A/N: Longest chapter yet.
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 20: Ladies in Red
"You actually kissed Ser Arthur?" It was deja vu with the last morning of the King's Tourney… though the roles were reversed this time. Now, it was Lyanna that was styling Dacey's hair into a series of complex plaits around a slender ponytail - the latter on her insistence. "Last time I saw you speak, you were close to hysterics."
Dacey groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know what to say..." Nevertheless, the smile was unavoidable. "But I did kiss him." She giggled. "He was just as flustered as I, and Ellaria says I should go for the kill tonight."
She was certainly dressed to impress. A northern gown of forest green, decorated with blue and white lines. It fit her lithe form perfectly. "What do you exactly want with him, Dacey?" Lyanna asked, finishing up the last plait.
"What you have with Rhaegar," she replied quietly.
Mouth open slightly, Lyanna regarded her Lady in Waiting with new eyes. "Wow… well…" The Mormont warrior was… a great fit for the Sword of the Morning. "Go for it, though perhaps you should wait to go for the kill till we're on Dragonstone. More privacy." Dacey smiled at her, grateful for the advice.
A knock on the door drew their attention. "Everyone chaste?"
Lyanna rolled her eyes. "No Ned, I'm locked in a torrid embrace with Rhaegar as we speak." Her brother entered with a small smirk, tut-tutting his finger at her. But he stilled as soon as he caught her outfit. "Gods… you look beautiful, sister."
Honestly, Lyanna knew that. It had been Rhaella's idea, and the royal seamstresses had done an excellent job. The gown was of a mix of silk, collar high and easing down to a tight black bodice inlaid with rubies and onyx. Skirt red with black lines, the crimson was topped off with an ornate three-headed dragon right underneath her breasts, framed with cloth of gold. Lyanna looked like the Targaryen Princess she would soon be - the only hint of her birth house being a crown of Winter Roses atop her braided hair.
"Well, that's my cue to leave." Dacey stood. "Take care of her, Ned."
The door closed behind her, leaving the siblings alone. "Not that I'm not glad to see you brother, but I thought Elia would escort me down?"
"I just wished to speak with you, sister." They were a study in contrasts, Ned dressed in a grey gambeson and breeches. All simple yet dashing, hair tied back into an attractive bun. Even with the male beauty of the south, Lyanna knew he'd turn heads tonight. "We've both been too busy lately."
"That we have. Fire away."
Ned cleared his throat. "Who else knows… about you being the Mystery Knight?"
Lyanna's good mood turned ashen. "Where… where would you get such an idea?"
"Howland. When I confronted Robert."
Cursing under her breath, the future Queen folded her arms over the dragon sigil. "Are you going to berate me about being stupid? That I shouldn't have done it… because I don't regret it. That joust gave me my Rhaegar…"
"Lya, I'm proud of you." He smiled as her eyes widened. "I just am worried… Lord Arryn warned me about tonight. That the worst of the worst would show up, and if this secret gets out…"
She shook her head. "Besides you and I, no one but Howland, Dacey, Rhaegar, and Arthur know. I swear."
Ned let out a relieved breath. "We need to keep it that way.
"Brandon?" Wandering along the hallways, aquamarine gown emblazoned with the white lace trout of House Tully, Catelyn heard the voices through the tiny crack in the door. "Brandon, dear?" She leaned in only to find it was Eddard. Maybe Brandon is already waiting outside the ballroom…
"I'll have to admit, Lya. It was beautiful seeing you knock that asshole Ser Frey on his ass." Catelyn stilled, unable not to be intrigued as to what her future goodbrother was saying. "I had no idea you could joust." Joust?
"Oh brother, you know well enough that I can ride. What makes you think I couldn't joust too?" A throaty laugh followed, leaving no doubt that the second voice was Lyanna Stark, her goodsister. "In all honesty, the hardest part was when Dacey and Howland procured that armor for me." Armor… wait, she couldn't possibly be…
Ned's laugh followed. "Did he paint the laughing weirwood?" Catelyn's jaw dropped. Lyanna's the Knight of the Laughing Tree? She felt a tingle of glee course through her - the biggest piece of gossip in the Seven Kingdoms… and she was privy to it! "I know he did."
"Oh he did." Suddenly, Lyanna's tone shifted. "You can't tell anyone, brother. Rhaegar… he was ordered by the King to kill the Knight and bring him his head." Whatever glee Catelyn held was halted. Killed by the King? But the Knight didn't do anything? Why would the King order such a thing?
"My lips are sealed, sister."
Leaning back, Catelyn pressed her palm to her lips. She couldn't share this, not in good conscience. Harming her own goodsister… Family, Duty, Honor. The daughter of Riverrun had a duty to protect her family… But… it's just such juicy gossip… Her head spun with the magnitude of what she heard.
"Lady Catelyn?"
Turning around, Catelyn gasped softly and immediately curtseyed. "Princess Elia." Followed by her Lady in Waiting, the wife of the Crown Prince eyed her curiously. "I was just looking for my betrothed, Lord Brandon."
Elia raised an eyebrow. "I saw Brandon head for the ballroom. You can meet him there."
"Thank you, your Grace. It is much appreciated." Rising, she curtseyed once more before making her way to the ballroom. Eager to let her beloved calm the tempest in her system.
Still curious, noticing something off about Lady Catelyn, Elia glanced at Ellaria. "Is it just me or does she seem a bit suspicious."
Ellaria snorted, quite unladylike. "The Tullys irritate me - worst sort of holier-than-thou fuckstains. I bet she's been touching herself and then trying to find the Sept to beg for forgiveness." Her opinion of Catelyn Tully left no room for doubt. "Can't we get this over with, I really want to get to…"
"My brother?"
While a blush adorned her cheeks, Ellaria at least tried to look defiant. "And why not? He's a strong, virile man worthy of me."
Smirking, Elia giggled. "You're perfect for him, I have to say." Moving to face the door, Lyanna and Eddard had just opened it. "Lord Stark," she greeted before embracing Lyanna lightly. "Dearest sister."
