A/N: And here we go :D

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 17: All in the Family

Pushing his chest up off the sweat-drenched skin directly below him, the Dornish Prince redoubled his angle and thrust his hips forward. Cock spearing through the tight channel slick with the finest Lysene oils. "Gods…" he grunted.

Head turned to the side, his newest lover's mouth was open in a silent scream. "Fuck… me… Prince…" she gasped in broken Common Tongue, her Yi Ti-ish accent alluringly exotic. "So… good…" Arching her back, she impaled his cock even deeper into her ass, burying her face into the pillow to silence her screams. Her alabaster skin and slanted eyes contrasting deliciously with his swarthy features.

Oberyn Martell grinned. He loved the beautiful yet inexperienced - tight and explosively orgasmic. Delighted that he was to scandalize even the rather libertine Dornish society, he had seen blushing maidens fuck like wanton whores once he was done. Like the lone spice trader with whom he and his entourage hitched a ride to King's Landing. Hard and aloof at first, but after several days practically dragging him into her chambers.

"So… close… my… Prince…" Her voice was hoarse from previous bouts of lovemaking. The exotic appearance - his first Yi Ti lover, ironically enough - drove Oberyn mad with lust, hard enough to spear through her rosebud. Exciting him to be her first.

"Erupt for me, slut." One hand kneading a bouncing breast, Oberyn sank his teeth into her pale skin just as his cock bottomed out inside her. Feeling her rosebud clench hard around him, her screams echoing within the cabin. Lover collapsing spent onto the bed.

Pulling out, Oberyn chuckled lightly at her lazy hiss - kissing the flushed skin. "Such a beautiful woman."

"Mmmmm…"

"You have improved greatly. One of the best lovers I've had in the longest time."

"Mmmmm…"

Pulling on his loose silk tunic and trousers, Oberyn pulled the thin covers on top of his lover's back. "I shall return for supper," he said as he clipped the curved Dornish scimitar to his hip. "Then we shall go again." He didn't know how much of it she understood, given neither spoke their native languages. The language of love is universal. If he'd see her in several years with a young, half-Dornish babe, he wouldn't be surprised. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Roustabouts dashing about on their various tasks, the front bank of sails unfurled to catch the trade winds blowing off the Pentosi coast. "Should be hitting King's Landing in a week or two," commented the first mate that morning. Oberyn was lucky that he had found a steady source of female cunt, else he'd be lost in his thoughts. Increasingly dark and angry. Several of the guards were already splinting sprained limbs from how he lashed out during their sparring sessions. Damn you, Rhaegar. Damn you. It had been him that argued to Doran not to send their innocent sister to the King's Landing viper den, but there she was about to suffer the worst humiliation.

"I know what you're thinking." Oberyn turned to find Ser Gulian Qorgyle, his best friend and foster brother from his time at Sandstone. One of the few men that could both keep up with his sense of adventure… and expansive sexual appetite. "You're not going to kill the Prince."

"And why shouldn't I?" huffed the Prince, knowing how petulant he was acting but not caring.

Qorgyle met his glare. "Because that would leave your sister without a brother." Fuck, he has a point. "And the whores from Volantis to the Wall will cry, women and men." Fuck, a double point.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not going to make it easy on him. Aegon will sit on the Iron Throne by hook or by crook." On this, Qorgyle nodded - from Doran on down, the Dornish nobility would not condone being in the Seven Kingdoms any longer unless the marriage alliance was respected.

The sudden footfall upon the wooden deck shook Oberyn from his thoughts. Eyes alert, quick footwork from his light combat stance sent his careening effortlessly out of the way as the spear lunged where his stomach had been. The Prince of Dorne drew his scimitar and spun it to block the counterswipe of the attacker. Steel clashing against gleaming bronze as the attacker redoubled, twirling her spear above her head before charging at the far taller target...

Only for Oberyn's skilled swordsmanship to knock the spear out of the attacker's hand, palm flying out to smack between her neck and breastbone - sending her sprawling onto the deck. Lips curling into a smirk, Oberyn reached down with his hand. "A valiant effort, my dear. But it is clear you need more training to properly face the Red Viper."

Eight year old Obara Sand scowled, nonetheless taking her father's hand to haul her up in spite of her humiliation. "How did you spot me?" she asked incredulously, rubbing her sore bottom. "I made sure I was hidden until the right moment."

