A/N: Hey everyone. Happy New Year, and first update of 2020!
I got a guest review on Cersei/Ned, and I just want to elaborate on some things. Yes, Cersei grew up entitled and bratty. Many highborns did (I don't know anything about a murder, so for poetic licence I'm not including that in the background), and Tyrion himself did some pretty naughty things that caused people to be humiliated and flogged. If he can be portrayed as a protagonist, so can Cersei. She hasn't gone down the ultimate path that led her to being the Mad Queen (under no circumstances would Daenerys get that title - Fuck D&D) until marrying Robert and bedding Jaime. Her father raising her entitled can be reversed with the right man. Relax and enjoy the ride.
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 13: Moment of Bliss
"Come with me, my Prince." With the thunderous cheers of the smallfolk, obsequious deference of ass-kissing lords and ladies, and the thumping snacks and grins from the Targaryen bannermen, it was a miracle that Lyanna has managed to wrest Rhaegar away from both the tourney field and the planned feast in his honor. But here they were, in his chambers. Lyanna's mouth crashing against his the moment the door shut. Only a blind fool would miss the knowing grins on Barristan and Arthur's faces, but faced with her handsome warrior betrothed, the she-wolf didn't bother to care.
Hands automatically moving to her deliciously thin waist, Rhaegar could only offer the weakest of protests. "Lyanna…" If she continued, by the old gods and the new he wouldn't be able to control himself.
But direwolves proved as stubborn as dragons. "Fuck, you were so sinfully handsome out there." Dainty fingers moved to untie the laces of his armor with the skill of a seasoned squire, mouth moving to the tight muscles of his lower neck. "My King's Champion, let your she-wolf reward you for your victory.
The image of the northern beauty, blue dress clinging to every curve and grey eyes black with lust, it was the crown of winter roses perched on her chestnut locks that caused all of Rhaegar's caution to melt away. Giving into his lust as he brought their lips together once more. Hands growing frantic to strip armor and yank down fabric to expose breasts and cunts.
The two young lovers were starved for each other - not having enjoyed their beloved carnally since the night in the abandoned cabin. After plundering her mouth Rhaegar blazed a trail down Lyanna's cheek, chin, and neck. Breeches tightening from how her moans played him like he did his harp. Needing more of those moans. Pieces of his armor clanked upon the floor, the Prince too far gone to care upon meeting her pert breasts. Creamy with light pink nipples capping them. "You're perfect," he breathed, taking them in his mouth.
Lyanna grasped Rhaegar's silver curls, electricity shooting to her core. It was too much, too intense, but somehow she just couldn't stop. "Give me pleasure, my Prince. Take me to the stars…" She felt his hands yank up the skirts of her dress, underclothes quickly discarded so he could feast upon her.
Gasping, moaning, bucking her hips against his face, Rhaegar quickly brought Lyanna close to her climax. Bathing himself in her taste. World shrunk to just pleasuring this woman. Looking up, Rhaegar met Lyanna's breathtaking eyes. Unable to tear himself away as he continued to attack her folds.
Those violets… her love's. Lyanna held Rhaegar tight to her, wordlessly begging to make her cum. To wash the vile feeling of Robert's touch and tongue with his welcome passion. She-wolf her lip to ride the climax that washed over her. Coating the beautifully sculpted face in her own juices. Speaking his name with reverence, she leaned down to grasp his head. Yanking him back till they were kissing desperately. Flipping him over. Suddenly overcome with an urge to provide him with the same pleasure. Unbuckling his breeches. Freeing a part of him that made her mouth water. So big… belongs to me… Hoping her inexperience didn't show, Lyanna lowered her mouth on him - initially hesitant but driven faster from how he weaved his fingers in her hair and urged her on. Begged her for release which she gladly gave him.
Unable to disturb the crown of winter roses that so framed the beautiful, sinful angel that so ravaged him, one hand fisted by his side while the other reached to the crown of her head to grab at her hair. "Lyanna… ñuha zokla… fuck… fuck… fuck."
Yes, yes, yes… His seed erupting out to coat her mouth and throat, Lyanna knew that there was no other man she would ever crave this violently. Gods, I am lucky.
"Lord Stark!" Not used to being addressed by his father's title, Ned didn't even register until a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found Howland Reed with a concerned look. The bruises from the encounter Lyanna told him about were starting to heal, but still were quite glaring. "You left in a hurry…"
His eyes narrowed, fists clenching. "Did my sister ask you to come after me?" Not even Lyanna would stop him on his quest.
Howland shook his head. "No, Lady Mormont did. Lady Stark… she's currently joining the Prince with speaking to various Lords and Ladies - the way you stormed off, we want to make sure she doesn't have any further worries."
Rolling his eyes, Ned turned and continued on his path. Scowl on his face and not stopping for anyone. "She won't have any future worries when I'm done with my cunt of a friend."
