A/N: Hey everybody. A little under the weather at the moment :(

Nevertheless, here's the promised update. Lots of stuff to digest.

Be sure to check out some awesome stories: Wolves of War by GulfYankee23, Howl of the Dragonwolves by Elphaba818, Kingdom of Ice and Fire by WhiteWolf04, and From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 16: Two Men, Three Loves

"One year younger than Princess Lyanna?" Ser Oswell Whent asked.

Ned nodded, hands behind his back as the two strolled through the hallways of Maegor Holdfast's guest wing. "Aye, ten and six, strapping young lad… at least that's what the letters told me." Much to Ned's sorrow, he hadn't seen Benjen in years… gods, would I even recognize my own brother? "Trained by the master-at-arms of Winterfell since he could hold a sword."

"A silver stag says that the Princess taught him a few moves."

"I can't take a bet I know I'd lose," Ned laughed in return.

While a bit hostile when sizing him up days before, Oswell treated him as a brother in arms since the spar. "I'll have to tell you, Ned, there hasn't been a Northerner in the Kingsguard since… gods, must have been since Old King Jaehaerys."

"Most northerners find knighthood ridiculous," Ned replied.

Oswell shrugged. "Eh, it's the code we all grew up with. I think concepts of chivalry and honor run in every culture.."

"Certainly do. Benjen… he always planned to go to the Night's Watch, but the little boy pretending to be Aemon the Dragonknight would leap at the chance, I am sure." He shook his head. "Just a damn shame that Kingsguards can't wed or father children."

"You'd think so, but I think there is a loophole. If you don't marry and don't acknowledge the child as yours officially…"

"Huh, interesting… There's my brother's room." The plan was for Ned and Brandon to teach some new Household Guard recruits Northern fighting styles. Something to do.

But just before Ned knocked on the door, he heard a female moan. Followed by a distinctly male grunt. "Fuck… so tight…"

Does he have a whore in there? A chambermaid? Knowing Brandon's reputation, it would not shock Ned. "Oh, don't stop, Lord Stark…" That breathless voice did shock Ned.

Oswell apparently recognized the voice. "Catelyn Tully?" Slowly backing away from the door, he began to giggle. "Oh, that prim and proper little cunt… imagine what Lord Hoster would do if he heard his daughter was sinning so brazenly."

"Damn you, Bran," Ned groaned, the sounds of fervent copulation loud enough to reach even where they stood, two yards from the closed chamber door. "Must you deflower your bride before your wedding?"

"If they're gonna be married anyway, so what?" Not all Riverlands houses were as pious as House Tully. "I figure this means the training is put on hold. Find something to enjoy around here, Ned, though I doubt it'll be as good as your brother is getting." A muffled scream of ecstasy punctuated the train of thought.

Wandering through the garden aimlessly, Ned reflected on the lives of his siblings. While part of him wanted to smack Brandon upside the head for being reckless, truly he was happy for his brother. Bran marrying Catelyn, Benjen a Kingsguard, Lyanna falling madly for Rhaegar… Any initial worry and dismay had given way in the face of the Crown Prince's gentle heart and carefree personality deep down. A lifelong friend if Ned's instincts were correct. And Princess Elia… he no longer worried about her.

And that only leaves me. His father wanted Ned to manage Winterfell while Brandon continued to make connections within King's Landing for several moonturns, to hold the fort and help his future goodsister get acclimated to living in the North. After that… Ned truly had nothing holding him down anywhere. Second son, not committed to one of the warrior guilds as third sons usually were. Perhaps he'd get a keep somewhere, or secure a position on the small council on Rhaegar's patronage? A likely fallback…

Cool yet pleasant ocean winds calming his leather-clad form sweating under the southern sun, one thing remained completely unresolved. His love life. Being that second son gave him options, the freedom from forging alliances that Brandon or Lyanna didn't have - much as both of them found love matches. Plenty of maidens in the Vale or the North would die to snap up the Crown Prince's goodbrother, but when imagining a future bride only one came to Eddard Stark's mind.

