick, silent prayer mumbled from her lips. Averting his gaze, sipping his cider, Ned hid his worry for Brandon. The maiden was completely devoted to his brother, but the coming culture clash would test their relationship greatly - as well as the relationship between House Stark and the other Northern Houses. His countrymen valued their faith and their cultural independence from the rest of Westeros. House Manderly had been demonized and shut out till they abandoned their Reach-like ways and adopted the old gods. If Catelyn doesn't...
His thoughts were interrupted as Rodrik Cassel entered. "My Lords, Lord Arryn is requesting entry."
Ned's mood perked up as he stood. "Let him in, Rodrik." At the entrance of the impeccably dressed older Lord of the Vale, Ned opened his arms to embrace his foster father. "Lord Jon, it always a pleasure."
"Likewise, Eddard," Lord Arryn smiled, turning to the risen Brandon and Catelyn. "Forgive me for interrupting your quiet evening, but I hoped to come give the Lady Lyanna my best. I heard she has taken ill?"
"Aye, but she is sleeping at the moment," Brandon replied, touched at Lord Arryn's consideration. "I'll be sure to give her your thoughts, but please. Join us for some cider."
He poured himself a steaming cup. "Ah, the tasty northern brew. Your brother made me some years ago and I buy apples by the bushel ever since." Sharing a laugh at the fond memories with Ned, Lord Arryn let the liquid warm his insides. "How are you handling the betrothal?" There was no need to elaborate.
Ned smiled. "The Crown Prince is a person hard to dislike. He's charmed all of us and Lyanna is quite smitten." Putting it mildly. He had never seen his sister so happy outside of holding a sword or riding Winter - even her precious novel didn't make Lyanna smile as Rhaegar did.
"I didn't expect it though," Brandon stated the obvious. "Gods, I doubt any of us did. Accepting as we are of Lya's decision to go through with it, the prospect of her being the second wife to the Prince does give me pause."
"The Princess Elia is a kind soul," Catelyn said. "I met her at last year's tourney here and don't think she'd be vindictive… but jealousy is a strong motive." She didn't say anymore, but it was clear she was thinking of Petyr Baelish. The lad was confined to quarters for the foreseeable future, Lord Tully already making arrangements to send him to Riverrun for further recovery.
Lord Arryn frowned. "It's not really the Princess Elia I have worries about." He looked greatly burdened. "Your father did a wonderful job raising you boys, and Ned… I couldn't have asked for a better ward, but I'm afraid neither of us prepared you for life at court."
Furrowing his brows, Ned looked puzzled. "What do you mean, my Lord?"
"I'm afraid the old adage of Starks never prospering south of Moat Cailin holds quite a bit of truth."
"Cregan Stark did well for himself," commented Brandon.
"Yes he did, but that was in the aftermath of the Dance of Dragons when the Northern blunt honesty was needed to sweep clean the aftermath of rampant corruption and backstabbing. In peacetime, the latter is the norm and Northerners don't do so well." Lord Arryn winced. "I fear your father and sister are walking into a den of vipers like Baelor the Blessed, though I also fear they won't come out. Prince Rhaegar can only protect them so far."
His own worries popping up, Ned met the eyes of his foster father. "Perhaps you could advise my sister? She needs someone experienced, and you were fostered at court if I recall correctly?"
Silent for a moment, Lord Arryn then smiled. "You're a good man, Eddard. Cares for your family when most are only out there for themselves." He clasped Ned on the shoulder. "I can speak to her, certainly, though I'm not sure if I can journey to the capitol. I would advise both of you to speak with the Crown Prince about this. Not counting your father… there's no one but he that I would trust as protecting your sister's interests. Mace Tyrell…"
"Mace Tyrell is a pompous peacock without a shred of brains," Brandon spat. "All he did during last night's feast was brag about how his newborn was betrothed to Prince Viserys."
