A/N: Hi all, The smut that was promised ;)

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Chapter 24: Royal Wedding Part II

"Would you like to sit, my Lady?" Ned asked, gesturing to a low stone bench in the middle of the flower gardens. "I am sure your footwear is quite uncomfortable."

Nodding absentmindedly, Cersei made her way to the bench. Guiding Ned to sit right beside her, his closeness causing her a pleasant shiver. "Thank you, Lord Stark." They had been talking for what seemed like an eternity - from the banal to the political, anything was used simply for them to continue in their little world. Alone together in a surreal daze, where it could just be the two of them. "You were saying… of your brother and sister, the Princess?"

"Aye… I suppose I'll have to think of Lyanna as my sovereign instead of my sister." Ned chuckled, which caused Cersei to smile as well. "Anyway, Benjen and she were only a year apart, and were quite close. Father ended up discovering him teaching her his swordplay lessons."

"Quite the scandal." Tywin would have killed her had she tried to learn swordplay with Jaime.

Ned shrugged. "Father was angry at first, but my mother managed to convince him that Lyanna should learn." It had been Rickard's deathbed promise to Lyarra Stark to let Lyanna train. "Any similar tales between your two brothers?"

Cersei laughed bitterly, it not reaching her eyes. "Aye, those two are thick as thieves. Always listening to Uncle Gerion's adventure stories and then acting them out - Jaime the brawn and Tyrion the brain. Terrorizing everyone and yet charming them at the same time." She shook her head. "I get why they would fall for Jaime's good looks and rapier wit, but that little monster?"

While most who referred to their own kin in such terms would repulse Ned… there was no way this woman could repulse him. He knew on instinct there was something deeper. "I think you may be jealous of their bond, my Lady."

"You had to think to figure that one out?" Cersei remarked sarcastically, glaring at him from where they sat. "Of course I'm jealous. As children, Jaime and I were inseparable. Now, he tends to spend just as much time with him as with me." Granted, that was before he left for the Kingsguard - best that he did that.

"Perhaps he sees that you and Tyrion are all he has left of your mother?" Such was why Ned was close to Lyanna in spite of their age difference. He figured it would be the same.

Blinking, she opened her mouth to deny… but was unable to. That had never occurred to Cersei. Gods, he's right. Most found Joanna's looks in her and personality in Jaime, but for Jaime himself? She was closer to her father or Aunt Genna in personality, while Tyrion's obvious kinship with Gerion belied much of him being exactly like their mother. He loves us no matter what we say about him, just as mother did…

She shook her head. Tyrion didn't deserve Cersei's sentimentality. "Jaime sees what he sees. What I see... he killed my mother."

"My lady, babies can't be kinslayers. They can't mean for that to happen to the women that birth them." He reached out to place his hand on hers.

Cersei recoiled from him, anger raised. "Do you know what it's like to lose a mother, Ned Stark?" she spat. Even after years, losing Joanna was a sore spot… especially after what happened before…

The answer was but a murmur. "I do."

All anger left her at his words. What? Lessons from their maester on the various Northern houses were of little interest for her, so Cersei had assumed Lady Stark was simply at Winterfell tending to the North in Rickard's absence. His mother was lost… Seeing his caring expression grow hard, brooding, she recognized it as one they shared. Cersei bit her lip, suddenly hating herself for ripping her hand away - for snapping at him. Slowly, she eased her hand back under his.

As with her, the wounds of losing a parent would never heal. "My mother died seven years after Benjen's birth - he was a difficult, spring birth, and she didn't survive the next winter." Ned fought the tears in his eyes. "Benjen barely remembers her, while Lyanna remembers less than Brandon or I." A wistful smile came at the memories. "She was the kindest woman, but a wolf when need be... not unlike your own mother my Lady, with what you have told me about her."

There was a silence. "She died from weakness after your brother's birth?"

"No, the gods decided it was her time." He would never blame Benjen, even if she had died as Joanna Lannister. "We were all heartbroken - father most of all - but we cherished her memory as she would have wanted."

Cherish her memory. While she never thought of it before, even Tyrion left a wildflower on their mother's grave on his birthday... the day of her death. "I've never been able not to blame my brother for it..."

Ned reached over and took her other hand in his. Taking a chance to both be closer to her and give her comforting advice. "My lady, I'm sure it must have been heartbreaking to lose her, but please don't judge your brother for a crime he did not commit." He watched her bite her lip, conflicted… and utterly beautiful. "You said Jaime loved your mother as much as you - did he ever blame Tyrion?"

A tear falls down her eye. "No... he never did..."

Seeing the tear, Ned embraced her. Relishing the feel of her in his arms. "Just let all the pain go. It will be fine, I promise."

Even as he almost commanded her to let out the hurt still inside her, Cersei wouldn't. Just couldn't… Much as Ned Stark's words made sense, it was too far of a reach for her. Instead, she merely held him, inhaling his scent. Letting herself relax in the unfamiliar yet simply right feel of the enigmatic northerner. One she had met only a moonturn before. It felt as if she'd known him forever. It felt as if destiny itself was pulling her closer to Ned.