Turning a corner, Ned stopped in his tracks. Resting against a low wall within a gazebo by the cliffside was the object of his imagination. Wearing a loose, ankle-length cerise gown with bell sleeves that somehow did little to hide her graceful figure, long blonde hair flowing freely behind her, she looked angelic. Completely out of his league, yet one Ned couldn't help but feel drawn to. Sucking in a breath, he walked towards her.

Having just visited her own brother, Cersei Lannister had to escape. The gardens of Casterly Rock provided such a refuge, and these did as well. Enjoying the moment alone until steps were heard behind her. A quick turn of the head found someone she was far keener on not seeing. "Lord Stark."

"Lady Lannister." Ned saw how she immediately looked back at the bay, but stepped into the space next to her nevertheless. "I believe this is the first time we've spoken since the hallway at Harrenhal." No reaction from her, but he wasn't a stubborn direwolf for nothing. "I wasn't able to apologize for that, so forgive me for my clumsiness."

Cersei snorted. "You speak to me just for that? Northern fool," she muttered, though part of her enjoyed hearing his brogue. Delightfully exotic from the cultured accents she associated with all her life.

He was not deterred. Ned just wanted to speak with her… Brandon would have called him a glutton for punishment. "Did you come to see your brother?" No answer. "I've met Ser Jaime. My sister speaks very highly of him, the Lion of Lannister."

A laugh escaped Cersei's lips, dripping with sarcasm. "They actually call him that?" It was ridiculous. She then realized he was… charming her. What is wrong with me? "Did you know this could have been mine?" That would drive him away.

Ned blinked. "Why?"

"My father wished to betroth me to Prince Rhaegar. Practically begged his Grace, only to be denied." The wound was still somehow raw, a life of being raised to be Queen falling apart just at the cusp… and yet at the spar, her hungry gaze wasn't on Rhaegar…

It took moments for him to answer that. "The gods… they work in mysterious ways…"

"Don't tell me you actually believe that?" Cersei made the mistake of looking at him. And now that she did she couldn't turn away.

"Everything is for a reason, my Lady," Ned said honestly, captivated by her green eyes. "My goodbrother, seeing him happy with my sister shows he wouldn't have been happy with you, and I think you know that it is the same the other way around." Political marriages were the norm in Westeros, but with advantage didn't come happiness. Ned had seen it, if not firsthand.

I want Rhaegar… I want to be Queen… I was born, trained to be Queen… And yet her thoughts… they merely proved him right. Wanting Rhaegar out of mere belief it was her path. But meeting those grey eyes of his, staring at her. The softness from Harrenhal had returned, but after the fierceness at fighting Ser Arthur, Cersei saw it in a new light. Gentle, not weak. Caring, not flowery. Her entire world felt like it was spinning on an axis.

"Why do you keep doing that?" she finally blurted out.

Ned blinked. "What?"

"That... stare... You keep staring at me like that. Stop."

"I apologize, my Lady." He truly didn't know why himself. Cersei was nothing but rude and bitchy, and yet the spare heir of House Stark felt drawn to her. Be it her beauty or something else...

"Why do you do that?" She ran a hand through her hair, huffing. "Why do I do it?" For days she couldn't get him out of her mind, fighting and sparring with the power of a wolf. He's a damned second son, unworthy of a daughter of House Lannister. A northern barbarian that her father would never let her marry. Gods, her thoughts were a mess.

Watching every color of emotion flash across her face, Ned didn't know what to think. "My Lady…"

Seven hells. Without warning, Cersei grabbed the Stark by the straps of his leathers. Pulling him toward her. Mouths meeting in an abrupt kiss. It was impulsive, borne from a desire to just see what it felt like. Smother the feelings by letting them happen, and yet…

They felt soft, warm… inviting. Just as his dreams were, yet far better. Ned soon felt Cersei sigh. Melting into the kiss, tension leaving her as he placed his arms at her slim waist. Lips parting as their tongues met. Gods… it was wonderful.

How good it felt, how… right it felt, several seconds of bliss ended once Cersei heard her father's disapproval ringing in her head. The same anger that had meted out to her when she was caught kissing one of the stableboys out of curiosity. A Lannister of Casterly Rock… one who never sells herself cheap. Never to someone lesser. And here she was, kissing a second son of a Northern Lord.