Lord Arryn rolled his eyes. "He's a gentle soul, but an idiot, yes. Don't count on him until Rhaegar is King. Varys' loyalties are up in the air, Lord Rykker and Lord Velaryon are loyal to Aerys, Pycelle is loyal to Tywin Lannister, and Connington… well…" Arryn chuckled. "Don't count on him."
"Why? Isn't he Rhaegar's close friend?" Ned asked.
"He is, but would rather be in Lyanna's position if you catch my drift." Lord Arryn chuckled as he sipped his drink.
Brandon had a look of disgust on his face. "Disgusting."
"In the days of the Faith Militant, they knew how to punish buggerers," Catelyn stated firmly.
"Enough influence and enough discretion can bury even the worst criminals, Lady Catelyn." He turned back to Ned and Brandon. "Don't trust anyone in King's Landing. Be candid to no one but family, the Prince, and Queen Rhaella. But even then, just be careful what you say. The spider has ears everywhere."
Ned was about to ask what 'the spider' was when the tent flap swished open and he lost all words. There, standing directly in front of him, was the golden lioness Cersei Lannister herself. Hair plaited into a crown of braids in the southern style, which framed her face in a sort of halo.
"Lord Stark, Lord Stark," she offered curtly, though with less venom than their first meeting. "Lord Arryn. I was told by your squire that you would be here in the Stark quarters."
Polished as always, the Lord of the Vale bowed respectfully. "Of course, Lady Cersei. How can I be of service?"
"My father sent some dispatches for me to deliver to you. He's concerned about the trade arrangements between Casterly Rock and the Eyrie." Unlike most young maidens, Cersei seemed to understand the basics of policy and ruling. Smart, if emotional.
He nodded. "Of course. We can discuss them in my quarters." Bading the Starks farewell, he exited the tent.
Before she followed him, Cersei turned to Ned. "Lord Eddard."
Counting trees until it was over, hoping not to show how flustered he was, Ned was forced to face the beautiful lioness. "Um… yes, Lady Cersei?" He could almost feel Brandon's quizzical look boring into his back.
"Thank you for your explanations today at the melee. I'm afraid most vagaries of fighting sports are beyond me, and can be worried for my brother's safety."
It took a moment before he found words. "I… I was glad to be of assistance, and can understand being worried for a sibling."
She was in no mood to continue, clearly uncomfortable. "Good night." and with that she was gone.
Turning, Ned found Brandon's brow cocked up. "What?"
"Oh… nothing, brother." It was most definitely not nothing, and both brothers knew that.
The forest at night was a place alive. The cooing of nocturnal birds, the chirping of crickets, small mammals scampering about in the undergrowth. For someone familiar with these woods as Rhaegar was, there was nothing civilized or tame about Westeros. Outside castle walls or the outskirts of the very few cities - he could count them all on a single hand - there was only wilderness. Land inhabited by those following the justice of survival rather than of the King's. Put much into perspective.
He crept forward through the low foliage, hand kept close to his sword in case of trouble. Eyes having long since adjusted into the chilly darkness only barely lifted by the glow of the moon, at no sign of his target he waved Arthur forward. The Sword of the Morning even quieter as he moved the dozen yards to Rhaegar's side. "No sign of him," whispered the Kignsguard.
"Hopefully he's far gone from here," Rhaegar murmured in response. Perhaps if they found something discarded he could inform his father that the mystery knight died. Then I can get back to Lyanna. Unable to even pay her a visit since she had nearly fainted in his arms, the Prince's mind was fraught with worry.
Arthur raised an eyebrow underneath his helmet. "You don't intend on finding him, do you?"
A sigh. "What would you have me do? Find an innocent knight and send him to be executed? My father's delusions aren't claiming another man." Frankly, the only good thing his father's mental state had ever done was give him Lyanna.