Returning the embrace, Lyanna pulled back and looked over Elia appreciatively. "My my..." Aside from the dragon, all the colors on her sister-wife were reversed, sporting a crown of Dornish apple flowers. "Absolutely gorgeous."
Brown eyes also raked over the Targaryen colors. "I should say the same for you."
Behind, Ellaria snorted. They looked just like her when appreciating the female form. As I said, catfight or feast. Too bad they are both clueless.
"My Prince."
Hearing Ned, both ladies came face to face with the most enchanting violet orbs. Darkening before their very eyes, their beloved Crown Prince dressed in the same red and black - outfit hugging every bit of thick muscle and trim waist. Hair free flowing about his shoulders. "Rhaegar," Lyanna husked.
"Husband," Elia husked as well, equally entranced. Ever since their moment in their dining chamber… she was breaking more walls she had erected every day. Unable not to lust for her husband.
"Rhaenys and Visenya reborn," Rhaegar murmured. Making them beam at him, while Ned rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Problem Ned?"
He glared back. "I'd prefer if you didn't lust after my sister in front of me." All three girls giggled at that, Lyanna lightly swatting him in the arm.
Rhaegar laughed. "Since I am the Prince, I shall not follow that command." Lyanna now swatted him, though harder. He laughed louder, holding out both of his arms. "Shall we, my beloveds?" Without hesitation, his ladies took the proffered limbs. Looping their hands in his. They would make a statement entering together, but for reasons both political and personal, all three were absolutely willing to do so.
The grand ballroom of the Red Keep had been constructed during the days of Viserys I - the heyday of Targaryen glory and peace prior to the Dance of the Dragons. Featuring prominently in The Dragons Dance, Lyanna had always imagined how magnificent it was when the heroes of her youth had graced it. Even under the neglect of Aerys II, reality didn't even begin to compare. High windows set inside pointed arches lining the entire chamber, glass chandeliers each holding dozens of oil candles personally lit by the many servants, and a floor of polished marble that could hold hundreds of guests. It was all she could ever have imagined, and with Rhaegar sidetracked with Brandon by Lord Yronwood and Lord Dayne, her escort had whittled down to her sister-wife.
"There's Leyton Hightower, I'm honestly surprised he made it," Elia pointed out a soft-looking man in a fine Reach doublet, speaking with Lord Tully. "Very well-connected to the Faith," she mused sardonically, causing Lyanna to snort. "Ah, and there's Lord Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall Hall." A fit, powerful knight, though Elia spoke of him as if there was some delicious gossip. "He made waves years ago," she leaned close to Lyanna, sprinkling with mirth. "Training his only daughter in swordsmanship."
Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "And that's a problem?"
Her sister-wife squeezed her shoulder. "Women learning how to fight, rare but not unheard of among highborns. But women being raised in front of her father's bannermen. Dressed in boy's clothing and trained as a knight? Scandalous."
"And his liege Lord is Robert." Both of them found the boisterous Stormlander belting out a bawdy song with a cluster of Lords and Knights, serving girl on his arm. "I doubt he'd think women knights should be tolerated."
"Honestly, I doubt that he's sober enough to care." Sharing a laugh, the two women found someone stumbling into their path. "And this is Tyrion Lannister - already famous by reputation."
Flagon of wine in hand, the four-and-ten half-man cocked a charming grin. "I wouldn't think I was the youngest to ever Make the Eight, but I'm honored the future Queen has heard of me."
"Make the Eight?" Lyanna asked.
Elia rolled her eyes. "It means having carnal knowledge with one woman in each of the seven…"
The she-wolf held up her hand. "No need to finish that." On any other man, it would sound piggish, but Lyanna couldn't help but admire the dwarf.
"I haven't actually done it, but I will." He peered up at her. "So this is Lyanna Stark. I can say, if you weren't betrothed to a man who could behead me with Aegon the Conqueror's sword, I would try and properly bed a Northern woman." He shrugged. "A sweet maid in White Harbor doesn't really count, does it?"
Sharing a look with Elia, both of them quite amused when most other highborn ladies would be insulted, Lyanna smirked. "I'm curious, how would you try to seduce a woman such as me? With gold, perhaps?"
"Cause the dwarf can only enjoy a woman if he has coin?" When both ladies were a bit shameful, Tyrion burst out laughing. "Most of my women are whores, so it's true." He rather enjoyed their cross looks. "Anyway, I'm so young so I'm already charming them when I go in with my best grin. Then I show off my lion-emblazoned tunic and then tell them the best dwarf jape I've ever heard. Disarms them."
"Oh really?" Elia crossed her arms. "I like to laugh, tell me your best."
Tyrion drank from the flagon, smacking his lips. "So I walk into a brothel with a honeycomb and a jackass. I ask the madame for a woman, for mine has left me, but they keep eyeing the honeycomb and a jackass. I tell her that my wife prayed to the Seven for three things that they granted her, in a manner of speaking." Both Princesses were engrossed, wondering where he was going with this. The first was for a house fit for a queen, so he gave her this damn honeycomb. The second prayer was that she have the nicest ass in all the land, so he gave her this damn donkey…" Lyanna couldn't help but chuckle at that - Elia was equally amused. "And the third… well... she asked that my cock hang down past my knee." He paused for effect.
Lyanna blinked. "And how does that involve you being a dwarf?"
"I used to be six foot three!" he blurts out, grinning. It took a moment but Lyanna and Elia - to his delight - nearly fell over themselves as laughter rocked their bodies. "Normally highborns don't like that joke. Kills among knights though."
"Trust me, that was rather perfect," the she-wolf said through giggles, hoping they weren't drawing looks. From the side, she noticed her brother waving her over… next to her betrothed, his eyes smoldering as they stared intensely. Mmmmm… "It was lovely meeting you, Lord Tyrion, but we have to go."
Eyeing the group, Tyrion nodded. "Husband calls, eh? I understand." He reached up for their hands, pressing kisses to each of them. "I've never had a highborn tell me they enjoyed my company." And he waddled off to bury himself in the frivolity. Leaving two of the Realm's most powerful women with a positive impression of him.