Just as abruptly as she had begun the kiss, she ended it. Pushing him away. "Stay away from me, northern bumpkin." Heart pounding, she turned and stormed off.

Standing there, unable to move, Only a hand against a column kept Ned from falling. Gods help him, but he couldn't help but want this woman more.


Nervously biting her lip, Lyanna tightened her hold on Rhaegar's arm. Letting her beloved guide her down the collonaded vault towards the Iron Throne. Never had she expected to be in this august and awe-inspiring hall. To be before the throne forged by Aegon the Conqueror himself, betrothed to the most beautiful, dashing, amazing Prince… But as the various courtiers, eyes gawking at the novelty of a Northern Princess being officially presented to them, the King, and the gods, she couldn't help feel slightly overwhelmed.

"You're going to be fine, my love." Rhaegar's whispered words calmed her, sending a feeling of serenity through Lyanna just as much as Elia's coaching had from only minutes before, outside the hall, had steeled her for the formal beginning of their betrothal. The Princess and soon to be her sister-wife had made her way to the base of the Iron Throne ahead of them, and Lyanna could see her comforting brown eyes urging her to continue.

Head high, smile on her face, and just ever so slightly leaning into her Prince, Lyanna would not be intimidated by the stares of the sycophants and favor curriers of Court. She remembered some of their faces from how Jon Arryn pointed them out. A balding man with a toad-like face. Lord Merryweather. A young man with silver-gold hair. Ser Monford Velaryon, heir to the Driftmark. A hard-faced knight. Ser Willam Derry, Master-at-Arms at the Red Keep. Lyanna could almost feel Rhaegar and Elia's pride for her… the latter nearly as important as the former. Her eyes drifting to Robert Baratheon of all people, it immediately shifted away, snubbing him.

Lyanna hid a smirk at how it gave made him wince.

At the base of the Throne was the Small Council, including Elia and her family. Lord Rickard and her brothers both smiling at her, giving Lyanna added strength. Beside the King himself - impeccably dressed form in royal robes and the ornate golden crown of Aegon IV sitting upon his head - stood the Red Griffin Jon Connington and the impossibly fat High Septon. "Presenting before his Grace and the light of the Seven," Rhaegar announced in a loud voice. "The Lady Lyanna of House Stark. A woman true of birth and pure of heart." Lyanna shuddered at the timbre of her Rhaegar's voice.

"I recognize the presentment of Lady Lyanna before the Royal Court," states Jon Connington, going by the script. Such had occurred for both Duncan and Aerys' betrothals, not to mention Rhaegar's with Elia in his lifetime. "She seeks formal recognition of her betrothal to the Crown Prince from the authority of King and gods."

With how central the Faith found itself in the royal tradition after the reforms of Jaehaerys I and Baelor the Blessed, it was the High Septon that descended first. Jowls of fat jostling for each step he took, Lyanna resisted a shudder when he clasped her hands with his - everyone knew where he put those hands. Only the children sharing his bed would also share his stash of sweetmeats. "Lady Lyanna, do you swear by the Seven to give your life to serve for the Seven Kingdoms?"

"I shall, your High Holiness."

Mentioning the names of each of the Seven, he drew a Seven-Pointed Star with a finger dipped in blessed oil on Lyanna's forehead. Surprising the High Septon, a glint of sunlight suddenly shone atop the star. "She has been anointed by the gods." Blinking in awe, he drew back. Handing the floor to the King himself.

"Well, my son," Aerys remarked. "You look more alive than I've ever seen. That…" he waved his spindly fingers at Rhaegar. "Annoying, brooding frown is finally gone."

Twinkling eyes found Elia, who smiled softly. From how Lyanna stood even taller in the corner of his eyes, Rhaegar could tell the smile reached his bride. "Your Grace, due to the decision of yours to extend my hand to Lady Lyanna, I have grown happier." He could see his father puff up at the praise. "Carrying out the will of the King brings me the greatest joy."

Aerys nodded. "The Young Dragon reborn, indeed. You and I will do great things, Rhaegar." His eyes shifted to Lyanna. "And you, Lady Stark. Are you prepared to be a proper Queen to my son?"