They had both discarded their horses long before for stealth concerns. For two heavily armored Westerosi knights, both of them could move rather silently in their Valyrian and Dornish styles. Trained by the best warriors in tracking and hunting… which this pretty much was. Combing the dense forests of the southern Riverlands with the persistence of a bloodhound. Much as the King ordered him to use all the Kingsguards, his lack of initiative in seeing to his orders being carried out left everything to the subordinates. While some would burn the forest down to curry favor, Rhaegar made sure to not let anything horrid happen. I'm not always successful.
A flicker of light in the distance caused Rhaegar to suddenly hold up his hand. "What's that?"
"Looks like an abandoned cottage, my Prince." Cold winters found a lot of them dotting the countryside, their occupants having died or fled to warmer climes when the food ran out. But this one held a flickering light and smoke coming out of the chimney. "We should check it out." If the Knight of the Laughing Tree was anywhere, it would be there.
The approach was covered with trees and underbrush, allowing both of them to dash across the last dozen yards without being seen. Dilapidated beyond belief, the cottage was clearly only standing due to a combination of wooden logs and stone walls mortared together. Classic design for this part of the Riverlands, rich in both trees and stone. As for the rest… the thatch roof had caved in in multiple places, thin walls decaying before their very eyes. Tied up by the doorway was a sleeping horse. Smart. No better hiding place for a refugee than an abandoned hovel likely devoid of inhabitants for a year.
Leaving Arthur to stand overwatch, Rhaegar scooted in a crouch towards the window. Making sure not to be seen, he slowly peered above the windowsill… only for his eyes to nearly bug out of his head at the sight.
Lyanna?
Standing in the middle of the single room was his betrothed. She bore the same mismatched and oversized armor as the Knight did, and the laughing Weirwood shield rested on the ground not far from her. There was no doubt, his betrothed was the Knight of the Laughing Tree.
Flipping around, back resting against the crumbling stone wall, Rhaegar blinked. Clasping his palm atop his forehead to control his astonishment. Women who could handle a blade… they were rare but not unheard of. Women warriors that could bring weapons into a fight and triumph… who wore the pluck of dressing as a knight and entering the Tourney of a mercurial King just to defend the honor of s friend… next to impossible. The only persons matching this that Rhaegar could think of were both Targaryens. Queen Visenya and Princess Daena the Defiant. Perhaps Queen Rhaenyra has she been as adept at fighting as dragonriding.
Thinking about it more and more, the mysteries of his bride to be coming into the light with this revelation, a smile slowly curved on Rhaegar's face. The incest among Targaryens, most explained it as a means to control the dragons - but as Rhaegar seemed to realize more and more… there was an allure that a true dragon held for another of its kind. Where only another dragon could truly mate and pair with the blood of the passionate, fiery creatures. And with no dragons, other, similar natures applied as well. Elia was cunning and smart, a match for him in wit and politics. And now, right in front of him was a fierce, daring direwolf of Winter. Rhaegar peered back into the cabin, watching Lyanna remove her armor.
In spite of her dark hair and northern features, she looked like Visenya reborn - or at least Daena.
"Your Grace…" Before Rhaegar could shush Arthur, the Sword of the Morning managed to get a peek of the damning scene. His eyes widened as well, mouth dropping like a fish while Rhaegar pushed him away from the window. "I'll be damned… Lyanna Stark is the Knight of the Laughing Tree."
Rhaegar frowned. "Say it a little louder, Arthur. See if they can hear you back in Starfall." Arthur closed his mouth, but a sly grin formed. "What?"
The knight chuckled softly. "You are one lucky son of a bitch, my Prince. First Elia, the cunning political mind… and now Lyanna Stark, master rider and northern warrior. It's like Rhaenys and Visenya reborn."
Opening his mouth to speak, Rhaegar found no words. Arthur's comparison was quite apt, and the smile from before returned with a vengeance. Threatening to split his lip open. Lyanna… she's perfect. The sight of her in the armor, knowing just how skilled she was in using it… it lit a fire within Rhaegar. Woke his inner dragon. This was no innocent maiden or power-hungry bitch, but a genuine, fierce soul. One who in only a few days had wormed her way into his heart. Someone he could be honest with - a true wife and lover to fill the yearning in his soul.