The Lord of Greywater Watch jog after him, legs pumping to keep up with the taller Stark's stride. "I know that you're angry about Robert…"
"Dacey tell you that too?" Ned laughed, though the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Appears everyone knew about this except me." You're a fuckin' fool, Ned.
"She didn't want you or Brandon… well, mostly Brandon to do anything rash." That made some sense - their brother would be marching over with a sword and spear had he been the one to overhear Lya's conversation with the Queen. "Engaging with Lord Baratheon won't solve anything."
Still stomping forward, Ned turned a quizzical eye. "Why in seven hells do you care, Lord Reed?" The Reeds were crucial bannermen, but unlike the other young highborns they largely kept to themselves in Greywater Watch - none of the Stark brood had much of a deep friendship with him.
Howland was silent for a moment, Ned's searching eyes sensing his mind whirring. "She… she helped me. Avenge my honor."
"How would…?" Suddenly Ned's eyes widened, recognition inside them. Fainting… having to sleep in the Mormont tent… not having seen her for hours yet who shows up and disappears to challenge the knights of the same squires that… "Lyanna, she was…"
"Don't say it out loud, please," Howland whispered. "I heard from some household guards that the King is out for blood - the… person's blood. If this gets out…"
"My lips are sealed." Wild, kind, honorable Lyanna. Willing to defy a King simply to see justice done, yet he couldn't even see… I brought Robert to her… I must be the one to finish it. "What I need to do doesn't involve that, so if you'll excuse me…"
The Stormlands portion of the tourney camp was bustling, many having followed their Liege Lord off the field. It didn't take long for Ned to catch a familiar face. "Ah, Ned, what brings you here?" Beric Dondarrion asked, smile on his face. He had won the racing crown, so had nothing to complain about.
The second Stark son wasn't in the mood for chit chat. "Where's Robert?"
Beric raised an eyebrow before pointing to the Maester's tent. "He was just being treated for his bruises. Maester Villers just ducked out to fetch some poltuces…" The Lord of Blackhaven was cut off when Ned - red in his eyes - stormed to the tent. Howland trailing after him. This will not be good…
Lord Robert Baratheon was bare-chested, seated in the middle of the tent with bandages and poultice-soaked rags wrapped around his arm and torso. He looked like he'd been put through the ringer, but his face held not pain. Rather a seething, boiling anger and bitterness that Ned hadn't truly seen before. Robert did have a temper, but it was more in the gregarious nature of tavern brawls - this was closer to that of a psychopath.
Not that Ned cared at the moment. A direwolf held their emotions, but when the dam burst there was no stopping the wolf's blood from going on a rampage. "You fucking prick!" he hissed.
Instead of shock - as both Ned and Howland expected - Robert simply exploded. The rage having built within him since the joust… hells, since Lyanna smacked him with the book just all spilling out. Charging like the great warriors of his house since the days of the first Storm King. "Me? Me! What the fuck about you, Ned?!" Mindless of his injuries, he stood. Half a head taller than the northerner and far bulkier. "You come here screamin' at me when it was you that stood up there with the dragonspawn cunts condoning the forced sale of your sister?!"
"Oh, don't play the fucking victim here, Robert!" Just having caught up, Beric not far behind, Howland gaped. Eddard Stark almost never cursed, the epitome of a gentleman. He almost never yelled either, yet here he was. A snarling direwolf cornering a mighty stag. "You just couldn't stay away from her, you couldn't listen to me, could you?"
"She's my wife, Ned! My betrothed, my love…!"
He looked disgusted. "What love?! You don't know what the fuck love is! You 'love' every whore and milkmaid who bats her eyelashes at you." He jabbed a finger right on Robert's chest. "Tell me, is it just Mya Stone or do you have other bastards out there that I don't know about?"
"I don't have to justify my sexual prowess to you, Ned," Robert sneered back, rage within him only stoked higher and higher. "But Lyanna is no peasant girl. I had my fun with them, but she will be my wife. My Lady of Storm's End… I'll treat her like a fucking princess and don't you dare say I won't!"
Jaw dropped, trembling at the gall of his supposed friend. Ned's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If you wish to treat her as a princess, then why did you…" Voice low and menacing like a growl, suddenly he roared. "...Fucking force yourself on her fucking twice!"
"Go find someone," Howland whispered to Beric.
The Lord of Blackhaven furrowed his brows. "Who?"
"Just find fucking someone."
The screaming match continued. "She wanted it, Ned!"
"You're not that stupid, Robert. I know you can tell when someone says no." He made a fist, wanting to punch the self-righteous face of the man he thought of as his closest friend. But he hesitated, still unwilling to go that far.
From the flicker in his blue eyes, Robert knew exactly what was going in Ned's mind. "You gonna slug me, Ned? Your own friend… we were goin' to be brothers, and you decided to back the dragonspawn rapist that stole Lyanna over me?" His voice was low, tinged with pain and rage.