"Of course, your Grace." Lyanna curtseyed, eyes remaining on the King. "I am both his and yours to command…"

Suddenly his generally pleased expression turned sour. "Stop!" he barked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Ahead of her, Elia's face froze to that of an owl - everyone else was as confused as Lyanna was, but she seemed to understand. "Your Grace?"

"That curtsey. You are to supplicate your eyes to the ground when in the presence of the King."

Mind racing, perhaps Lyanna remembered when Jon Arryn explained the simple etiquette to her. It seemed so minute, she may have forgotten. "Your Grace… forgive me for my lapse…"

Aerys didn't care to hear her. "I should have realized this. An uncultured wildling from the North, not versed in proper civilization. Lord Rickard!" he addressed his Master of Laws, the aging Lord of Winterfell withdrawing behind a flat facade out of self-preservation. "Do you even teach proper manners in that frozen wasteland?"

"I… we… We can always do better, my King," he finally responded, shooting a quick look of apology at his daughter when the King was distracted.

"Your Grace." Rhaegar had flashbacks to the first presentment with Elia, only that one had been after their marriage. Equally disastrous as that had been. "I ask you to consider the circumstances…"

"When will I ever learn?" The King only heard himself. Waxing poetic like a drunk Bravosi philosopher. "I should have realized that foreign mongrel blood could only result in half-breed children unable to take the mantle of a proper Dragon. Daeron II, my own idiot father, and now my son's children from this Dornish whore." Insults of Elia were almost commonplace at this point, and the Princess let it roll off her back. "And now the new one ends up being dressed like some harlot."

There was no doubt Lyanna was beautiful. Her grey gown seemed to shimmer, the normal simplistic swirls and shapes replaced by a sort of floral arrangement - muted green leaves and stems trailing up the side parallel to Lyanna's arms, lavender flower decorations framing the lower cut of her dress just above her breasts. Her sleeves hung down in the style of the Crownlands, contrasted by the simple northern free waves of her chestnut hair.

But to the King, once his mood fell he found anything to criticize over it. "Look at this… disgusting thing. Unlike what some of you cunts thing," he hissed at the court itself. "This is not a brothel. Shape up before I have you all caned - and I'll do this uncultured harlot first if she doesn't change." He stood, shaking his head. "I am disappointed in you, Prince Rhaegar." Mumbling profanities to himself, he stormed out of the room. Leaving a stunned court behind to simply stare at the shock still Lady Lyanna. Her form trembling slightly.

Ned walked forward, wanting to embrace his sister, but was stopped by Elia. "In private." Seeing the Stark son heed her warning, she approached her husband. "Get her out of here, husband." Better this be dealt with away from the vultures of Court.


"Oh, my Prince…" Cuddled on the bed in her guest chambers with her betrothed, chestnut hair all tangled in a fair approximation of a bird's nest, Lyanna shivered with the aftershocks of her climax. "I feel better now."

A dark silver eyebrow rose, Crown Prince casting a look down at the face resting upon his bare chest. Clothed body curled flush against him - though the hemline of Lyanna's dress was hiked up significantly. Supremely sinful, and quite distracting. "I'm glad, Lady Stark?" Gods… it was as if they were Jaehaerys and Alysanne, married for decades and still passionately in love. He just felt so comfortable in her embrace. A feeling that he felt with Elia… "I'm sorry, for what you went through in the throne room."

Lyanna sighed, holding on tighter to her love. "I shouldn't have been surprised that his Grace would act like that. Everyone warned me." Unfortunately, she had gotten complacent. Too enchanted by the love Rhaegar, Rhaella, Elia, and the children were giving her to properly guard herself. "My fault, for exposing myself…"

"Never think that, my love. It isn't your fault." Not hers, and not Elia's… "Never your fault." Rhaegar felt so impotent, only able to comfort his betrothed after the fact rather than actually stand up for her - not that he did either for Elia. His greatest regret. A hand stroked at his back. "I'm here for you, Lya."

Inhaling his scent, she cuddled closer. Not wanting an inch of space between them. "I love you, Rhaegar."

"I love you too, Lyanna."

"You've given me everything I could ever want."