"Rhaegar… my Prince…"
Arthur's voice brought him out of his reverie. "Stand guard somewhere close. I'll figure out something to tell my father."
"I was just going to say, enjoy yourself." The knight smiled wide at his friend. "It's been ages since I've seen you this happy. All who care about you want more of it." Rhaegar matched his friend's smile and stepped towards the cabin door.
Fingers nimbly undoing the strap holding the breastplate in place, it clattered to the floor - but not before brushing a large bruise on her shoulder. "Ahhh… fuck!" Damn Waldron Frey. Hiking up her tunic, leaving only a set of breast bindings clothing her torso, Lyanna examined the various bruises, welts, and cuts on her body with a reflecting glass Howland had placed in the cabin for her. Nothing that would be serious, but still irritating.
Chucking another log into the fireplace to ward off the chill - tame compared to the gales of the North, but biting her bare skin through the gaps in the roof and walls - Lyanna silently commended Dacey and Howland for finding this place. Both sufficiently inconspicuous enough to get away with it all. A quick patch up and she could throw on her dress and ditch the armor and shield. Your last chance to be free and wild. The inner voice of worry ate at her. Rhaegar was… perfect, but the thought of being a demure, quiet Queen still gnawed underneath the surface. I hope he understands.
Would any man? Her own father barely did.
Pouring some sour wine from a jug onto a strip of cloth, she dabbed it on her wounds. Enduring the deep sting with clenched teeth and a hiss. Maester Luwin always treated their wounds with it, an old trick from the Citadel. It worked after all. I should have been more careful, anticipated their coming blows. In all honesty, Lyanna hadn't seen a joust till the specific Tourney, and it had been a testament to her skill on a horse that she had beaten each of the three scumbags. Wounds and all.
Was it worth it? Damn straight. A wolfish grin came about her face as she continued to treat her cuts with the rag. Seeing both knights cowering before her, Waldron Frey being carried off moaning like the little bitch he was, it was so satisfying. A memory she would have for the rest of her life - a last hurrah before having to adopt the courtly manners of a proper southern Queen.
In all her musings and reminiscences of the day's events, Lyanna didn't hear the door opening or notice the armored form enter the room. Catching a glimpse of creamy skin and trim, shapely curves all leading up to a rather ample bosom encased in the bindings, Rhaegar leaned against a beam. Crossing his arms with an appreciating smirk. Letting the seconds tick by, curious as to how long she'd go without noticing him - plus he just couldn't tear his gaze away from how beautiful she was. My winter's wolf…
Rolling her shoulders, Lyanna pressed the rag against her bruise there. There was no cut, but the liquid chilled in the early spring chill was quite soothing. A sigh left Lyanna. The daughter of Winterfell finally allowed herself to relax.
Hearing that lovely sigh - going straight to his crotch - Rhaegar couldn't take it anymore. "Look what we have here."
Almost jumping ten feet into the air - the half-yelp, half-scream leaving her lips most unladylike - Lyanna swerved around to see Crown Prince Rhaegar, her betrothed, leaning there with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "Uh… my Prince…" Think, Lya, think… "It's not what it looks like." Catching his eyes flicker to to the shield emblazoned with Howland's beautiful laughing weirwood… Really, Lyanna? Really? Flushing crimson, all she could do at that moment was grab her tunic. Covering her nearly bare torso.
"Not what it looks like?" Smirk not faltering, Rhaegar pushed himself off the beam. Walking slowly towards the trapped warrior maiden. Violet eyes trained intensely on Lyanna. "Well, let's have a look see. You are dressed in riding breeches and, I suppose, a tunic." Her face reddened even further as he alluded to her state of undress. "There is stripped plate armor on the floor, as well as a shield. A shield with a very distinctive sigil painted atop it."