Surprising him, yet it really shouldn't have at this point, Ned pointed an accusatory finger at Robert. "That is my goodbrother, you are speaking of, and I won't stand for you smearing our pack." Taking a deep breath, Ned stepped away. "Lyanna loves the Crown Prince. She is going to be his bride, not yours. If you don't understand that, I cannot help you, but stay away from her or you'll be sorry." He attempted to turn away, having said what he needed to say.
But Robert wasn't done. Laughing mockingly. "I can't fucking believe it. Eddard Stark, the king of honor." A sneer returned to his face. "Can't face the facts that his father sold his daughter like a Lysene pillow slave to some disgusting old man for a seat on the small council."
Stopping in his tracks, shoulders tensing and fists clenching, in a split second Ned had swiveled around and slammed a left hook right into Robert's jaw, splitting his lip and sprinkling blood over the ground. The Stag was quick on the counter, debilitating right cross connecting with Ned's shoulder. Snarling like a wolf, Ned simply charged, knocking both of them into a table in a tangle of flying fists and knees.
Frozen in place and barely able to walk without pain himself, Howland simply stood there until the clinking of chainmail registered behind him. "What in seven hells is going on here?!" thundered a bewildered Jon Arryn, mouth open in shock as he watched his foster sons going at each other like crazed Sothoryos apes. "Get them apart, now!"
Two Arryn guards and Lord Dondarrion raced in at the command of the Warden of the East, wading into the flurry of fists to break the two highborns apart. It was tough, but eventually Beric was holding Robert back while one of the guards restrained a hissing Ned. "I'll fucking rip off your cock!" Ned sported bruised ribs, an open cut on his forehead, and black eye.
"I'd like to see you try, pretty boy!" Robert shot back. In addition to the tourney injuries. His lip was a bloody mess and there were additional bruises all over his face and shoulders. Both men's knuckles were bloody.
Lord Arryn's fury dwarfed that of the boys once his shock wore off. "What is this?! Are these the two highborn, noble men I raised? That I molded into the epitome of Westerosi Lords?!" His eyes flickered between Robert and Ned, blazing with fury. "Cause all I see are two addled children killing each other over a toy."
Robert wasn't having it. "Fuck this." Pushing Beric off, he pointed at Ned. "The dragonspawn won't have your sister. She'll be mine if it's the last fucking thing I do!" And with that he stormed off, Beric in tow.
"I'll kill you first if you fucking get near Lyanna again!" Ned screamed after Robert, but by then he was gone. Hot blood of battle draining, the pain showed up. "Shit, my face." He rubbed his jaw gingerly, guided by his foster father and Howland into the chair.
"By the old gods and new, what happened, Ned?" For the life of him, Jon Arryn couldn't figure out what got into the two young men. "You and Robert are the closest of friends and now this? As disappointed I am, there is an explanation and it'll be easier to tell me than others who might use it for their own agendas."
Swallowing, wincing as he did, Ned had to admit that the Lord of the Eyrie had a point. "Robert… he forced himself on Lyanna, twice." Even now, after venting his anger with his fists, Ned felt his blood boiling.
If finding them wailing on each other wasn't enough, the stunned expression made itself right at home on Lord Arryn's face. "What… How do you know this?"
"Lyanna told me and Brandon the first time. It was their first meeting and… he apparently got carried away." Ned shuddered with disgust. "The second time was today, right before the joust." A tear fell down his face, unbidden and unavoidable. "I… overheard her… talking to the Queen… gods, I'm such a fool. A horrid fool…"
He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder. His faster father was peering at him, sad, contrite smile on his face. "It's not your fault, Ned… seven hells, it's mine." A deep, heavy sigh left his lips. "Robert… he's always been larger than life. Charming in a bombastic sort of way. That attracts smallfolk girls and daughters of lesser lords like moths to a flame, but I should have realized that a free-spirited wolf like Lyanna wasn't a good fit for him."
Ned hung his head, trapped in his hands. "Looks like we both made that mistake." The maester then arrived, beginning to poke and prod the Stark spare heir as he cleaned him up. "Shit... " Ned winced at the stinging poultice. "Still… never expected Robert to actually force himself on her."
"I doubt he thought she would reject him. In all my years of raising him, Robert's never been rejected as far as I know, and it seems that he's had more of a reach than I would have thought." It wasn't the first time Jon Arryn - despite loving the Baratheon boy as if he were his own son - wished that the younger Stannis had been the firstborn. The lad was dour and uncompromising, but actually had a skill for ruling. "I'll talk to him, Ned. A man who has friends would never be alone in his life, so you shouldn't throw them away unless they aren't worth saving."
A grumble left Ned's lips. "I'm not sure it's worth saving at this point."