"I could say the same." He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. She was right when she said everything felt like a dream sometimes. It can't be this easy… this happiness… Arthur told him often to just let loose and enjoy the golden nugget that he'd been handed - well, the way the Kingsguard said it was much more profane but that captured the general meaning. "I'll be traveling to Dragonstone for a few days."

Lyanna sighed. "I don't want to be separated a single day, my dragon." For the wild she-wolf, the loneliness at being without her dragon was unbearable - perhaps one would point out a hypocrisy, but Lyanna didn't see it that way. The lone wolf dies…

He tightened his embrace. "It's just for a few days… to prepare the keep for our arrival after the wedding."

"Good point, my love." Another sigh. "Oh well, I suppose I'll spend more time with my brothers, or Rhaenys and Aegon."

Stroking her back over the woolen grey dress, Rhaegar smiled widely. "My daughter has taken a liking to you." Seeing his beloved interact with his little dragon, it was a sight that brought him a soothing joy. "This morning, she leapt in my arms, gushing about how 'Lwyanna' finally gives someone to play dragons with her."

The she-wolf laughed merrily. "How can I not love her, Rhaegar? She's so precious." Truth be told, Lyanna felt a pull around her betrothed's children… as if somehow she was meant to be just as much a mother to them as Elia. She still worried about usurping her sister-wife, careful about not denying Rhaenys especially time with the Dornish Princess. "I see how much you and Elia love them, and Gods help me but I'm starting to love them as much."

Gently grasping her chin, Rhaegar looked deep into her eyes. "You truly are perfect, my wolf." They kissed deeply, tongues slowly tangling before releasing. "And Elia? I see you two are getting along." Truth be told, he had experienced many sleepless nights in apprehension over them.

Lyanna kept her gaze upon his eyes. "I can see why you spoke highly of her. Elia is the type of Queen you will need - smart and savvy. I hope I'm half as politically astute as she is, your Rhaenys to my Visenya as you so often put it." She wriggled up his body till her face rested in the crook of his neck. "There's not much I want more than to have a good relationship with her."

Splaying his hand on her lower back, Rhaegar smiled softly. "You know, Rhaenyra and Alicent absolutely despised each other, fighting for years over who would be the senior lady in court. Jealousy and bitter pride poisoning the entire court of Viserys I." He didn't want to put the idea in his direwolf's head, but Rhaegar had to know. "Did you ever have any urge to fight over me?"

Two grey eyes found him, narrowing. "Don't get too cocky, my Prince." It was a teasing tone.

"I'm just curious."

She giggled. "Frankly… no. I never had that urge."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Surprisingly, she blushed. "It's embarrassing."

His interest was piqued. "Tell me, my love."

There were many reasons for Lyanna, but the reality of her true desires superseded all others. "Rhaenerya and Daemon weren't my only interests in your family, Rhaegar."

He leaned back, listening.

Taking his silence as an invitation to continue, Lyanna did so. "In my childhood, I always idolized Visenya Targaryen. Proud warrior queen fearlessly wielding Dark Sister into battle. You can imagine that a girl likely facing a life married to some old, fat lordling would find her life appealing."

"I presume nothing with you, Lyanna. You are unique."

She smirked. "Charmer." Lyanna nuzzled his chest. "In addition to wishing for my very own Prince Daemon… part of me always wanted to be Visenya Targaryen. And that included… Aegon and Rhaenys." Blushing, Lyanna felt like a pre-flowering maiden. "Gods, I must sound like a child with her head in the clouds."

"No, you don't. Hard to be that when you actually find your head in the clouds." They shared a laugh with that. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you and Elia can get along. She's… been through so much. I haven't exactly been the best husband for her." He looked away.

Now it was Lyanna's turn to look at him queerly. "Why do you say that? Something you care to tell me, Rhaegar?" Wishing to be as honest to her as she was to him, Rhaegar proceeded to disclose everything. Their sudden marriage, how both Aerys and Prince Doran prevented either Elia or he from seeing each other until the ceremony. Of the constant verbal abuse and whisper campaigns Aerys would instigate on Elia, getting worse with each difficult pregnancy. By the end, Lyanna was silent. "He's done this before… to Elia."