"Footfalls." Ruffling his daughter's hair, he chuckled. "A proper warrior of the ambush makes sure her feet make no noise upon the ground." At the girl's curses, his chuckles turned to laughs. Bringing Obara and Nymeria along helped just as much as fucking to calm his anger. "Go on and find your sister. Get her some supper and then continue to train."

Bowing to her father, Obara turned, muttering something about burying a spear in Prince Rhaegar's head. "Aye, she's clearly your daughter," quipped Qorgyle.


"You know," Ellaria Sand stated as she tilted her head back, dark eyes following the northerner currently walking towards the tray of drinks. "It is usually the host that chooses the refreshments." She put a heavier emphasis on her sultry Dornish accent, something she was wont to do when meeting someone new… especially someone as gorgeous as the Mormont of Bear Island.

Displaying the classically northern bluntness that added to her wild beauty - much like her lady the future Princess - Dacey Mormont waved her off. "You are in my rooms, Lady Ellaria… wait, are bastards called 'Lady' in Dorne?"

Bold… I like her already. The bastard daughter of the Lord of Hellholt laughed. "Some are, some aren't. I wouldn't call myself ladylike, but I figure the position of Lady in Waiting to Princess Elia mandates it."

Dacey considered the answer. "Fair enough." Her attention shifted to the glass and metal decanters resting on the table. "Your Dornish reds are too… sour and yet subtle… how is that even fucking possible for a proper drink? Practically shit."

Patriotic sentiment dictated Ellaria should send Dacey a biting retort, but she wasn't overly patriotic for her homeland. Curious she was, however. "Oh, and what would you consider a proper drink?"

A plebian metal jug, clearly hand-forged in a northern smith, jostled as Dacey picked it up. Contrasting with the expertly blown Tyroshi crystal goblets she poured a gleaming amber liquid into. "Here, unless you're too much of a coward, Sand?"

"I'll try anything once, Mormont," Ellaria sent in riposte. Taking the goblet, she immediately knocked it back in one gulp as she would with Dornish reds or Arbor golds… Big mistake. She immediately felt a burning sensation down her throat, dainty hands curling into a fist to hit her chest. Coughing and sputtering. "Seven fucking hells…" Ellaria croaked. "What the fuck… is that?"

Grinning as she gently sipped at the liquid, Dacey leaned forward. "Barley whiskey, brewed and distilled on Bear Island. One of our biggest exports next to lumber… It'll warm ya' up, huh?"

Sure enough, a fiery heat had spread from her throat and stomach to the rest of her body rather quickly. Oddly welcome in the sudden chill, the promise of a quick spring premature. "You are more than I thought you'd be, Lady Dacey."

"Oh, and what were you expecting? Some kind of country bumpkin awed by southern finery?" The she-bear's eyes narrowed.

"Frankly, yes," came the blunt reply. There was a silent tension before suddenly both women burst into laughter. Enjoying the ice break as Ellaria held out her hand for another shot of the killer whiskey. "Perhaps if I pace myself, I'll get used to it."

Dacey topped off her goblet. "A safe assumption to make." They both settled into their seats, comfortable together for the first time since the Dornishwoman had abruptly knocked and then forced her way into Dacey's room. "I think our ladies are getting along. Old gods be good."

Ellaria clinked glasses with her Northern counterpart. "That was my main worry, at least in the short term." Crossing her legs, she kicked absentmindedly in the air. Exposing the slender, toned skin. "The Princess' main concern was that her son wouldn't be disturbed in the line of succession."

"Lady Lyanna would never do that. Given the nature of House Targaryen and her love for Prince Rhaegar, she was prepared to make the best of the situation."

Eyes twinkling, Ellaria sipped her whiskey. Much more bearable in dribs and drabs, smokey taste actually quite welcome to the palate. "In love you say? The Prince works fast… It took a month before Princess Elia fell for him."

This confused the she-bear. "I haven't seen the Princess overly affectionate with the Crown Prince." Nothing like Lya, though. Dacey had stopped counting the times she walked into Lyanna's chambers to find she and the Prince sucking face. It was both heartwarming and slightly disturbing. "There seems to be… a tension."

"Ah, that." Ellaria shrugged. "His Grace the King… made Elia's life living hells. That was before he grew quiet and brooding, constantly sundering whatever attempts they made to get close and intimate. Prince Doran did the same, only before the marriage - the Princess loves Rhaegar, she's just afraid to admit it."