Jon Arryn frowned. "Do not say such things, I raised you better than that." Running a hand through his close cropped chin beard, the Lord of the Eyrie sat next to his foster son. "Leaving aside your friendship with Robert, do you really wish to cost your goodbrother the loyalty of the Stormlands? House Baratheon has been faithful to the crown since the days of the conquest."
Biting his lip, Ned had to admit that Lord Arryn spoke the truth.
"Seems you and your sister will have a lot to learn when dealing with southern politics, Ned." A smile then returned to his face as he patted the northerner on the back. "I'll have to be in King's Landing for the wedding anyway. Elbert can manage things from the Eyrie for me, so I'll accept your request."
"I can't ask you to do that, my Lord." While Ned could think of no one better than his foster father to guide him and Lyanna through the rough and tumble world of court politics while still keeping their souls, he didn't wish to impose on him any further.
The older man waved him off. "Don't be daft. I'm happy to do it, and my heart will rest easy knowing that you and Lyanna are well-equipped in court. Given that your brother is to be the Lord of Winterfell, you'll need to find a place in the world and assisting your goodbrother as a councillor or even Hand could be it." A sly grin formed on Jon Arryn's face. "Perhaps you'll even find a lady you fancy."
A bright red blush formed on Ned's cheeks that dwarfed the bruises. "One thing at a time, my Lord." I may have already found her… But daughters of Lord Paramounts never married second sons.
"The wedding will be held in the Sept of Baelor," announced Lord Hand Jon Connington at the head of the table. Black Harren's council chamber was as large as his inferiority complex could demand built. As such, the four men and one woman currently within it made the accommodations look paltry and empty indeed. "It is a must, Lord Stark," he told the Master of Laws. "Propriety demands it, and it's where we can fit all the guests from all across the Seven Kingdoms."
"An affront to Northern customs… or at least that is what many of the Northern Lords will think." If Rickard Stark was being honest - while he intended on making his mark as Master of Laws, the wedding of his daughter to the Crown Prince came first - Lyanna wouldn't care if the wedding was in a quarry if she was marrying Rhaegar Targaryen. But tradition died hard. "Our faith in the Old Gods is part of our identity…"
Rhaegar would have liked nothing more than to give Lyanna her wish to marry in the Winterfell Godswood, but he was the Prince and she would be his Princess. Other factors had to be considered. "Lord Stark, the Faith is already up in arms over this - Maegor taking a second wife was what set into motion the Faith Militant Rebellion. We know enough about the High Septon to buy him off, but an official wedding outside of a sept would simply be too tough to swallow for them."
"And there are no heart trees in the Godswood." Queen Rhaella hit the nail on the head, as she was wont to do. "It wouldn't mean what a proper Godswood wedding would, if I know the traditions of the Old Gods well. A royal progress to Winterfell in the future could fix that - in front of the entire North and Northern Lords." Her son could have hugged her tightly. While Aerys barely liked anyone attending Small Council meetings, Rhaella was barred for 'being a weak woman.' Half the time, Rhaegar felt both his mother and his wives - well, wife and wife to be - were smarter than the rest of them.
"My wife is of Hightower blood," said Mace Tyrell. The entire Small Council gathered here, hammering out various issues before journeying back to the capitol. "The Faith will be riled about this… such is a wise decision, your Grace."
Rubbing the back of his neck, Jon Connington gave Rhaegar an apologetic look before continuing. "I wouldn't worry about the Faith, at least in the near future… I think we should wait several moonturns before the wedding.
"I'm not going to wait," Rhaegar fumed. Gods, he ached without his Lyanna by his side. How had I truly existed without her all these years? Aside from times spent with his mother and children - along with the few happy moments with Elia not ruined by his father or their duty - his life had been truly empty without her. I can't wait one second more. "Give one week for her to be introduced at court and then we're going ahead. I'll deal with the backlash afterwards."
Connington cleared his throat. "Well, my Prince. The backlash has already begun." The Hand unfurled a note, handing it to Rhaegar. "This was sent from Sunspear several days ago. Lord Yronwood personally delivered it to me for the Prince's eyes."
Snatching the sheaf of parchment, Rhaegar peered at the elegant scrawl.
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen,
I write to you not only as the Prince of the Seventh Kingdom but also as your brother by marriage the eyes of the Seven. The news of the Stark girl has only just reached myself at the Water Gardens, and it took days for my initial response to temper enough to write this letter to you.
As a noble Prince and loving brother, I am grievously insulted at your attempt to disgrace my sister by forcing her to endure the indignity of you taking a second bride. After centuries of war, our alliance was sealed through marriage between our ancient houses. Sealed through marriage once again between yourself and my sister the Princess Elia, only now such alliance is close to the breaking point.
My brother, Prince Oberyn, is journeying to King's Landing for this so-called wedding and to ensure my sister's continued position as the future Queen and my niece and nephew as the sole progeniture for the Iron Throne.