To say Rhaegar's embrace was warm was underestimating it. "I do wish you'd stay close to me."
"You don't control us." Lyanna's mood countered her words.
"Allow me to rephrase, I would want you to want to stay close to me." Kissing both on the cheek, he lured Lyanna to his and Brandon's conversation. "You already have met Lord Tyrell, but allow me to introduce you to Lady Olenna Tyrell." Beside the finery of the Lord of Highgarden was an older woman. Face wrinkled and swathed all around, leaning on a cane and her green and gold dress sprinkled with decorations of roses.
"The Queen of Thorns in the flesh." It was clear from Elia's tone that the historical enmity between Dorne and the Reach hadn't completely died. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her either."
Olenna chuckled. "You do forgive me if I don't see myself welcome at Sunspear, Princess." Her green eyes were charming, but Lyanna could see the deviousness in them. This woman was not to be underestimated. "My my, I can see why the Prince is defying the Faith for you, Lady Lyanna. A handsome family, the Starks." Glancing over at Brandon, her thoughts on him were obvious. Lyanna chuckled while the heir to Winterfell hastily made his exit, mumbling excuses. "Forgive me, but I'm a widower and no one is ever to old to look."
Mace was equally mortified. "Mother…"
"Oh shut up, I'm having a conversation with my sovereigns." The rumors of who actually ruled the Reach looked to be true. "I admire the Starks, Lady Lyanna, the only First Men Kings to actually resist the Andals. Gods… 'Winter is Coming,' those are proper house words. Makes me shudder."
"Your words are rather charming, Lady Olenna," Lyanna offered graciously.
The Queen of Thorns didn't put on airs. "Pish. 'Growing Strong.' Set a rose on fire and it fucking dies. Set a winter storm on fire, and it's blown out. Count yourself lucky that Aegon the Conqueror got the North to bend the knee, my Prince."
Rhaegar laughed. "Oh, I do." An arm wrapped around Lyanna. "I'm also glad that Dorne bent the knee peacefully." His other wrapped around Elia.
"A lucky man, my Prince." Her wrinkles crinkled as she smiled. Someone then caught her attention. "Ah, Lord Redwyne! Mace, deal with him till I get over there." The Lord of Highgarden sighed and left. "A dreadful bore, but he's my goodson," she shrugged. "Do come to Highgarden on your next royal progress. I have an offer that you can't refuse." With that, she was off.
The Princesses leaned in to their beloved. "Well, that was interesting."
"Aye, interesting is the word to describe her." Elia's eyes narrowed. "I also don't trust her. I know Mace wishes his daughter to marry Viserys, but Olenna wants her for Aegon. I'd bet my last gold dragon on it."
Sighing, Rhaegar placed a kiss on Elia's forehead. "We will betroth Aegon to someone he approves of when he's ready to be married, I promise." Elia seemed to relax in his arms. "Now, I believe I owe my bride a dance."
While Lyanna wanted to jump at the chance, she would have rathered they dance first at their wedding. "No, I think you should take Elia." The Dornish Princess looked at her with wide eyes. As if asking if she was sure. "I'm sure, show the world that neither of your brides are strained, my love." Leaning in to kiss her, Rhaegar nodded and led Elia off, the Princess giving one last look at her - one of… gratitude? Enjoy, sister.
Alone, for the first time that night without any hangers on or the presence of her family, Lyanna looked around. Her betrothed and sister-wife had the floor to themselves for now, dancing to a jaunty minuet. Soon, Prince Oberyn joined them… with Ellaria on his arm. The two looked the picture of affection. A quick glance to the right turned into a rather prolonged one as Ser Arthur, 'Ser Stuffy' himself, was laughing at a jape told by Dacey. The two of them rather cozy. Her father and… one brother, were speaking to the Queen, who was watched over by an obviously adoring Jaime Lannister. Love is in the air, I suppose. Even with Aerys, even with the culture shock, Lyanna knew this was where she belonged. With Rhaegar, Elia, Rhaella, Rhaenys, and Aegon. And the other babes… She patted her stomach, hopefully a little dragonwolf would be growing there soon.
"Lady Lyanna I presume."
Turning, the she-wolf came face to face with a tall man. Broad shouldered and with thinning golden hair. He wore a doublet like Tyrion's, roaring lion emblazoned on the front. "Tywin Lannister." If anyone outside of the House Targaryen was known across the Realm, it was the Lord of Casterly Rock. She curtseyed shallowly. "A pleasure."
"Quite." In spite of his reputation, he was polite. "Would you honor me with a dance?"
Feeling it rude not to accept - and Aerys nowhere in sight - she nodded. "Lead the way."
While the minuet was rather spicy and fast-paced, once in his arms Tywin led slowly. "You seem to be acclimating well to court life." It appeared that he wanted to talk.
Lyanna wouldn't deny him, though she fought to keep her expressions in check. "It is difficult, yes, but I have a good support system."
"Ah yes, Princess Elia and Lord Jon Arryn, a fine duo." His moves were impeccable - the very epitome of a cultured Lord. But underneath was a caged lion… she would need to be careful. "They say Starks don't fare well in the south."
"Whomever said that didn't read about Theon the Hungry Wolf, or Cregan Stark… or Torrhen Stark for that matter."
"He lost his crown."
"Not a single drop of Northern blood was spilled… the same cannot be said of Loren the Last."
Expression giving away nothing, the tiny twinkle in his eyes found Tywin looking at Lyanna as if new. "You are right." They changed direction, Tywin spinning her around. "But the saying is out there. One true of all Starks since Cregan - quite confusing since the Blackfyre Rebellions drew nothing yet now your father is in the south. Strange, don't you think?"
Lyanna wasn't fazed. "Winter is coming, Lord Lannister. Best be prepared."
He blinked. "Ah yes, Winter is coming. Very true."