Quite deep, but Dacey understood. There were many northern families that were quite familiar in conduct, the Boltons obviously but others coming to mind. "They sometimes need a kind word… or a kick in the ass."

Lined with a light touch of paint, Ellaria's lips fluttered. Smirking at the comment. "Theirs is a close family, and one under siege by forces no one within this Keep can identify as of yet. Crown Prince Rhaegar, Queen Rhaella… my Lady and yours, they need a proper support system to give them the unvarnished truth. That is why I sought you out, size you up and such." She smirked at Dacey's raised eyebrow. "What? Surprised?"

To her credit, Dacey broke her tough facade to look a bit sheepish. "I just pegged you as someone more…" she tried to think of a word that wouldn't insult.

The Dornishwoman finished it for her. "Degenerate? Frivolous?" at Dacey's embarrassed blush, Ellaria laughed again. "Don't worry, I take it as a compliment, scandalizing those around me." It was a skill she partook in from her maturity in Hellholt.

"I would think that your position would preclude such behavior." Dacey liked joining Lyanna in unladylike pursuits, but in Winterfell and under the disguise of a Mystery Knight was not the same as actually in court. "Do you not worry about hurting the image of Princess Elia?"

"Well of course I don't flaunt it for all of court to see… what kind of idiot to you think I am? Reputation is one thing when it's merely rumors and discreet activities, that's why the highborn men keep their mistresses and lovers under wraps." Given the proclivities of most in court, they were not ones to judge. "I'm not all fucks and good times, though that's my appeal. Already spread my bounty to three of the Stark guards. They do know how to wield their second swords." Now it was the northerner's turn to cough and sputter - Ellaria had seen it before. "You're a maiden, aren't you?"

Cheeks flushed the ripe red of cherries. "I can't see how that's any of your concern."

"You are. If you weren't, the reaction would be far more muted." Suddenly shy, Dacey turned away, still blushing. "Oh, don't worry. It's nothing to be ashamed of… I just find such things incredibly constraining."

That particular moment, a blonde servant girl no older than Dacey entered. "Could I be of service, my Ladies?" Her eyes flickered between Ellaria and Dacey, suggestive and familiar for the former while appreciative and hopeful for the latter.

Ellaria shook her head. "Not for Lady Mormont here, at least not yet. As for me, come around tonight, Marcey." Leaning up, her hand swatted the girl's ass, coaxing a pleased giggle before she left. Grinning to herself - memories of enjoying this particular servant's… oral talents rather recent in her memory - her eyes once again settled on Dacey. Shock written on her face. "Oh come now. Surely you had your fun with your female companions on that iceberg island?"

The red flush was persistent for the she-bear. "I've… I've never."

Oh, this wouldn't do. "What is it with you northerners? I thought you'd be wild and uninhibited like your lands, but instead I get tough but prudish, no no no." She stood from her seat, taking Dacey's hands and pulling her up. "Come. Come over here to the balcony." They leaned over, side by side. Two stunning beauties in a thin Dornish gown and a light grey northern dress respectively. They both showed off their slender builds and killer curves, but one bared much to the elements while the other was far more modest. "Look, who do you see?"

Dacey peered into the courtyard, which wasn't busy but not empty either. "Guards on patrol… the washerwomen taking loads of laundry to the wells… what of it?"

"See that tall, hulking guard. At the front with a halberd? I let him and his wife into my bed two moons ago." She quickly pointed out another. "Those three? They fucked me in each of my holes at the same time… it was marvelous." This was quite fun. "Oh, those two women? One of them devoured my flower while I speared my fingers through…"

"Stop, please stop." Dacey would have to be bleeding if she had been any redder. "Why are you doing this?"

Throwing her arm around the northerner's shoulder, Dacey patted her hand comfortingly. "Don't be so prudish, Mormont. Our sexuality… its as divinely sanctioned as our eyes or our breathing. There is nothing more beautiful than making love, and I've had a lot of beauty since my maturity." Elaria lasciviously reached down to pinch her new companion's rear, causing Dacey to flinch. "Stop being so tense. We only have one life to live, why not make the most of it?"

Shaking her head, Dacey sighed "It's not like I… I want to do most of those things." A shudder coursed through her body at the very thought. "Gods, I want to lay down my barriers and give into my carnal desires, but… I think I could only trust doing such with the man I love."