Lyanna's heart pounded in her chest as he drew closer. Close enough that she could smell his masculine scent, driving her wild. At that moment she realized she hadn't ever seen him in his armor. Plates arranged up his arms and legs like scales, breastplate snugly against his chest emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon. Large plates accentuating his broad shoulders, silver-hair pulled up into a bun rather than let down so she could run her fingers through them like she so wanted… Lyanna had never seen a more handsome man than Rhaegar Targaryen, and seeing him dressed for battle was turning her into a longing mush.
From the widening smirk on his face, he knew it. "I may be wrong, but you look just like a certain knight that defeated Waldron Frey earlier in the Newcomer's Joust… but I think that knight was a man."
It may have been how he was enjoying the effect he had on here, or perhaps it was his last statement - either way, Lyanna managed to pull herself together. Scowl forming on her face, she quickly threw on her tunic. Grey eyes steely as they stared him down. "Very well, my Prince. Yes, I am the Knight of the Laughing Tree."
He was still thinking of how to express his thoughts - and to be honest her ire simple made her more beautiful. "I find that hard to believe, my Lady."
"Find it hard to believe?!" Her glare was incredulous. "I am a woman of the North, not some southern maiden living cloistered and praying to the Seven every time I think an impure thought." Her worst fears seemed to be true - for all his kindness, respect… otherworldly beauty, he still expected her to be a proper lady. To raise his children and act as a hostess while he ruled the Seven Kingdoms and engaged in knightly pursuits. "I am no demure southern lady, my Prince. I ride, I know swordplay, and apparently I can joust as well…" Rhaegar was silent, making no further gesture. While part of Lyanna said it was not wise to scream at Rhaegar the things more suited to tell Robert or even her father, once it started it had to come out. "So if you expect me to sit quietly then you can…"
She was cut off by Rhaegar pulling her flush against his armored chest. Lips finding hers in a passionate kiss.
When one grew up at court - especially the court of Aerys II Targaryen - you learned how to read people or you died. It was sink or swim and thanks to the council of his mother and, oddly, Hand of the King Tywin Lannister, Rhaegar swam. As Lyanna continued to rant, he realized the real reason for Lyanna's hesitation. While Elia would always be an issue and the suddenness would be overcome with time, the fear and bitterness would be poison to their marriage. Especially since Rhaegar first fell entranced by this woman when seeing her fight. Realizing she was the Weirwood Knight, a magnificent female warrior as the great Visenya before her only sealed it. Unable to truly convey such a cauldron of emotion, Rhaegar did what he had been longing to do and simply kissed her.
Initially taken aback, eyes wide and gasping, a gentle warmth fill her. Gods, he feels amazing. Lyanna melted into the kiss, reaching up to loop her arms around his neck. Feeling his tongue gently lick her lips, asking for entrance, she practically swooned. It was clear to her that a dragon burned inside him, waiting to be unleashed. But unlike Robert, he was considerate enough to hold back. To wait for permission, something she willingly gave. Next thing she knew the dragon awoke. Unleashing a passionate fury in her mouth one gladly reciprocated.
This should have been my first kiss. As Rhaegar drew back, both panting heavily, her tension had disappeared, Lyanna gazing into his violet eyes with a gentle longing. The kiss had been perfect.
Catching his breath, Rhaegar cupped her soft cheek. "You truly believed I wanted a quiet, meek wife simply as a broodmare?"
Lyanna bit her lip, suddenly embarrassed. When Rhaegar put it that way, her worried seemed so foolish in hindsight. "I… it's just how it is. Even in the North."
Smiling at her, Rhaegar kissed the crown of her head. "Coming from the family of female warriors and dragonriders, those that believe that are fools." The Prince could get lost in his betrothed's grey eyes, sparkling with affection at his statements. "Truth be told, it was witnessing you clobber those boorish squires..."