Elia felt lightheaded, as if her world was spinning… hells, she was literally spinning as her husband guided her along the dance floor. The red and black gown swishing over the stone floor - Rhaegar's hand spreading heat through her body with its place at her waist. Looking into his violet eyes, Elia could see the young Prince she had married, enamored with the Princess of Dorne and determined to make her fall in love with him. Only now, a stronger, wiser man. Gods, she felt her insides quiver in his arms. Bright smile infectious as the two laughed merrily.
Twirled around, she noticed the figure of the northern beauty that had so upended their lives for the better… is that Lord Tywin? "Husband… Lyanna…" Rhaegar peeked over her shoulder, then laughed. "That old cat can surprise me sometimes."
Leaning against the wall, watching the husbands or suiters guide their ladies along in the graceful southern minuet, Ned found himself envying his sister. At least one Stark gets a lion. He wasn't one to sulk, but sometimes it got the better of him.
Trying not to be noticed, even for the quiet wolf it didn't always work out that way. "Ah, if it isn't the 'Quiet Wolf.'" Dornish lilt heavy, sure enough Ned found the form of Oberyn Martell sidle up to him, arm wrapped around Ellaria. "They call you that here in the Red Keep, but I didn't know why till now." His longcoat of gold silk fit him like a glove, dotted with embroidered suns. "Your sister and brother are enjoying themselves, and yet you're here on your own." He pointed to Brandon, currently putting on a show for the partygoers with a giggling Catelyn Tully. The girl was clearly shy, but Brandon had a way of drawing people out of their shell. Oberyn had met the elder Stark son, and he was very fun - if disappointing since he didn't swing Oberyn's way. "Why don't you?"
Ned shrugged. "No lady that fancies me."
"Strapping young man like you. Goodbrother to the Crown Prince? The ladies should be flocking around you… or men" Oberyn wiggled his eyebrows, causing Ned to blush a bright red at the implication. "Don't get discouraged. I can tell if someone is that way just from looking."
Ellaria laughed. "A man after my own heart," patting his chest. Unlike the other men here, Oberyn's outfit showed off plenty of skin. "The Prince is right, you know. You'd have any woman you want if you softened that brooding scowl of yours." He didn't, just staring ahead. "Suit yourself."
But Oberyn wasn't deterred - he knew Ned's type well. "Hmmm, I think it's not that simple, my dear," he told Ellaria. "You may fancy a lady you don't think you can fancy." Catching a flicker in his eye, Oberyn followed the young wolf's line of sight until… "Oh." There she was, gossiping with a group of ladies from the Reach. He grinned, rather impressed. "The Light of the West, eh? Bold."
Hunching his shoulders, Ned tried to disappear into himself. "Don't tell anyone."
"My lips are sealed." He wrapped an arm around Ned. "You and I are going to be goodbrothers quite soon in a manner of speaking, so let me give you some advice. I wouldn't worry. Tywin is a hardass and obsessed with social climbing, but I think you'd have more of a chance than you think." Looking back at Cersei Lannister, the beautiful blonde quickly averted her gaze. She'd been staring at Ned. Aye, far more of a chance. "You'll be in her cunt before the week is out, write it down." That earned another flush of red from the quiet wolf and a sultry laugh from Ellaria.
The minstrels finished off the tune, pausing and immediately rewarded with a standing ovation. Breaking apart from Tywin, Lyanna added a northern war cry to the mix. "That was a dance… you know your way around the floor, Lord Lannister."
"It's an art you can never unlearn, only grow rust with," the lion responded, cracking his knuckles. "For what it's worth, I believe you'll be a good Queen." Somehow, Lyanna could tell he was sincere.
"Thank you, Lord Lannister…" she smiled slyly. "Though I believe you should keep that to yourself, considering where we are." Best the King didn't find out. That is a scene I do not want to witness again.
A glint in his eye being the most humor Tywin would display, he then caught movement in the corner of his eye. Servants rushing towards the doors, others pouring wine and setting a fine slab of honey-braised boar on the royal table. That could only mean one thing… "Well, Lady Lyanna. I must bid our conversation to a close." He bowed to her, kissing Lyanna's hand. "It was a pleasure."
Brow rising, Lyanna nevertheless dipped slightly. "The pleasure was mine, Lord Tywin." Watching the lion of Casterly Rock disappear into the crowd of revelers, she was startled by Elia tapping on her shoulder. "A little warning next time."
"Sorry," her sister-wife replied before a pair of thick arms wrapped around her. She beamed, heat rising inside her. "Husband."
Rhaegar had made his way single-mindedly to each of his Princesses, far outpacing his mother and goodfather behind him. Pleased at Elia's reaction, it was joined by Lyanna lighting up at seeing him. "My dears," he said with affection.
Wanting to kiss him but not wanting to make a scene, both let their eyes show their passion - each settling for a single peck on his cheek. "We missed you, my love," Lyanna told him.
"Politics, a cursed business. I know I'd rather be with both of you." A gentle caress of the smalls of their backs made Lyanna sigh in pleasure and Elia shiver. "So I saw you dance with Lord Tywin, what was that about?"
"Lord Tywin?" Rhaella and Rickard finally caught up. "What did he want?" asked the Queen.
Elia chuckled. "I was just about to ask the same thing."
Rickard knit his brows. "Whatever it was, it wasn't good… no offense, Ser Jaime."
"None taken, Lord Stark," Jaime replied. "I love my father, but I serve House Targaryen."
Lyanna took a deep breath. "The dance was fine, he was polite, but… It was all… very strange and pedestrian. Just asking me the most random of things."
"I'm thinking he was trying to see if House Stark was adopting a hostile stance to House Lannister due to the betrothal."
A groan from Lord Stark. "Gods, I barely seek peaceful leverage… the South has no understanding of the Northern ways."
"They barely understand their own ways, sometimes," Elia remarked dismissively.
Nodding, the Queen gently pressed her fingers together, surreptitiously stretching her legs - she was not the prime of youth anymore… though ignorant of a certain admirer that did not care. "Power, coin, and a proper legacy, that's all Tywin really wants." Rhaella shrugged. "It's hard to read him. Even Joanna couldn't."
At Rhaegar's raised brow, Lyanna sighed. "He did ask a lot of questions about father. How he was reaching to the south for alliances. As well as his interactions with the King."