Ellaria nodded. If there was one facet of society she could appreciate, it was romantic love. "I understand… now what would this kind of man be? Or do you have a particular man in mind?"

Gaze shifting back to the courtyard, Dacey suddenly came across Ser Arthur Dayne. His twin blades jostled in their scabbards as he briskly made his way towards Maegor's Holdfast. When his eyes looked at the balcony by chance, she looked away. Unable to meet his gaze.

None of this was lost on Ellaria. Oh Dacey… my first impression was correct. You are interesting. Her mind whirred at a mile per minute, lips curling up at the possibilities. I do love a challenge.


"My Prince, our food stores had to be broken into,"Maester Marwyn explained, struggling to catch up with Rhaegar's large strides. A balding man with a crown of scraggly hair round the edge of his dome, the man was incredibly smart and worldly. Hence the Citadel sending him to Dragonstone. Both Rhaegar and Elia figured the stuffy Archmaesters just wanted to get rid of him. "We expected you and the Princess back over a moon ago, but the delays… I couldn't let the food spoil."

Turning, placing his shoulders on Marwyn's shoulders, Rhaegar looked at him earnestly. "My friend, I do not begrudge you for it. Just make sure the pantry is stocked with fresh food for when I arrive with my children and both my brides."

The Maester blinked. "Would a northerner appreciate the bounty of the seas?"

"When it's harvested by Lord Lucerys Velaryon fleets and prepared by the finest cooks in the Seven Kingdoms, then I would think so." Rhaegar laughed and cuffed Marwyn lightly on the arm. "See to it." With that, he made his way towards the stairs leading down to the grassy plains of his personal domain.

Rhaegar loved Dragonstone. Loved everything about it. Most didn't understand the appeal, given the foreboding look of the dark stone and sharp boxes and curves of the former outpost of the Valyrian Freehold turned keep for House Targaryen. It had nothing on the flowery beauty of Highgarden, the lush greenery of the Water Gardens, the sheer size of Harrenhal, or even the rugged beauty of Winterfell, but to him it felt like the part of him that he so missed. The Red Keep was Westeros, but Dragonstone harkened back to the time of the dragons, of his glorious ancestors that were so close to conquering the known world.

The Crown Prince craved such a closeness… he felt it in his blood. His bones. An inner calling to the dragons and dragonlords of old, much as it confused him. Rhaegar couldn't wait to share it with Lyanna - he was quite apprehensive about it. While he told himself that he had no reason to worry, part of Rhaegar did fear his beloved's rejection of Dragonstone.

Hopefully her wedding gift will dampen such fears.

Dragonstone laid on a dormant volcano, liquid fire long having ceased spewing destruction. His Aunt Jenny often would make Rhaegar tremble as a child with tales of the wild Cannibal or Sheepstealer that lived in its thermal vents, both of them falling into fits of giggles when she pounced on him during the scariest parts. Now though, the greatest contribution of the volcano was the lush soil… fields of grass, the royal family's personal vineyard and garden… and a copse of sentinels, oaks, soldier pines, and chestnut trees that nestled on the far tip of the island.

Approaching, Rhaegar could already see crews of laborers at work. Digging at the direction of several surveyors - and two nobles. One short and squat, the other tall and thin. "My Lords, how goes the planning?"

Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall - formerly squire to Ser Oswell and a friend to the crown - turned and bowed as his Prince arrived on scene. "Seems the place is a bit haphazard for a proper Godswood, but a few trees felled here and some planted there… it could work for your purposes, your Grace."

"You speak too much like a master mason, Blackwood," Howland Reed chuckled. Bruises from the Tourney long healed, though he still bore a wincing gait from the sparring session. As a northerner though, he shared the swagger of how Ned defeated Ser Arthur - and the respect gotten from the knights in the capitol from being on the winning side. "A godswood… it holds the very spirit of the Children of the Forest. The essence of the soul itself. You can't just plan it down to fine scribbles on paper."

Blackwood rolled his eyes. "Forgive me for wanting the Prince's experience to be perfect."

Laughing again, Howland looked at Rhaegar. "Proves my point."

"Enough." While the squabbling amused him, for Rhaegar there was something far more important than his amusement. "I brought you here because of your expertise… and discretion." In their long-running feud with the Brackens of Stone Hedge, House Blackwood had the craftiness melded into their blood - Lord Bloodraven being the best example. And Howland… he kept Lyanna's identity as the Knight of the Laughing Tree secret for the entire Tourney. "How soon can you get the sapling here?"