I trust that you shall know what is proper for House Targaryen.
Doran Martell, Prince of Sunspear
Rhaegar clenched his fists. "That jumped up cunt has the fucking nerve…"
"Even still, with the King's desire to prevent Tywin Lannister from obtaining support to… plot against him..." Each of the Small Council knew by now the motivations behind the King's desire for Lyanna's hand - even Rickard. "We can't afford for this to alienate Kingdoms when we're trying to secure a greater alliance."
"Five Kingdoms, Dorne, Reach, North, Vale, and Riverlands," Rhaella listed off, growing concerned. "Combined with the Lords sworn directly to House Targaryen, no force would ever challenge it… but if we lose Dorne in the fallout…"
The fact that both of them fell madly for each other was a delightful bonus to some, a headache for others. Connington was one. Rhaegar had his suspicions as to why, but did not wish to divulge them out of concern for his friend. As much as they quarreled recently, Rhaegar was loyal. "If you wed Lady Stark without at least giving the Lords Paramount the opportunity to air out their grievances then another rebellion could brew."
Rickard had his hands crossed over his chest, but even he seemed to agree. "I'd consider the Stormlands already alienated, then. My daughter wouldn't want the Crown Prince weakened for mere impatience."
"No one is suggesting that, Lord Stark," replied Rhaella. "But dragging things out won't make much of a difference if sedition and rebellion are already firmly set in motion."
"I am behind the crown wholeheartedly, your Grace," Mace wheezed, coughing as he tried to speak and chew on a pastry at the same time. "But… why would… Lord Baratheon be alienated? He is the foster son of Lord Arryn and the Prince's cousin."
Meeting his goodfather's eye, Rhaegar sensed a cold anger, and… guardedness. Is there something he's not telling me… wait, did the cunt try to force himself on Lya again?! Rhaegar forced himself to take a breath. If neither Lyanna, Rickard, Brandon, or Ned told him, then there must have been a good reason. "Let's just say he's affronted by the breaking up of betrothal negotiations that Lord Stark had with him prior to my father's decree." That placated Mace.
For Jon Connington, he raised a fire-colored brow but didn't breach the subject. Knowing him, he'd do his own digging. "If that is the case," he finally said after a modest contemplation, "Then we cannot afford to lose Dorne." He pointed to the parchment. "Three moonturns. Enough to get Lady Lyanna known at court, make some… arrangement with Elia." Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, not taking kindly to how Connington talked about his wife. The Lord of Griffin's Roost didn't heed the glare. "And find some way to placate Prince Oberyn. Buy him a whore, get him drunk… fuck him if you have to." The last came with a bit of bitterness.
"Wait." Rickard looked confused. "The second Prince of Dorne is a buggerer?" He curled his face in disgust - outside of Dorne and King's Landing, attitudes were still old-fashioned and anti-libertine. The North most of all. "And you tolerate that degeneracy?" The Crown Prince didn't fail to notice how Connington stiffened.
It was Queen Rhaella that moved to end the conversation. "It won't take long for Prince Oberyn to arrive, and court introductions are quick. Perhaps a shorter engagement would work?" She looked poignantly at her son.
"One moonturn." Rhaegar held up a single finger. "One. Does that work for everyone?" From the lack of disagreement, it seemed a proper compromise. Oberyn would certainly arrive from Dorne long before then. "Good. We're dismissed. I'll speak with you about the dealings with Lord Baratheon later, Jon." As Connington offered a small smile, Rhaegar was glad that their friendship was still there. Jon was a good man, one he was glad to have as an ally.
His mother hugged him close. "Go spend the day with your lady love. Don't waste the time you have." A kiss on the cheek and she was off.
Soon, it was just he and his goodfather left in the meeting room. "I don't like having to deal with Prince Oberyn, Rhaegar. People with loose morals such as that cannot be trusted."
Rhaegar sighed. "My goodbrother is a rather... eccentric individual. He likes to… spread his seed where he may, regardless of the field. We tolerate him for his intelligence and his loyalty to family." The Prince didn't necessarily like such conduct, but who was he to judge given his family's… transgressions in the eyes of many in Westeros.
"I don't want my family exposed to such depravity."
"Do not worry, he's very discrete." Last time Rhaegar saw him, he at least closed the door when half of Chataya's visited his chambers. A form of modesty, he had to point out. "But nevermind about Oberyn, I'll deal with him. Did something happen with Lord Baratheon?"
Now it was Rickard's turn to look uncomfortable. Gaze dropping to the floor, not wanting to meet Rhaegar's. "If you're asking me that, Lyanna told you what she wished for you to know."
A pit formed in Rhaegar's gut, half worry and half dragonfire. "What did he do to her?" His voice was low, a menacing quality.
"It's not my place to say…"
"Bullshit. Tell me what he fucking did."