"So that's it, then." Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose, dropping to a low whisper. "Father and Tywin never got along, but now he thinks the Lannisters are plotting the Doom of Valyria."
"But that's…"
"Mad? Aye, it is." Eyes closing, the Crown Prince truly felt the weight of the Realm on his shoulders. "I'll try and deescalate matters with him after the wedding, once things calm down." On Dragonstone, away from his father's toxic court, things would be easier.
"Well, his leaving abruptly may indicate he does see me as a threat…" She trailed off as Elia shook her head. "So what do you think that means?"
"Simple, his Grace is arriving." They had little time to prepare before the heralds made their announcement.
"Make way for his Grace!" The song ended in mid tune, dancers and revelers ceasing their merriment and quickly backing up to either side of the room. Large doors opened to Ser Gerold, Ser Jonothor, and twenty fully-armored members of the Household Guard flanking the entrance as the King entered. "Presenting Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of his Name. King of the Seven Kingdoms!" The herald's words were loud and precise. Taking care to deliver the words without flaw for the benefit of the King. He was known to cut tongues of those who couldn't.
Bending the knee while his mother curtseyed, Rhaegar couldn't help but thank the gods that someone had cleaned up his father. The long, stringy hair was trimmed and styled, nails clipped, and a fresh set of red and black robes swathing his thin frame. He looked like an elderly, but regal King - looking so much like his own father Aegon V. "Your Grace," he offered as Aerys approached them at the head table.
"Your Grace." Rhaella took her husband's hand in hers and kissed it sweetly. Answered with a curt grunt. Far better than he could have done.
Unfortunately, Rhaella's relief had been premature. Aerys' gaze had landed on the two Princesses, notably their dresses. The Queen said a silent prayer of grace to whomever was listening once she noticed the flash in her husband's eyes. One she knew very well. "What is this?" he spat. "Is this your doing, wife? Dressing the Dornish Whore and Wildling in our house colors?"
"We thought it would serve well for the unity of our house, your Grace," Elia answered. Both she and Rhaegar noticed with dismay at how Lyanna had drawn back, not willing to speak. No, sister… no. Just as she was about to climb out of it, the Princess saw her sister-wife fall for the same callow as she was forced to adopt years ago.
Aerys snorted in disgust. "Diluting the blood and culture as much as our cunt father and great-grandsire, then?"
Targaryens, Lord Stark, and Princesses eager to just take the abuse and let the King move on, unfortunately the arriving Brandon Stark opened his mouth. "Doesn't Princess Elia have Targaryen blood through Princess Daenerys Targaryen?" One could hear a pin drop, something dark flickering in Aerys eyes at the young Stark before a serene smile appeared. Leaving them with a mere nod before walking off.
As soon as the King sat down at the royal table seated for one, the Lords and Ladies rose from their knees. Beginning to shift and mingle once more. Rickard led Brandon off to lecture him, while Rhaella was escorted by Ser Jaime to converse with the Tyrells. As for the Prince and his brides, all three had to adorn the fake smiles of court as still more Lords and Ladies approached them with congratulations. "My Prince, my ladies." With a smile that looked quite out of place on a quite hardened face, a lord with the look of the Reach appeared in front of them. "Forgive me, Lady Lyanna, for we haven't met. Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill."
Dornish Marches in the Reach… tough warriors, enemies of the Dornish. Randyll Tarly sure looked the part - especially as his scowl was largely directed at Elia. "Pleased to meet you Lord Tarly," she told him. "Where is Lady Tarly?"
"She is at our keep. Just gave birth to my first child - a son and heir."
"Congratulations Lord Tarly," Rhaegar offered kindly. "As a father myself, that is a rather important moment in one's life."
Tarly's scowl turned even more sour… if that was possible. "Ah yes, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys." His eyes swiveled to the dance floor, where all of them found Oberyn locked in a traditional Dornish dance with Ellaria Sand. "Hopefully they'll take after their father's side, then."
Rhaegar felt his ire rising, especially as Elia averted her gaze. Learned helplessness cowing her yet again. But before Rhaegar could respond, Lyanna cut in. "Why do you think that, Lord Tarly?"
"I've heard about the… perversion of the Martells, Lady Lyanna. Best to keep that away from the Crown. Aegon the Unworthy caused enough suffering with his whoring to repeat it."
Lyanna's eyes narrowed. "On the contrary, Lord Tarly, Princess Elia is as loving a parent as I would hope the heirs to the throne would have. Certainly she wouldn't abandon a babe just having left his mother's womb to ingratiate herself in social climbing, and since his two children are with him in King's Landing…" The she-wolf smirked. "Neither would Prince Oberyn."
Eyes flashing red for a split second, Lord Tarly realized who he was speaking to. "Your Graces," he mumbled, making his exit.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Rhaegar nearly bawled over in laughter. "Finally, someone pushes on that stave up his ass." He pressed a kiss to Lyanna's lips, then hugged Elia. "You're a wonderful mother, my love."
My love… The words from him felt like the sweetest of hugs. "I know… speaking up doesn't always end well for me, though."
"The dragon has three heads, sister," Lyanna told her, remembering an old tale from Aegon's Conquest. "We look after each other."
Their conversation - as were all conversations - stilled as the King rose. His herald smacking the edge of his staff on the stone floor to grab attention. Aerys held a silver goblet in his hand, filled with Arbor gold. "My Lords and Ladies," he announced, voice even and free from even a hint of madness. It heartened the royal family and those on the Small Council. "The greatest thanks from House Targaryen to you, who have journeyed here to celebrate the resumption of the proper history of Valyria. My son, reasserting the Doctrine of Exceptionalism the way Kings Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Strong, marrying the beautiful Winter Rose Lady Lyanna Stark."
A chorus of claps, all eyes on Lyanna. It truly emphasized what an honor she was given, addressed before the Lords of Westeros by the King himself. She smiled and curtseyed at the King, hiding the worry. Masking how guarded she was at the obviously fake words. Her family shared the same thoughts, only wondering whether the King would speak in innuendo or be blunt.