"It's on its way, your Grace," Howland bowed. "Received a raven from White Harbor just last night announcing the departure of the ship."

Sighing in relief, Rhaegar closed his eyes. Trying not to feel completely over his head. "Gods, this is all new to me. Please explain what we're supposed to do with this?"

Both men were truly here because they worshipped the Old Gods. Lord Blackwood for his connection to the crown and being in possession of the largest Godswood south of the Neck. Howland… Rhaegar could trust him, the Reeds were some of the most spiritual houses in the North, and he had access to the Weirwood saplings the Godswood would need. As such the crannogman cleared his throat. "You'll need a walk around it. Ironwood trees, that's good, a connection to the North."

"Queen Alysanne got them from Alaric Stark during her famous royal progress to the North. Planted the saplings and watched them grow." A piece of history long forgotten in all but Targaryen family lore. Rhaegar intended to jot them all down so that they would never be lost. "And the Weirwood, it goes in the middle?"

"Always. The heart tree and the carved face upon it is the most important part, your Grace," Blackwood explained.

Rhaegar regraded this. "I'm not sure how to ask, but why a Weirwood? What does the face represent? Is it some sort of icon or idol?"

Shaking his head, Howland reached out and took Rhaegar's hand. Gently placing the palm upon a sentinel pine. "The old gods, they are all around us. Both in the heavens above and the earth around us. The heart tree and it's face… they were carved by the ancient Children of the Forest and First Men connected to the gods through magic. Wargers, greenseers, all carving not an icon, but a means for the gods to truly see a person and hear their prayers." The crannogman's muddy-grey eyes bored into him. "That is why you must never lie in front of a heart tree. They are watching."

Fascinated, Rhaegar lamented not being taught even the simple religious beliefs of much of his people. Years of compromise with the Faith has left House Targaryen shackled to it. Abandoning any form of understanding of other faiths, let alone remembering the true beliefs of Old Valyria. It made Rhaegar empty, as of his heritage was torn from him… his family torn apart from their past as those like Baelor the Blessed, Princess Rhaena, and Queen Naerys abandoned their dragonblood for the shackles of their faith.

Thinking about the old gods… it felt as if Rhaegar was letting himself be unchained from those that despised him. "And the carvings? Who would do it on the sapling from Greywater Watch?"

Howland smiled. "Someone with the blood of the ancient magic would do… even Valyrian magic."

Lyanna and I, carving together… Rhaegar couldn't wait to see the look on Lyanna's face. Gods, he was incomplete without her. "I know just the carving tool." It remained in the keep, a memento of Queen Rhaenys. The Crown Prince was saving it for a special occasion, and this certainly qualified. Lyanna will love it… Elia… He had never done something this special for her, never truly made this a home for his first wife, the woman that had sacrificed so much for him. For their family, for how he was bringing in yet another bride into their union for whom his love was boundless. The only time she's ever be happy here was when she took Rhaenys into Aegon's Gardens…

Aegon's Gardens… It would be a cheap substitute for the happiness Elia deserved, but it was at least a start. "Well… See to it, my Lords."

"Your Grace?" asked Blackwood, while Howland just looked at him with knowing eyes.

"I need to send a raven to the capitol. Excuse me." Just before he left, Rhaegar wordlessly rested his head against an Ironwood tree. Hoping to find more than just the whispers of his blood.


Squirming in Lyanna's arm, Prince Aegon Targaryen's cries nevertheless tapered off. Soothed by her gentle rocking and soft tune of the northern lullaby. Purple eyes glancing up at his soon to be second mother - not that Lyanna restricted her growing feelings till the wedding - it worked like a charm. Aegon stretched his arms in a toothless yawn. Utterly adorable as the she-wolf set the now dozing baby into his portable bassinet.

"Sleep tight, little dragon." Gods, she couldn't wait to feel her own blood - Rhaegar's blood - growing inside her.

"You are amazing with him." She turned to find Elia staring at her, small smile on her lips. "Even his nursemaids aren't as good at getting him to sleep."

A gentle laugh came from Queen Rhaella, sitting opposite both her gooddaughter and the empty chair of her future gooddaughter. The three women were gathered for a quiet morning together, a tradition that Rhaella had begun with Elia and that she gladly continued for her son's second bride. "The entire nursery staff loves Rhaenys and Aegon, but nothing can compare to a mother's touch. A mother's love." She leaned over, pouring a cup of piping hot liquid into three porcelain cups that a servant had laid out for them earlier. "Elia always had a magic touch with them, and it seems you have it too."