Reaching up, the Lord of Winterfell grabbed his prospective goodson's shoulders in a fatherly squeeze. "My Prince… listen to me. You're already dealing with too much - as your councillor and future goodfather, dealing with a rebellious Stormlands shouldn't be added to your plate. It's a Stark matter and House Stark will deal with it." Rhaegar didn't look convinced. "You love my daughter, I can tell you do. You just need to trust her to tell you what you need to know."
Tension building, Rhaegar gradually calmed down. "Trust Lyanna." He did, he trusted her with his life.
"Good. Now try and make sure she doesn't get into a catfight with the Princess Elia." A rather rare grin spread on Rickard's face. "You're already in enough hot water with Dorne." Even the Prince couldn't help a chuckle at that.
"Alright, Brandon, I think you are japing me." Fire roaring in the hearth of the private dining chamber, an intimate setting that could hold about a dozen people maximum, was at only half that.
Brandon Stark held up his palms. "Hand to gods, my Prince. Why would I lie to you?"
While initially disliking the maltish bitterness of the northern ale, at the urging of his insistent and beautiful betrothed Rhaegar had kept at the cups - developing a taste for it after all. By the fourth cup, he was wonderfully buzzed. "It just doesn't make sense to me. Are you sure there aren't any direwolves south of the wall?" Rhaegar's words were slightly slurred, but he was still upright and lucid. Most would have collapsed by now, but the dragon blood burned through food and alcohol like no other. Imagine how much food Aegon the Unworthy had to eat to fuck him up that badly.
"I give up with this lad," Brandon huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Father, please put me out of my misery."
Smirking as he sipped at the ale, Rickard leaned over to tap his goodson on the back. "There haven't been any direwolves in the north since… hells, I think Brandon Snow was the last to bond with one."
Beside Lyanna, the Queen furrowed her brows. "Was that the one who nearly snuck into Aegon the Conqueror's camp and drive arrows into the eyes of the dragons."
Rickard looked impressed. "You know your histories, my Queen. Now I know where your son gets it from."
"Arrows into the eye of a dragon, simple arrows." Rhaegar shook his head. "The Dornish had some contraption to do the same thing to Meraxes, and even that had to be the length of a tall man."
"Weirwood arrows, my Dragon," Lyanna replied, rubbing his knee under the table. "They have magical properties, and I wouldn't doubt that the wood does too."
Rhaegar nodded, pursing his lips. "I'm suddenly less confused as to why Bloodraven carried a bow made of the same material."
"His mother was of House Blackwood," shrugged Brandon. "Only house south of the Neck that worships the old gods. The hill tribes of the Vale still do, but I wouldn't count them a proper house." Pitching back the mug, he drained a third of it. "One of the reasons we Starks don't like going south. Not very comfortable with the Faith of the Seven."
"House Targaryen feels your pain," Rhaegar said, causing a chorus of laughs from the Starks and his mother… Lady Catelyn being the exception, merely sipping at her wine. The only one not drinking the northern ale. That didn't escape the Prince's notice. "Our history with the Faith… they say that Baelor the Blessed and Aegon II were the only ones that had their unwavering support."
"One a crazed zealot that followed everything they said and the other a half-Hightower under the thumb of the patron of the Faith." Lyanna shook her head. "Sure, the Faith draws from the best pool of Kings." A soft hand tapped Rhaegar's shoulder, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I should take you to the Godswood of King's Landing. No weirwood trees, but I'll still teach you the ways of the Old Gods."
He turned to smile at her. "For you, I'd do anything." She beamed and leaned against him, Rhaella smiled widely while Brandon and Rickard looked pleased with their sister's soon to be husband. Catelyn… while she was leaned into the Stark hier, it was clear she was quite uncomfortable. Lips moving oh so slightly - a silent prayer. She loves Brandon, but would that be enough to tolerate the North? Rhaegar had his doubts, but people could surprise.
A knock on the door found Ser Jaime - he, Ser Barristan, and Ser Arthur on duty and sharing in the merriment - opening it, only to reveal a bruised Ned Stark. "Sorry I'm late," he mumbled, going straight for the pitcher of ale and draining it.
Brandon was the first to rise up, overcoming the shock at the state of his brother. "Fuck being late. What in seven hells happened to you?"
"Ned!" Lyanna was by his side, running a hand along his black eye. "Gods…" Suddenly remembering how he had stormed off after the joust, it was understood. "Robert?"
He snorted. Nearly sputtering as he drank the bitter liquid. "Aye. Robert." It didn't take long for him to tell the story, Lyanna confirming it. By the end, Brandon was seething. "I'll kill the motherfucker."
"I'll join you." Rhaegar was beyond caring at this point. Blackfyre would taste the King's Justice if he had anything to say about it.
"Sit back down, my son," Rhaella ordered. "I won't have you making rash decisions based on your emotions. That's how we got the Blackfyre Rebellions." Furming, it was a pleading look from Lyanna that finally caused Rhaegar to calm down.