As a smug smile fell on the King's lips, the intent was recognized immediately by the Queen, Princess, and Crown Prince, faces falling. "Interesting thing about House Stark. Their Lord, Rickard, is a fine and loyal man. Fulfilling his obligation under the Pact of Ice and Fire… unlike his ancestors." He snickered. "Had Cregan Stark not been a dawdling coward, Queen Rhaenyra may have won over the usurpers."
Rickard paled, Brandon snapped his goblet in half, and Ned's eyes widened. Knowing exactly what was to come, Elia took Lyanna's stunned hands in her own for support. Seemed no matter who it was, Aerys was determined to humilate and torture anyone that Rhaegar would love. "It's alright," she murmured to her sister-wife, noticing how Rhaegar couldn't even look at his father, hand on the small of Lyanna's back. "We look after each other."
"Honestly, the Starks have been the worst of all noble houses," the King continued. "Staying in their frozen land, not leaving even when the Kingdom was most at threat. Only when Queen Alysanne kissed their asses did they bother to show loyalty to House Targaryen, and I have it on good authority that Alaric Stark merely sought to have an affair with the Good Queen."
You lie! Ned wanted to shout it to the rafters. But he refused to be a fool… he'd been enough of a fool with Robert.
Across the floor of the grand chamber, Cersei Lannister saw the somber northerner duck out the side doorways to the balcony. Once selfish heart throbbing with empathy for him. But she couldn't follow him while the King continued.
"Unfortunately, I have had the displeasure of my son and heir disrespected and maligned by goodfamily." Aerys felt his spirit soar at the suppressed anger from Prince Oberyn, only wishing that he could see the pain on Princess Elia's face once again. "But House Stark has finally learned its place. With this marriage bringing our wayward brothers to the north into our fold, they can finally enjoy the trappings of civilization so long denied them." He held his goblet high. "To Rhaegar and Lyanna!"
Even for the humiliated Starks, there was no escaping the bittersweet toast. "To Rhaegar and Lyanna!"
Hammering a foot against the stone slabs of the main keep, it hurt like all seven hells but allowed Ned to vent his anger. It had become a habit for him since the tourney, still a brooder but enough self-loathing and torment to lash out alone or burn out on the training yard. Rhaegar loved Lyanna with all his heart, but he wasn't the jailer. Likely, he was a prisoner of his father just as Lyanna now was." Gritting his teeth, he kicked the stone once more.
Rushing out as fast as she could without drawing attention, this was how Cersei found him. The emotion on his face even more attractive than the brooding. She was silent, standing just outside the entranceway. Stilled by the close proximity to the young man that haunted her dreams. That she had kissed…
Finally, she spoke. "Lord Stark."
Tensing at the voice, Ned turned and felt the pain drain from his system. Taken over by the golden-haired lioness that has so captivated him. "Lady Cersei…" He straightened himself up. "Forgive me, but I just walked out to get some air. I can move if you wish your privacy." Even after being insulted, he just couldn't be anything but enamored with this woman.
Cersei held up a hand. "No… it's quite alright. Stay." She wanted him to stay. Heart soaring when he did. "For what it's worth, I have been on the end of his Grace's barbs too."
Unable not to chuckle - either that or cry - Ned leaned back on the wall. "Tywin's daughter, aye." He had barely spoken to her, but somehow it felt easy to. "It doesn't bother me, but I do worry for Lyanna."
"She has the Prince's love." Surprisingly, Cersei only felt a slight twinge of pain at admitting it. Perhaps I've moved on… "I don't find that surprising. She is very beautiful… a trait that runs in your family, it seems." The easy praise was so foreign to her, but she wanted to say it. It was true, Ned Stark was very handsome. She could tell that he would grow to surpass his older brother in that regard.
Since Cersei's last words to him were calling him a 'Northern Bumpkin,' Ned wondered where she was going with this. "You are quite beautiful yourself, my Lady." The dress was a simple maroon, hugging her curves and bringing out the golden pleats of her hair.
"Well…" she blushed in spite of herself. "Thank you, my Lord." The way he still looked at her, as if she were a goddess... Cersei chewed her bottom lip, a habit picked up from her mother. "I'd like to apologize."
"Apologize for what?"
"For my rude words in our last meeting." Everyone she knew would be gaping at Cersei Lannister apologizing, but it seemed right.
Ned blinked, surprised himself. "Yes, that was... rather rude." He looked her over, not for the first time imagining her bare. As much as he would want to resume their kiss, his honor emerged. "But you were right, Lady Cersei. I am but a second son - we shouldn't be doing this."
"No... we shouldn't," she finally says, but her green eyes darken at him regardless. "We would have no future..."
In spite of himself, in spite of his words, Ned took a step towards her. "It wouldn't be honorable, for a courtship with no prospects." Closer he walked, an almost magnetic draw.
"It would be for the best" Her voice was rough with desire. Going straight to his groin.
To hells with it. How could something like honor compare to this golden enchantress? With a growl that could rival a direwolf, Ned lunged. Hand quickly wrapping around the smooth column of her neck as the northerner crashed his lips against Cersei's. Plunging into her mouth, desire spiking at the sultry moan of the lioness. A hand moved to cup her rear through the maroon fabric of her dress, guiding her to the wall.
Feeling the northerner push her back, Cersei couldn't be bothered to care. It was as sudden as their first kiss, but there the similarities ended the lioness roared with hunger. A sensual clash of teeth and tongue. Gone was the quiet, brooding Eddard Stark, replaced by a ravenous direwolf intent on making a meal out of her.
When their kiss broke as she hissed, back colliding with the wall behind her, she bared her graceful neck for him to feast on. "Please…" It came out as a gasp… changing to another moan when Ned's hand pushed down the strap of her dress and his lips found the creamy skin.
Stop… visible… dishonor… Words of caution cast aside by the sounds and taste of her. Wolfsblood uncaged within him. Pinning her to the wall, Ned's hands began to wander. Ghosting over places that he only dreamed of feeling on any woman. Trim waist, ample breasts, a tight rear. Leaving her neck, the moment his gaze met her lidded greens did they kiss again.