Lyanna blinked. "Even though I'm not their blood mother…"

The Queen waived her off. "Nonsense… Visenya wasn't Aenys' blood parent, yet she gave him the same loving comfort that she did the infant Maegor when Rhaenys died. Actually, it was her idea to hatch Quicksilver - saved the poor child's life."

"I thought Visenya and her sister-wife's brood were strained?" Elia asked. "Maegor and Aenys as adults certainly were." Much as she wanted to hug Lyanna tightly for being such an angel to her children, words sounding a lot like Doran were telling her to be cautious. To watch out for duplicity as he had said in a letter to her - the Starks seeking to supplant her blood in favor of theirs. She refused to believe it, but it was there nonetheless.

"Vicious lies by the Faith and the Citadel," Rhaella spat. While many Targaryen Queens since the Dance of Dragons had been quite pious in the Faith, Rhaella inherited the original skepticism towards the Starry Sept. "They were quite close. The family lore has Visenya being the one who proposed the Dragon's Wroth… she and Aegon were never the same, always sad. Always… incomplete." Both women listened with rapt attention, feeling honored at hearing the family lore of House Targaryen. "But enough of that." The Queen put on a brilliant smile. "Something happy…"

"What is this drink?" Lyanna sipped it, feeling a calm sensation at the delicious brew.

Elia cut in. "It's called tea, brewed originally in Mother Rhoyne but now a Dornish staple."

Lyanna nodded. "Delicious. We should ship this north." In agreement, Elia figured she could talk to Oberyn about it… if he didn't kill Rhaegar and Rickard first.

"Oh, my dear Lyanna," Rhaella gushed. "What was that song you sung to the little dragon?"

That was something happy. "Oh, it's an old northern lullaby. Tells the tale of a King Brandon Stark, killed defending his realm and mourned by his family and bannermen. We play it at funerals, but a softer version…" Her eyes glossed over with a half-serene, half-melancholic look. "My late mother, Lyarra Stark, always sung it to my brothers and I before bed…. I miss her so."

"My mother… I really don't remember her," Elia murmured, misty herself in spite of the attempted shift in the conversation. "She died when I was but a young girl."

As for Rhaella, her mother was known to all. "For all those that loved Queen Betha… it was the honor of a lifetime to be witness to her true love." Each having lost their mothers - and in all but Lyanna's case their fathers - it was an additional avenue of relation.

Eventually, they did manage to shift the conversation… this time to the Lords of the Small Council. "Honestly, things were better when Tywin was here," Rhaella confessed.

"He always had something up his ass," Elia said to a chuckle from Lyanna, "But he knew how to run the Realm. Connington is… competent and loyal, but he tends to be both bolder and, strangely, less imaginative. I think his Grace selected him to enforce loyalty above anything else."

"Makes sense, considering he cut public spending to the bone. The King's Tourney was the first major project in the last five years."

"Is there any coin left for spending on the Realm?" Lyanna inquired. "My father was forced to increase the land and harvest taxes three times during my lifetime - once I knew better I always assumed it was supposed to pay for the cost of the War of the Ninepenny Kings." While House Blackfyre had marshalled significant funds and resources in its heyday, Maelys Blackfyre was quite destitute, forced to rely on borrowed funds from his Essosi backers.

Rhaella scoffed. "My husband's treasury is filled to the brim - gold bullion, silver ingots, millions of coins, boxes filled with precious gems, even luxury goods. Our debts from that war were paid long ago, as was my father's debt to the Iron Bank, the Rogares of Lys, and House Hightower, all incurred in trying to hatch dragons after over a century without them." The Queen sighed, and neither Princess needed to inquire further. The Tragedy of Summerhall inspired tearful bards from Hellholt to Last Hearth.

"Only debt not paid," Elia mused, shifting the subject back from its tangent, "Is to Tywin Lannister. Five hundred thousand gold dragons… though…" She couldn't help but smirk. "That isn't caused by inability to pay on His Grace's part." Much as she hated the King, the Dornish dislike for the Westermen didn't evaporate due to the presence of a greater foe. "Lord Mace may be an oaf and a fool, but he's good at counting coin… only thing he is good at."