She gaped at him. "You witnessed that?!" Blood rushed back to her face, wrenching away in humiliation. Not letting him finish. "Seven Hells, what must you have thought of me…"
Rhaegar pressed a single finger against her lips, stilling her. "Calm down, Lyanna." How he said her name made Lyanna's heart flutter. "As I was saying, seeing that was what drew me to you in the first place." Lyanna blinked in surprise. "I knew from the beginning that I have a beautiful, courageous, brave, and strong…" He grinned... "Piece of work for a betrothed. And seeing you defend young Lord Reed's honor on the jousting field… gods, you're incredible." Even with their problems, Elia had been a priceless gem to him - an intelligent politician with an inner steel. Lightning struck twice as another strong woman fell into his lap. Perhaps I am one of fortune's favorites after all?
"I…" Lyanna couldn't believe it. "You're not mad?"
"Why would I be mad?"
Gods, how foolish had she been to ever doubt him. Her Prince Daemon. "I'm sorry, Rhaegar." Her eyes flickered down, ashamed. "I just assumed that you could be like most southern men who like their wives to be weak, quiet things."
Briefly frowning at such a common desire, Rhaegar lightly grasped Lyanna's chin and pulled her back to look at him. A smile formed on his face as he caressed the soft skin of her cheek. "Well, im not like those fools, Lyanna. I did not start falling for a weak or manipulative woman, but for the She-Wolf of Winterfell. Proud and strong and very, very beautiful."
This time it was she that was lost for words. It was she that leaned up and planted her lips on his, nothing holding them back in their second kiss. Tongues demanding and searching. Hands bold as his rested on her waist and hers ran along the form-fitting plates of his armor. Two beings supremely comfortable with the other, able to express their latent passion. Lyanna felt Rhaegar push her backward till her back hit the wall, plundering it like a triumphant conqueror. Yes… don't stop, Rhaegar… Had he decided to take her maidenhead right there, she would have urged him on.
But much to her displeasure - though his respect for her was one reason she had fallen so deeply for him in such a short time - he drew back once more. It was now his turn to look nervous. "Perhaps we should talk?"
Biting her lip again, Lyanna nodded. "Yes, we should." Drawing two worn chairs covered in dust, Rhaegar gestured for Lyanna to sit, which she did. His sudden nervousness was adorable. "We've had too many misunderstandings, Rhaegar." She took his hand in hers, tracing along the powerful palm. "What would you like to know?"
Electric tingle shooting up him from her touch, Rhaegar forced himself away from thoughts of her. Of her lips swollen from their passion. "Why were you so worried about our marriage? I mean, being the Princess does pose certain problems to overcome, but also a freedom from certain conventions. If you perform your duties, then there is nothing else truly expected of you, so why the fear?"
Lyanna looked away, pursing her lips. "Let's just say I haven't had a decent history with betrothals before you, my Dragon." She smiled slightly. "Do you mind if I call you that?"
He laughed, a cheery chuckle of a man without a care in the world - something few had heard him ever do since he was but a child. "I like it… my Wolf." Their eyes sparkled at each other. "So, by history you mean your betrothal to Robert Baratheon?" A dark glare flashed across her expression. "Lyanna… what did he do?" If he forced himself on her…
With a hearty sigh - one holding back a still simmering anger, but also a pointless one at this point - Lyanna proceeded to recount her encounters with her previous suitor. From the disrespect, to the kiss, to the almost giddy way he slept with whores while also believing he professed a deep live fit her, by the end she could see Rhaegar was boiling.
"That shit." Rhaegar suppressed his urge to be a kinslayer at that moment. "To think he has any Targaryen blood… fucking disgrace." The Prince pulled her onto his lap, snug in a tight embrace. "Please tell me that your brothers and father no longer have anything to do with that slug?"
She nuzzled her nose against the crook of his neck, enjoying the spicy scent of her Dragon Prince. "They reacted badly when I told them." Memories of what Robert had told her came to mind, the true reason she had been so fearful of Rhaegar… I truly feared my Daemon… Feeling so horrible, the weight of all her worries suddenly hit her - of everything that had been both created and resolved and was still to be in the balance. Clutching to him tighter, she began to softly sob.