Falling further into the Stark's embrace, Cersei wrapped her right leg around his hip. Both gasping as his clothed member hit her core over her smallclothes. Am I letting him take my cunt? Ned's fingers touching the bare skin of her shoulder, Cersei moaned yet again. Of course I am.
"Sweet sister." Tyrion stumbled onto the moonlit deck, wine sloshing from his goblet as his bloodshot eyes peered for Cersei. "Father is making his exit, and I believe he wants us to…" What he had once thought was some random couple suddenly came into view. Goblet falling to the floor as he sobered up almost immediately. "Sister?"
The last finally got her attention. Her arousal changing to horror as she pushed Ned off of her. Brows knitted in confusion, the northerner followed the line of sight to find the Imp wide eyed at them. "Fuck…" he heard Cersei murmur while he backed away.
Blinking, Tyrion figured after several seconds that he wasn't hallucinating. "Well, I was worried you weren't enjoying the night, but I can see you're having the best night of all of us." Lips curling upward to chuckle, the amusement died once he caught a glimpse of Cersei's mystery lover. "Wait… Eddard Stark?"
You have got to be fucking kidding me… "Fuck off, Tyrion," she hissed.
"Well, that was what you were about to do, Cersei." Hiccupping, the imp began to giggle. "I congratulate you, Lord Stark. Taming the mighty lioness."
Cool air having calmed his raging desire, Ned was mortified. Not at his and Cersei's passion, but the fact they were caught - not that it made a visible difference. "I should go," he said evenly. "Lord Tyrion, Lady Cersei." Trying not to flush the deep crimson of Cersei's gown, he made a quick exit. Still wrapping his head around what had just happened.
Eyes following Ned like a lost puppy, pleas for him to stay dying on her tongue, Cersei's loss changed to rage as she found Tyrion once more. "Must you ruin everything, you little cockroach?!" She didn't bother to wait for Tyrion before marching inside, body still humming from his touch.
"That went well, all things considered."
A mirthless chuckle left Rhaegar's lips. "All things considered being right. Lyanna truly shined tonight, and my father only hurts his own cause."
Connington nodded, standing right beside the Crown Prince. They made some sight, the fiery black and red of Rhaegar's colors matched by the vibrant inferno of Connington's hair. Both fit, powerful men in their prime. It had become the jape of court that Rhaegar snapped up enough beauties for the both of them. Little did they know… Connington was discreet about that facet of his life. At least to most. "He only redoubled the urge of those who already hate the Starks to continue to hate them. His Grace swayed none." Forgive me, my silver prince, if I don't out myself as in the former category.
"I thought I could get Lyanna to Dragonstone before he aimed his fire on her. Please insure that a boat is ready for the night after my wedding, Jon."
"Consider it done, my Prince." He'd make the command tomorrow, loathe as he was to participate in Rhaegar shackling himself to another woman undeserving of the beautiful future King. "Perhaps you shouldn't leave? You're the only one that can truly control him."
Rhaegar pursed his lips. "He is decompensating before my eyes, aye." He ran his hand down his face, fighting the frustration welling inside of him. A frustration and hurt that Connington had never seen him free of - except when with him as children… and now with his two brides. "But I owe it to my family to get them out of here first. If I could take my mother and brother to Dragonstone, I'd do so." His violet eyes met the Hands, intense with a desperate plea. "You'll have to hold the keep until I return, and protect my mother."
Nodding, there was no way the Lord of Griffin's Roost could disobey that order. "You can count on me, Rhaegar." Skirting the line he had set for himself… the urge simply too strong to completely ignore, Connington placed his hand on Rhaegar's shoulder blade. To everyone else a comforting pat between friends - but in reality… Gods, it was torture for him. Being in the company of the perfect man only to know that he would never be his. Hand lingering, fighting the compulsion to drift lower on the Crown Prince's body.
Noticing his beloved - both his beloveds - Rhaegar smiled softly and looked at Connington… who dropped his hand. "Well, I should take my wife and my bride back to the royal quarters. End the day with the two that I trust best." He chuckled, not noticing the flicker of pain in Connington's eyes. "Goodnight, Jon."
"Goodnight, my Prince."
Watching the small crowd of guards and ass-kissers following his sister, goodbrother, and... goodsister?... heading back to the royal apartments, Ned leaned back in his chair and sipped at the goblet of wine. Cringing at the sickly-sweet taste. "How can the southerners drink this piss?"
Brandon snorted. "Please, this is the best wine the Arbor has to offer." The heir to Winterfell gulped the wine, already deep into his cups. "The stocks at Riverrun can't compare."
"It tastes too… tart for me. Give me a proper ale any day," Ned replied. "That doesn't have the hint of overripe fruit."
"Oh Ned." Shaking his head, Brandon reached over and shook his shoulder affectionately. "What in Seven Hells did you do for all those years in the Eyrie for drink?"
"Mineral water mostly… the Hill Tribes brewed a sort of ale." He shuddered at the memory, but it was better than wine. "Had to just stomach it the rest of the time, all my friends japing me over it."
"I'd jape you over it, Ned. Gods… where's your sense of adventure?" If Bran was angered over the King's insulting speech, he had moved on quickly - or the alcohol and his short attention span made his moods erratic. "We're in the fucking capitol city of Westeros, our sister about to become royalty! Imagine what the two of us could do? Rhaegar could request us to sail the world for him!" His glassy eyes were nonetheless manic with excitement at the very idea.
Ned glanced at his brother with a cocked brow. "Really? You're the heir to Winterfell, brother. The North… and Lady Catelyn, will need you."
He waved Ned off. "Pish, father is healthy - I won't be needed for a long while yet."
"There must always be a Stark at Winterfell."
"I don't plan to be without an heir for long. Catelyn is a good mother, she'll raise the babe well."
She'll raise that babe to be a Riverman follower of the Faith, if you're not there. He bit his tongue though, downing the wine even though it tasted horrible. Wanting to forget. "You're living in a dream world, brother."