The heir to Winterfell was a lost cause, though. "He's gonna wish he was dead by the time I'm done with him…"
"I already took care of it, brother." Ned sat down, leaning back. "He won't bother Lyanna again - Jon Arryn will make sure of that."
"How can you be so sure?" Rhaella didn't want to give an excuse for the Stormlands to rise against the crown, but the obsession their Lord Paramount had for her gooddaughter did worry her. "My sister was married to Robert's grandfather… I know how impetuous a Baratheon can be."
Rickard sighed. "If anyone can get him off our backs, it's Lord Arryn." Perfection was an illusion, but at least he seemed to know all the pieces. "My Prince, I take it that after the wedding, Lord Robert will no longer be a guest at the Red Keep?"
"Consider it done, Lord Stark. Father never liked him anyway." His father didn't like anyone, but that was beside the point. A solution want of justice, but for the sake of peace and politics, had to be done. The rest of the meal was in silence, but the Prince felt Lyanna's hand clasping his for the entire time. In the end, he was still coming out on top.
"You shouldn't see him." Brandon crossed his arms. "The prick doesn't deserve your sympathy. Or closure."
Catelyn sighed, heart heavy with guilt. "He's practically my brother, Bran. I care for him…"
Groaning, the heir to Winterfell suppressed his urge to throttle someone. There were many worries and concerns that plagued Brandon, most of which were objectively worse, but Petyr Baelish was arguably the most irritating of them all. "He's an insect that is obsessed with you. Don't give him the damn satisfaction to justify his delusions…"
His betrothed cut him off with a gentle kiss on his lips. A kiss that deepened, Catelyn running one hand down the hard planes of his chest while the other guided Brandon's hand to her breast. Brandon growling into her mouth and pressing her against the stone walls outside of the infirmary. Never before did she feel this way. Heart fluttering and core flooding with warmth, the lessons of her Septa against the temptations of the flesh going out the window in the face of Brandon of House Stark. Her greatest sin, her soon to be husband… Gods, she couldn't wait till their wedding day.
By some miracle they had managed to disentangle. Catelyn adjusted her hair and yanked up the collar of her dress to cover the love bite that Brandon so lovingly gave her. "I'll be back soon, Bran." She smiled. "Just remember, I am betrothed to you. Not him, you." That seemed to placate him, the handsome northerner leaning against the wall as she took a breath and entered.
Still confined to bed rest, splints tied to the broken limbs and bandages swathed around his wounds, Littlefinger's sullen frown brightened up at the mere image of Catelyn. "Cat." His smile was genuine and infectious.
Much as she wanted to go back to her childhood and the happy memories with him and her two siblings around the waters of the River Trident, Catelyn willed herself not to. Pursing her lips and looking at Littlefinger with a tiny glare. "Petyr, why did you do what you did?"
His smile faltered. "What are you talking about?" Baelish began to study her closely. A flushed cheek, bits of hair in haphazard whips, and the bare peek of a red mark on her neck… "Is that cunt outside?" The look on her face said it all - even coming to see him, she couldn't keep their passions contained.
"That doesn't matter, Petyr. You had no right to challenge my intended to a duel."
"I had every right. I love you, Cat."
She closed her eyes, restraining her emotions. "You are like a brother to me, Petyr. I love you, but not in the way you wish. I am promised to Lord Brandon…"
"He isn't right for you," Petyr begged.
"...and I love him and only him. I wish not to hurt you, but I will be the Lady of Winterfell. Not your wife, not ever." If she continued then she may fall apart, gazing upon one of the persons she was the closest to. That Catelyn Tully was close to - you are to be Catelyn Stark. "I will always support you, but I think it would be unwise for us to see each other for a long while. Goodbye, Petyr."
"Cat… Cat! Catelyn!" But she was gone. Leaving him alone yet again… to go to her betrothed. To him…
Something snapped within Petyr Baelish, head throbbing and fists clenching… Brandon Stark will rue the day...
Panting, coming down from their high as Rhaegar rolled off his future wife, he pulled Lyanna close to him. Their hair spread in wild tangles after their intense passions. "Gods…" the Prince managed to breath.
Calming her racing heart, Lyanna leaned up to kiss her Dragon Prince on the chin. "Aye… that was simply divine." Their wedding couldn't come soon enough. Beautiful day in the Riverlands, the afternoon before the Royal Party was to leave for King's Landing, the dashing Targaryen Prince and his stunning Stark betrothed were out for a ride and picnic in the woods. A simple ride and feast of breads, fruits, and cheeses turned to teasing, teasing to japing, and japing to them satiating their hunger for each other. Going as far as they could without depriving her of her maidenhead… Lyanna didn't know how long she could last. Every part of her screamed for the handsome dragon's length finally making her a real woman and filling her up, painting her womb with his seed. "Sing to me, my love."