He nodded. "Yes. From our marriage four years ago to now… just as with you, every damn day." Rhaegar closed his eyes. "Every time we tried to get closer as a couple… it just never worked. She could only feel my father's bitterness and her family's mistrust, and I… it was my fault for not being able to protect her." A tear fell down his cheek. "Eventually, we just stopped trying." A sad smile on her beloved's lips… "With you it's so easy, my love. I… I thought it would be the same with Elia with time. Both of you are smart, headstrong, a lot alike, but after all she's been through. The pain caused her, pain all my fault."

Hooking her leg across his hip and straddling him, Lyanna kissed her beloved. Slow and sweet, pouring love with every passing second. Don't ever think little of yourself, my love. Beneath the mighty prince was someone that had suffered, a raw soul in need of love - just as Elia did. Those children deserve a loving family.

"Try her, Rhaegar… I think she'll surprise you." If the she-wolf of Winterfell had anything to say about it, Rhaegar would be gaining two loving relationships instead of just one from her arrival. It was simply so strange, encouraging him along the path in which she'd have to share him… but simply the true strangeness was how right it felt. As if it was destiny. "She loves you… just as I do. You just need to get passed this." Before he could speak, she kissed him again. Letting their mouths meld.

Gods… I'm turning into a Targaryen. Lyanna's girlhood dream come true.


Dimly lit by the combined yellow flicker of dozens of candles and the red-orange of the roaring hearth, the tavern was like almost any other from Dorne to the Wall. Loud, dirty, smelling of stale wine, piss, and unwashed bodies, the usual crowd of blacksmiths, washerwoman, and hedge knights looking for someone to forge them a new sword kept the place in decent business. A tidy profit.

However, that night, the collection of burly guards in stag colors drew the personal attention and service of the owner. For their Liege Lord was quite the glutton, and his coin was free flowing and plentiful. "Another," slurred the stormlord.

"My Lord," cautioned Ser Courtnay Penrose, his sworn sword. "Perhaps three is enough…"

He was cut off by a hand on his shoulder. "He says he wants another," growled Meryn Trant.

The two would have come to blows. "Fuck off, Courtnay," belted Robert Baratheon. "I'd worry more about that baboon's arse you call your head." The Knight didn't take it personally - the Lord of Storm's End had a certain way with words, especially when drunk. "Another of your finest Arbor gold!" He slammed a silver stag on the counter.

Chuckling, the owner took the coin and replaced it with a wooden goblet. "You have excellent taste, Lord Baratheon."

Goblet brought to his lips, Robert downed a third, belching. He had sparred hard that day, and was looking for fine wine and finer women to drown his sorrows. "That accent, I bet I can place it." Robert smirked. "Tarth?" A shake of the head. "Hmmmm… Blackhaven?"

"Got it, my Lord," winked the bartender and owner.

Robert laugher merrily. "I had a feeling there was some Marsh in you. How'd you end up in the privy of the Seven Kingdoms?" That drew snickers from his men.

The owner shrugged. "Followed the coin. Most lucrative here, and I got lucky. Seven above, I made my living and married a fine Northern girl from White Harbor."

"Northern, eh?" Drunken eyes landed on a dark-haired young woman serving drinks to a group of smiths. "She yours? Daughter?" A nod. "Got the look of the North." Spending time with Ned, gazing at his Lyanna, Robert could notice the blood of the First Men anywhere. High cheekbones, lean yet hard figure… she could pass for the woman denied him by the dragonspawn. While plenty of women had graced his bed since arriving in the capitol, Robert's loneliness and desire for Lyanna was reaching a breaking point. "How much?"

"I'm sorry, my Lord?"

"The girl, how much for a night?"

Fire rose in the marcher's eyes. "You have some fucking nerve…"

A clink on the wooden bartop, Robert's meaty palm withdrawing to reveal a gold dragon.

"My daughter isn't a whore…"

A second clink on the wood found another gold dragon.

It seemed as if the marcher's mouth was watering at the beautifully minted gold. "I wouldn't know where this would happen…"

A third clink and a third gold dragon. "Upstairs… your room." Even drunk, Robert was quite serious when it came to satisfying his lusts.