Bran looked at him queerly. "What creature bit you in the stones?" His face darkened. "The King?"
"Something like that."
His mood changed on a silver stag yet again. "The gall of him…" Bran at least had the guile even drunk to speak in a whisper. "How dare he attack our House. After all we fucking did for him!"
"He wanted us to surround Tywin Lannister for a… let's just say insane reason. Same reason he had Rhaegar marry Princess Elia, and his treatment of her… is still worse." Even while speaking, Ned wasn't listening. Mind elsewhere. Green eyes… warm mouth… moans that still made his cock twitch just thinking about it.
Stout lot it did me. Consumed by their passion that they were, the words they had spoken still rang true. Any relationship would be impossible between them. Few Lords Paramount would marry their daughters to a second son without a keep, practically impossible if said Lord was as ambitious as Tywin Lannister. You chose to fancy the most difficult woman, Ned.
Thinking more on it, the only regret he had was that they were interrupted… and that scared him. Something about Cersei Lannister made his honor evaporate. Yet... perhaps the greatest honor was following one's heart? Lyanna did, and House Stark was at the height of its power.
"Oh hells," he heard Bran mutter. Turning his head, Ned felt his entire mood sour. Robert. As if his luck couldn't get any worse. Insulted by the King, cock blocked by the Imp of Casterly Rock, and now being faced with the former friend he hadn't spoken to since threatening to cut his balls off.
Unsurprisingly, Robert was tipsy - face flushed and swaying slightly as he walked. What did end up surprising Ned was that tipsy was all Robert was. At this point most festive nights, if not passed out he'd be barely standing and with vomit coating his clothes. But his eyes were alert, hair still well-coiffed, and doublet free of grime. He looked like the proud, handsome Lord of a warrior house that he was. "Ned," he murmured sheepishly. "Lord Brandon."
"Robert." Ned wasn't keen on taking a swing at him. It would only complicate matters, so he kept himself polite but guarded.
Brandon had no such restraint - and it wasn't all the wine. "Lord Baratheon." He looked ready to explode at any minute.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Robert at least had the sense to pick up on the tension. Fuck, Ned was my brother. He felt like shit. "Um… what a night. Sorry bout that business with His Grace… he's my great uncle, so I feel somewhat culpable…" Not that the damn dragonspawn cares. "I guess…"
"What do you want, Robert? I'm in no mood for your drunken nonsense." The night with Cersei had left Ned bitter and sexually frustrated, in desperate need for a cold dunk in the ocean and sleep.
He stiffened his spine, ready to take his rap to the knuckles. "Ned… Lord Brandon… I'm sorry."
The Starks looked at each other before turning back to Robert. "I beg your pardon?"
"What can I say Ned, 'cept I'm sorry. I didn't have my head on straight…"
"No you didn't." Just the fact that Robert Baratheon of all people was apologizing was momentous. The burly stag never let down his pride, and the fact he hadn't drank himself into a stupor that night seemed to mean something. Jon did tell me to not give up on him.
He forced himself on Lyanna.
It doesn't serve Lyanna well to make him an enemy.
"You really expect us to believe you?" Brandon spat. "Fuck you and the stag you rode in on."
Swallowing, Robert looked over at Ned. "You feel the same way?"
"Honestly, Robert?" The quiet wolf pursed his lips. "Yes. What you did… I can't trust you around Lyanna anymore."
"And us? Our friendship?"
"If I wanted to save it, what makes me think that you would be one to trust once more?"
"'Aight," Robert sighed. "Slug me."
Ned blinked. "What?"
"Ya heard me, Ned." He stuck out his face, angling it into a juicy target. "Slug me. I'll give ya a free shot cause I was an ass to your sister. Come on."
"Robert, I'm not slugging you." That was just what House Stark needed, the Princess' brother caught assaulting the King's great-nephew mere days before her wedding. "I'm no brute."
He cussed a blind streak. "When did you become some Lysene buggerboy? Stop taking up the ass and slug me!"
"I'm not giving up my honor…"
"Oh for the love of the gods…" Without warning, Brandon lunged. Right hook leaving a sharp crack into Robert's jaw just before his knee lurched up to ram into the gut. Double blow felling the Lord of Storm's End, wind knocked out of him. "That's for Lyanna, you drunk fucker."
Jaw dropped, Ned stared at his brother. "Gods, Bran."
Brandon narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you didn't want to?"
Coughing, wheezing as he struggles to inflate his lungs, Robert manages to bring a finger to his lip, feeling it slip. "Went for a double hit, there," he sputtered.
"Second was for me. Ned already got his licks in."
There's a silence before Robert starts laughing uproariously. "Now that's a punch I can drink to, ya' son of a bitch!" He wagged his finger at Ned. "By the Seven, Ned, are your arms made of ice or something?" Hauling himself up, he grabbed a half-empty goblet of wine off a table and downed it. "Had to let your dashing brother fight your battles for you? Can defeat Arthur Dayne but can't slug me? I get ya' prefer a sword cause yer' pecker's small."
Ned crosses his arms. "My 'pecker' might not get as much work as you, but it's just fine." Then all three of them started laughing. Jon Arryn's words filling Ned's mind, he knew that he couldn't let a hate brew between Robert and he. Never would he trust him so implicitly, never would he allow Lyanna anywhere near him, but the man that was practically his third brother did deserve some consideration after years of being closer to him than all his other siblings. "Come on, let's head to the gardens. Sober up a bit."
"Fuck that, I'm gonna find me another flagon."
"Took the words right out of my mouth," Brandon grinned, mood once again shifting. "Perhaps I'll visit Catelyn when the night is done."
"You and Lady Tully… fuck, she's a pretty thing. A Lady fit for a Lord, I shall say."
A Lady fit for a Lord… Golden hair filling his mind, that flagon of wine did sound appealing to him.
A/N: So many different characters making their appearance. I'll just let this sit here :D
Wowza, those dresses for the Princesses!
If I can get 35 reviews, I'll update on Tuesday.
Next up, Ned and Cersei meet again.