It was a request he couldn't resist complying with. Driving Lyanna to tears at the close up rendition of Jenny of Oldstones. A gentle kiss led them to swap stories and memories. Each bittersweet tale on his part brought the direwolf's arms tight around her dragon's waist, her Prince's life not that of comfort and splendor. Memories of her own mother gave her different kind of sadness, tempered only by the warmth of Rhaegar as he held her tightly.
"She and father wanted more children," Lyanna finished, wiping the last tears from her eyes. They were propped against a large birch tree, Rhaegar directly against it and Lyanna cuddled into his chest. "I heard him and Ser Martyn speaking about it once, that the pack deserved to have one or two more members."
"I can imagine why," Rhaegar said softly, kissing her hair. It amazed her, that someone so strong and fierce could have such a gentle touch. "Rhaenys and Aegon are the light of my life."
The prospect of two adorable little ones with her betrothed's eyes brought joy to Lyanna. Not just two… "Tell me about them, my Dragon."
A wistful smile formed on Rhaegar's face. His children always gave him happiness even in his darkest moments. "Rhaenys… she's both the blood of the dragon and pure Nymerios Martell, a combination straight from the Seven Hells," he chuckled. "Vivacious, dramatic, and stubborn. A real hellion, but with a heart of gold."
"Sounds like how my brothers would describe me," Lyanna laughed. She couldn't wait to meet her future stepdaughter. "And Aegon?"
"Egg… that's his nickname. He's still a babe but I can tell he's a more quiet one."
"Like his father."
"No, I don't see him brood much. More a gentle quiet, like his mother thank the gods."
She leaned up. "I happen to adore his father's brooding. Makes him…" Lyanna kissed his lips sultrily, taking her bottom lip between her teeth afterwards. "Irresistible." Rhaegar beamed, kissing her languidly. Tongue probing into her mouth, making her mewl with pleasure. "My dragon?"
Having pulled away, Rhaegar peered down at his betrothed. "Yes, Lya?"
"Do you want more children?" He blinked, a quizzical look forming on his face. "I mean… most Targaryens have many, but perhaps you…"
A finger to her lips cut her off. "Oh Lyanna." She really was adorable. "Aegon… I thought he would be my last. Elia, she had a difficult pregnancy with him and Maester Pycelle recommended that she couldn't carry another babe." Rhaegar cupped her cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. "I wouldn't want anything more than to give Rhae and Egg little dragonwolf brothers and siblings." He kissed her forehead, enjoying how she sighed in joy. "How many would you want?"
Sighing again, placing her ear against the gentle thud of Rhaegar's heart, her mind imagined silver-haired sons with grey eyes and raven-haired daughters with her Prince's violets. "Four."
A chuckle. "You've thought about this?"
She swatted his chest lightly. "Two sons and two daughters." Lyanna stretched languidly. "Thought about names as well."
"Care to share with me my future children's names?" Oh, Lya, you're perfect.
"Well, I always imagined being a Targaryen Princess as a child - granted, that involved swinging Dark Sister atop Vhagar as much as dresses and feasts." Both of them laughed at that. "Visenya, after the great Queen and Lyarra, after my mother." A gentle kiss on her hand made her swoon, knowing Rhaegar's agreement. "And Jaehaerys… after the Targaryen King beloved in the north."
"That still leaves one son unnamed."
"I can't think of a perfect second name, but I will."
So sure of herself, the Prince was greatly enjoying himself. "But why that number?"
"Rhaenyra had five, my mother had four and wanted more… but I hope that I'll be able to count little Rhae and Egg as my daughters as well. Not separate them from Elia, but…" There was no need to elaborate. Everything that needed to be said had been said.
It seemed too soon… hells, it felt like a lifetime had passed since that day Lyanna had seen him singing and he had seen her fighting. Dragons answer to neither gods nor men. "I love you, Lya."
She gazed up at him, eyes sparking and smiling from ear to ear. "I love you too, Rhaegar." Without warning, she straddled him, arms wrapping around his neck. "We still have so much to learn of each other, but I have no doubt that what I learn would only make me love you more… my King."
One hand went to stroke her hair. "I feel the same… my Queen."
A/N: Seriously, was Lyanna ever not going to jump Rhaegar after that? ;)
The Quiet Wolf roars! Frankly, Robert had it coming. He and Ned may still "patch" things up just out of respect for Jon Arryn (Ned still has a soft spot for Robert), but they will never be the best of friends again. Cough, Rhaegar, cough. Had he been some minor lordling, Robert would be dead, but being the Lord of Storm's End insulates him somewhat. Lucky punk.
Littlefinger... he's gonna pull some crap.
A moment of bliss for our fav couple. Planning names for their children... so sweet. Missing one though :D
ñuha zokla - my wolf
Next up, Lyanna and Elia finally meet :D