Sounds Rhaegar heard almost immediately. "Lyanna?" Surprised by her sudden tears, he pulled her back to look at her, gently rubbing her back. "Lya… what's wrong? Why are you crying?"
"I'm sorry... I want to be strong." Everything he had told her - it just seemed like a dream. "I… I don't want to live in chains. I can't live in chains, Rhaegar."
Seeing those beautiful grey eyes watering again, Rhaegar's heart broke - a sight as horrifying to see as when Elia broke into silent tears at his father insulting their little girl. I swear to you, Lya, I will never chain you."
Sniffling, Lyanna couldn't help but to shift around till she rested her head against his armored chest, listening to his heartbeat underneath the plate. "So if I wish to practice my swordplay?" It had taken years to convince her father to allow Lyanna to train - before which she had trained in the wolfswood with Bran - and that only was due to her agreeing to etiquette lessons from Nan. To train and spar meant the world to her.
"I'll appoint Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell as your instructor if you want."
Lyanna peered up at him, regarding him with new eyes. "And if I wish to ride?"
Gently, he wiped the tears off her cheeks. "The beaches of Dragonstone are perfect for riding. I'll make sure the best mounts in Westeros are there for you to choose from." Honoring and cherishing this gem - this winter rose, it was so easy for him. She was just so perfect.
She blushed. "I already have the best horse in the seven kingdoms." They both laughed at that, Lyanna's tears long forgotten. How did I get so lucky? "His Grace's announcement came at the perfect time for me." Lyanna reached up to cup his cheek. "You saved me from what would be a horrible marriage, instead giving me what I hope will be a wonderful one."
"It will be wonderful, Lyanna." He said this without any doubt in his voice. "I'll do everything in my power to protect you and make you happy. This day until the end of my days." She stared at him, for his use of the Andal wedding vows - it was not by accident. "It's only been a short time since we truly met, but since then I've fallen for you, Lyanna Stark."
They still had to get to know everything about the other, but the bond was made - all that was left to do was strengthen it till it was unbreakable. I have no intention of letting him get away. "I fell for you the moment I heard you sing." Lyanna's expression grew determined. "I don't give a fuck what anyone says, my Prince. I want to be your Queen... if you'll have me that is?"
Rhaegar was taken aback for a moment at the blunt, crude words, but recovered quickly. Grabbing her face with both hands. "Of course I'll have you, my feisty Wolf."
They kissed again, and time just ended for Lyanna. One moment she was in his lap, and the next he had laid her on the threadbare reed mat that lined the dirty floor. Tongues tangled and hands brushing all over her body. She gasped as he moved to her neck, licking and kissing, a livewire to her core. Wordlessly, Lyanna reached and began removing his armor. Tossing them in every direction until he was in a simple tunic. Hands inching under the fabric to feel his hard muscles - muscles that made her mouth water. Whatever had overcome Lyanna, she didn't care.
Kissing back up to her mouth, Rhaegar felt all the most lustful urges coursing through him. Instinct growling at him to bury his length in her heat, to breed the beautiful, wild direwolf with his dragonseed. Tempering the hot blood coursing through him, Rhaegar nevertheless reached down to untie her trousers.
Lost in her passion, his actions brought her back to reality. "Wait… Rhaegar…" Lyanna broke their kiss, half-lidded eyes staring into his dark indigo. She decided then and there she could melt into a puddle by simply gazing into his eyes. "I want to remain a… a maiden until our wedding night." She blushed.
Smiling gently, Rhaegar kissed her sweetly. "I respect your virtue, my Wolf. You are truly a winter's rose." Still, he went back to yanking down her trousers. "But I still intend on making you shatter." Something feral was driving him. Rhaegar needed to see her screaming his name. Needed it more than breathing.