Covetous, the owner slowly covered the coins with the palm of his hand and drew them to him. "Alys!" he called gruffly. The girl stilled, grey eyes finding her father. "Take Lord Baratheon upstairs, now."

"Father…?"

"Do what he says or you'll be fuckin' sorry, now go."

Gazing at the pretty lass with a lecherous look, Robert hauled himself up. Trying to stay upright as his head spun. "Go enjoy yourselves, men. There's only one dagger I'll be using tonight." Laughing at his own jape, Robert sidled up to the girl. "Hw're ya' tonight, beautiful?"

Gulping, the girl felt intimidated. "I am well, my Lord."

"Yer' gonna take the pride of Storm's End now. I promise ye'll enjoy it."

Eyes flickering to her father, seeing him gesture to the stairs, the girl sighed. Best get this over with. - even if she didn't want to. "My Lord, please follow me." Even if the handsome man's drunken breath revolted her, it would be over soon.

From how Robert began groping her backside almost immediately, she could only pray that was the case.


"You're developing a strong relationship with Eddard Stark."

"He's a good man. Honorable and loyal." Loosening the laces of his tunic, Rhaegar pulled the cotton garment off his chest. "Not to mention a lot of fun once he loosens up. Broods too much."

Easing her nightdress over her body before slipping off her burnt-orange gown, Elia couldn't help but sneak a look. Eyes appreciatively traveling on his muscular upper body… only to shift away when he turned to her. "You're one to talk about brooding," she gently teased. It earned a chuckle from him as Elia hid her blush. The Dragon Prince was rather informal in their private quarters, respectful, but informal.

When Elia imagined her married life, the tales of Oberyn's exotic adventures had always been at the back of her mind. Sweaty, nude bodies intertwined, and she and Rhaegar's carnal lives matched such at the times they tried to be intimate. But… along the way she had diverged into the same lifestyle as a devout member of the Faith - never nude, never bare. A gown that covered all of her. Elia resented it, but feared the opposite more.

"You should befriend him… perhaps he could be your Hand?"

"Connington will be my Hand," Rhaegar replied simply, peeling the covers of their large bed back to climb in. Oftentimes, their most important conversations happened when in bed like this. "He is my most loyal friend."

Elia slipped in as well, though with an agonizing distance between him and her husband. "Connington doesn't like me, nor the Starks. I don't think you should trust him too much… especially the way he looks at you." It was the same look Oberyn gave attractive young men, only with longing as well as lust.

A sigh. "I know… perhaps Ned would be a good Hand." Rhaegar chuckled darkly. "I'd certainly be a better friend to him than Robert."

"You should execute Robert," Elia spat. "For what he almost did to Lyanna." Honestly, Elia was not surprised she rushed to defend her soon to be sister-wife.

"I wish I could do it myself, but I can't. Perils of ruling." Rhaegar handled the burden well, especially since Elia was there to help him share it… and even better since Lyanna came and gave him the complete adoration he craved. On one hand Elia was ecstatic for her husband, while on the other… "I'll have to sail to Dragonstone for a few days. Prepare it for our household's arrival after the wedding. Will you and mother make sure Lyanna prepares for her formal presentment to court?"

Reaching out to squeeze his hand, Elia nodded. "I will."

Squeezing the olive-tanned hand back, Rhaegar felt a pull. One as strong as his with Lyanna. The call of his dragonblood to pull his mate closer. To yank her close and embrace her, to express just how much he truly loved her - his silent partner and rock for so long, mothering his children and accepting with open arms his direwolf. At the cusp of giving in…

Her sobs echoed through the chambers. "Elia…"

She recoiled from his touch. "Am I a Dornish whore?"

The words broke his heart. "Why would you…"

"Tell me the truth!" she shrieked. "Am I an unclean Dornish whore?!"

His father. It had to be - Rhaegar had always wanted to know why Aerys betrothed him to Elia if he considered the Martells unclean, but never did ask. "My love… of course you're not…"

Attempting to hold her, the Princess of just five and ten slapped him. Eyes red with anger and tears. "Just get out! Get out!" Grief of his own covering his face, Rhaegar did as bid.