Lips pursed, Lyanna leaned forward. Hands clasped together. "If he's so good at counting, why isn't that coin being spent where it could do some good?" While Winterfell had an emergency stockpile of coin, the harsh climate of the North made every bit outside of it spent on either buying food or repairing infrastructure damaged by the frequent winter blizzards.

"His Grace… he hasn't spent more than a silver stag more than absolutely necessary." Rhaella sipped at her tea, neither Princess missing how the fingers curled round the cup trembled slightly. "And absolutely is very strictly defined. Treasury's only grown and grown, especially since Duskendale." Duskendale changed so many things - before, he had at least been somewhat bearable.

"Besides." She didn't used to be a cynic - Elia had dreams, hopes, romantic fantasies just as Lyanna did. But while the Northern Beauty's came true, the Dornish Princess found herself trapped in hells alongside her husband. They forged a bond under such circumstances, but no one could call it the same as what he had with Lyanna. Her heart still throbbed from the pain of it. "Even if the coin and bullion was released, you think his Grace would personally implement the payments? The Lords he delegates that to would just insist on funneling it through their own ideas of what constitutes a proper endeavor. Probably their own pockets."

Lyanna leaned back, thinking. "Has anyone asked the people?" Twin blinks. "The smallfolk, the merchants? The guilds? Anyone ask them for what they need? My father always does that in Winterfell, the gates always open to grievances and audiences from his subjects."

Both the Queen and the Princess have blank stares on their faces. "I… I was never allowed to socialize with the smallfolk," Rhaella confesses, eyes downcast. "My father was famous for it, but the septas that he had tutor me over my mother's objections… they always said it wasn't proper to socialize 'with rabble.' And Aerys, he doesn't like to leave the keep or his wheelhouse when traveling."

The she-wolf knew from prior conversations with Elia that she had similarly lived a cloistered life. Unable to interact with those not highborn or servants. "His Grace… he stopped hearing audiences years ago, after hearing Tywin was conducting them behind his back."

"Perhaps someone should change that?" Lyanna's mind was racing, ideas blooming same as with the moment that birthed the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Noticing the she-wolf thinking deeply, Elia found it quite sweet until a shadow appeared in the doorway. Eyes wide, she immediately stood and curtseyed. "Your Grace." Rhaella and Lyanna turned their heads, and within a split second joined her.

Sour-faced, the King strode into his Queen's chambers. Ser Gerold and Prince Lewyn standing vigil. "Where is Viserys?" he demanded of Rhaella. "He's not in his chambers." Aerys was not in a good mood.

Rhaella steeled herself. "Forgive me for worrying you, your Grace, but he is enjoying his afternoon by playing with his niece."

"You would let my son around the Dornish smell? He'll turn into a mincing buggerer like all of them." While Prince Lewyn and Princess Elia were directly affected, it was Lyanna that opened her mouth to say something. Just slightly, immediately drawn back… but enough for the King to notice. "Something to say, Lady Lyanna?"

Eyes glancing at the floor in supplication, she shook her head. "No, your Grace."

He snorted. "That's what I thought. And don't think I haven't seen you playing with that half-breed. You will stop at once, lest she turns from a slut into an uncivilized barbarian." Almost turning to leave, he suddenly noticed Lyanna's dress. A modest cut from the Dornish Marches, just like Jenny used to wear...

Without warning he grabbed the warm pot of tea and dumped it all over Lyanna. The young Lady yelping in the sudden shock. "Get rid of that dress. My son won't have a whore for a Queen like this one," he gestured to Elia and stormed out. Footsteps thudding as he retreated through the hallway.

Immediately as silence returned, Rhaella moved to grab whatever cloth was in reach while Elia raced to Lyanna's side, drawing her in an embrace as the fierce she-wolf began sobbing. Unable to comprehend what had just happened. He won't get you too, sister. I won't let him.

A/N: Wow, Aerys. Wow. Borrowed some from Ivan the Terrible of Russia... who kinda has a parallel to Aerys - strong ruler at first but who descended into madness by the end.

Looking at Lyanna, seems she wants to have an actual responsibility beyond the ceremonial function as Queen. Perhaps Daenerys will have a role model :D

Oberyn will be Oberyn...

Hope the Ellaria/Dacey moment was what y'all hoped.

Rhaegar is a great husband already :)

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

Next up, Tywin arrives in KL.