Brows furrowed in confusion, trusting him yet still unknowing of what in the name of the old gods her betrothed was doing, Lyanna watched him kiss down her stomach. Then kiss along her thighs. And then kiss… there. "Rhaegar… what…?" Just as she spoke, the Prince's tongue licked a slow strip up her slit - and it felt so deliriously… good. "Fuck, my Prince… don't stop…"
"Raqagon, ñuha dōna zokla." Pushing her thighs wide apart, Rhaegar moaned into her heat. "Sylutī." She tasted divine - he fancied Elia's, but Lyanna's wasn't comparable. Like two flavors of sweet wine, and he was lucky enough to enjoy both. Her hands weaved into his hair, tugging and pulling until they fell from his bun. He tossed her legs about his shoulders. "Do you like the Lord's Kiss?"
"Oh yes…" She was seeing stars, driven to her edge by his hungry licks. "More, Rhaegar. More!" All she could hear was the sliding of his tongue through her folds, and her frantic breaths.
She was close - he had enough experience with Elia to know for sure. "Lyanna…" he whispered into her wetness. Rhaegar shifted up, lashing his tongue against her little nub. Rewarded by her hips bucking, fingers pulling at his hair. Lyanna's back arched up, wetness covering his mouth to which he downed gladly. "Māzigon syt nyke." Reveling in the shuddering moan that signaled her climax to the world.
Lyanna, arm pressed against her forehead to steady her thoughts, closed her eyes. His voice… Gods, that voice… Speaking in High Valyrian, a language beautiful on his tongue. Opening them again as she panted. "Seven hells…" The aftershocks of her climax still shuddered through her. "That was… Gods, Rhaegar."
Shit-eating grin planted on his face - no man unable to feel smug at making such a gorgeous beauty shatter like that - Rhaegar gently lapped up the remnants of her juices and pulled up her trousers. Fastening them. "So," he said, shimmying till he was by her side. "I'll take it you enjoyed?"
"Mmmmm… that was wonderful, Rhaegar." Needing to be close to him, Lyanna threw her arms around his side, snuggling into his chest. "I can't wait for my life with you." The reality would be quite complex to navigate, but at least she'd have this man beside her during all of it. Lyanna allowed that truth to push everything else aside for now.
"Me neither, my winter goddess." Kissing her hair, sniffing the cold, clean scent, he couldn't help but laugh. "I still can't believe you were the Knight of the Laughing Tree."
Smiling back, Lyanna now knew he held nothing but affection in his tone. "Well, those cunts needed to be taught a lesson, and since this wasn't on the menu I was in need of some fun." Her grin matched his.
Out of nowhere, Rhaegar frowned. "My father…" The mood darkened. "He wants the knight dead."
Lyanna blinked, suddenly fearful. "What, why?"
"I can't be sure anymore…" A sigh, running his hand through his silver locks. "His mind doesn't operate on the plane of sanity anymore." Rhaegar grabbed her hands. "I'll take your helmet and say the knight washed away into the God's Eye. No one will ever know." He pressed a searing kiss to her lips. "You are my betrothed, Lyanna. You are part of the dragon pack, and I will protect you to the death."
She smiled wanly. Prince Daemon Targaryen, leaping off Caraxes to his death to protect the one he loved. "Don't die, Rhaegar. Live, so that we may know a long and happy life."
"Oh, I intend to."
After helping him with his armor - an action frequently interrupted by sweet kisses and lustful touches - Rhaegar finally left the cottage. Shutting the door behind him, Lyanna turned and collapsed against it. Sliding to the ground with a dreamy smile on her face and the feeling of his lips still tingling all over her body. Never having been happier.
A/N: And the Pact of Ice and Fire is pretty much sealed :D
I know many of y'all wanted to see Aerys grinning when Lyanna was unmasked at the tourney. Perhaps in another fic, but this reaction is necessary for later developments. Trust me.
Ned, Ned, Ned, I think he's a glutton for punishment, lol.
Translations:
Raqagon, ñuha dōna zokla - Enjoy, my sweet wolf
Sylutī - tasty
Māzigon syt nyke - Come for me
Next time, Targaryen v. Baratheon for the title of King's Champion!