Rhaegar wished that had been an isolated incident, but that would be a lie. Cloistered most of her life, the still young Princess had entered into the hostile court of his garrulous, mercurial father as a supposed spy for her older brother - Varys having told him alone. He couldn't blame her for how she suffered. Only his father…

And himself.

Elia was older. Wiser. Stronger. A perfect wife and Queen in all that mattered… but there was still an indescribable sadness about her that broke his heart. Tortured his soul.

Much as he wanted with her what he had with Lyanna, Rhaegar couldn't bear to see that pain return to her. Their hands broke apart. "Good night wife," he spoke softly. If he'd have to suffer so that she wouldn't, he'd bear that burden.

Hearing his breathing level out in sleep, Elia sighed. Clutching the pillow against her side tighter - the linen-covered goose down cold against her cheek. Cold… not my husband. Tears began to soak the linen. It wasn't the first time in her life that the Dornish Princess wished she could cuddle close to her husband. Seek out the intimacy she so desperately craved with Rhaegar. The father of her children, the attractive Dragon Prince that stirred so many feelings inside her. But yet…

"He is your husband, not your lover. You are to do your duty, give him Dornish heirs, and bind the Iron Throne to Dorne, that is it."

"See here bitch, if it wasn't for the good deal I got for you… I wouldn't sully my line with your mongrel blood…"

"This child smells Dornish. Like her mother, so get her out of my sight!"

Begging for intimacy, desperate of it, Elia couldn't bring herself to do it. The memories so painful in her mind. Worry eating her away, that her heart would only collapse if she opened it… only to be rejected. Such was what formed their routine. Guided both her and Rhaegar into the partnership that worked so well. That calmed the tempest of the Seven Kingdoms and birthed two beautiful babes. The light of both of their lives.

But said routine of reality had suddenly blown apart by the howling winds of the north. By the beautiful, kind, utterly amazing she-wolf that had roared into their lives and seemed to occupy a place not able to dislodge. Rhaegar loved her, Rhaenys loved her, Aegon loved her, Rhaella loved her… seven hells, even Elia was growing to love her. A friend, a confidant, a fellow traveller in the poison-filled waters of King's Landing, willing to defend their family to the death if need be.

Oberyn would say I crave to see her as the sister I never had.

Ellaria would say I want her as much as I do Rhaegar.

Doran would say I should be on my toes. Ready at a moment's notice to defend Aegon's birthright from the northern interlopers.

Elia would dismiss both, but truth be told she didn't know what to think. Didn't know what to believe. Lyanna is providing Rhaegar the love that I cannot… Lyanna loves Aegon, would never steal from him… Rhaegar would never hurt me… I am content with my life...

All was broken when a strong arm wrapped around Elia. Pulling her around and tugging her against the hard plane of her husband's chest. "Elia… my wife…"

Walls breaking, at least for now, she closed all distance between them. Holding him close. "We lost so much, Rhaegar… but I can't lose you. I…"

In agony, only with her in his arms did he begin to feel his heart calm. His pain begin to ebb - just as with Lyanna, a maze of feelings just as strong beginning to reform. "You won't, Elia. You won't," he murmured, stroking her hair.

Aegon the Conqueror. Could he be Aegon the Conqueror? He was capable of loving more than one and so will you - it is in the dragon's blood. His uncle Aemon's words… gods, he prayed for them to be true.

Rhaegar couldn't imagine his life without either of his beauties in his life.

A/N: I have to admit, Cersei lusting for Ned is very fun to write. Her dress is the one from when Ned confronted Cersei in season 1. Oh the irony XD

Aerys... he's decompensating. Getting worse and worse, and now Lyanna is a target.

Elia and Rhaegar's relationship is hard to construct, largely cause it's very subtle and complicated. They are guarded with each other even though they love each other, and while Lyanna may make her jealous, there's a connection there that is driving Elia to try and rekindle things with Rhaegar and vice versa. There's gonna be many layers here. It may seem to be quickly going well, but that's a bit deceptive.

So... perhaps a certain blacksmith we all know may have been conceived...

If I get 35 reviews, I will update Friday.

Next up, Ellaria and Dacey have an interesting conversation ;)