"What are we doing here, Eddard?" It was the first time she ever said his name, and it sounded so good on her tongue. "We'll never be together... yet I can't stop thinking about you."

Ned pulled away, looking into her eyes. "Me neither… Cersei."

She shivered at her name on his lips. "Why... why do you seem to care about me so?"

Blinking, her blunt question stumped him for a moment - Ned decided to be honest. "Most speak of your father, and connect you to him or the failed attempt to betroth you to Rhaegar." Cersei fought back a groan at his mentioning that, but Ned wasn't finished. "I focused on you, the person that you are. You're passionate, intelligent, beautiful, strong, yet delicate and womanly - I can't explain it more than that, but you allure me."

"We've barely spoken..." she ends up blushing. Even Jaime had never praised her so broadly.

That had come to his mind many times before, but for the first time Ned decided to follow his heart. "That's what you are my lady. Even a 'northern fool' like myself can see it."

Gods… A second son, a northern barbarian… a wonderful man… Titles and power suddenly seemed just so abstract to her, while this affection was real. Unable to take it, she pulled him in for a kiss. Getting the closeness she had so craved. It started slow, soft. Exploring each other and committing to memory - but it didn't take long for it to deepen. Tongues battling, hands trying desperately to restrain themselves from shooting to the most intimate bits. Picking up right where they left off the previous night.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, Ned pulling her flush against him. More a chance than I think… Oberyn was right. He could feel himself getting worked up, close to the point of no return. Duty and honor told him one thing, but at this point Ned couldn't seem to care. Fate pulled him in the other direction, the brooding Ned Stark meeting his match in Cersei Lannister. Perhaps love is the greatest duty... "Come to my chambers," he blurted out, blushing hotly when he realized what he said.

Cersei, lightheaded from the kiss, couldn't think straight. But her words were just as unavoidable as his. "Guide me."


"You really want the wedding in Winterfell?" Hoster Tully asked, deep in his cups and slightly surprised. "I can have the ceremony prepared at Riverrun in a fortnight."

Smiling apologetically, Rickard shrugged his shoulders. "While I would love to avail myself to your hospitality, Hoster, Catelyn will be the future Lady of Winterfell. It's a chance for her to settle into her position."

That made sense, but the Lord of Riverrun was less than enthusiastic. "Before the godswood?"

"Naturally."

He blinked, shaking his head. "The only sept in the North is in White Harbor, perhaps we could compromise and have it there. Far easier journey by ship than moving up the Kingsroad…"

"Ah Hoster," laughed Jon Arryn. "You're just not wanting to get too chilled from the northern blizzards."

"There is that," acknowledged Lord Tully.

"Then buy a coat," Lady Olenna Tyrell said gruffly. The four of them were huddled together at a table, three Lords Paramount and one de facto Lady Paramount shooting the breeze. "You know it must be at Winterfell."

Hoster sighed. "Very well. Winterfell it is. I shall inform my daughter to begin packing her household." He stood, leaving his cup behind. "Till later, my friends."

"It has been a pleasure, dearest Hoster," waved Olenna, a polite smile worn on her face till he walked out of earshot. Dropping to a sour frown, she leaned to Rickard and spoke bluntly. "He should just put on the folded robes and join the Most Devout." The Lord of Winterfell blinked while the Lord of the Eyrie almost spat out his wine in laughter. Tapping the table, the Queen of Thorns stared intently at her Northern counterpart. "That daughter of his will destroy your house."

Rickard raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon, Lady Olenna?" While the first comment had been mindless needling, this one concerned his House directly.

She scoffed. "You heard me, Lord Rickard. Gods, did all the winter blizzards make you deaf?"

A look at Jon Arryn found the old Lord raise his palms in surrender - he wouldn't get involved. Probably smart of him. "I don't see what you mean, my Lady. Catelyn Tully is a kind, dutiful maiden that seems to love my son very much." His eyes found the both of them, Brandon lifting the laughing redhead in his arms, twirling her around while his daughter and her spouses clapped from the dias.

Such a display only caused Olenna to roll her eyes. "Plenty of love matches out there, but there's more to a proper alliance than love. My idiot husband loved me, but he could have fallen for a dunderhead in five minutes and Highgarden would have been a ruin." She sipped at her wine, rather enjoying the Stark's blank stare and the Arryn's giggle.

Unlike Jon Arryn - simply an amused bystander - Rickard was confused by the Lady Dowager of Highgarden's line of commentary. "What deficiency do you see in Catelyn Tully?"

"She'll try to turn Winterfell into the Starry Sept. Push aside the old gods and replace it with her own pious traditions."

Rickard rejected Olenna's assertions. "She respects our traditions my lady." House Tully was a good match for them, both politically and personally.

"Did you bother to ask her?" Such alliances rarely were done outside of conversations between fathers - had it been among southern houses there wouldn't be a problem, but the Starks were northern.

"I am certain she knows that not to would earn the mistrust of the Northern houses," Rickard tried to defend his heir's betrothed.

Olenna shook her head. "That doesn't sound like the Hoster Tully I know. It's been said the Blackwoods make sure to always meet him outside of their keep in case he sees their Weirwood." Jon nodded. Those stories had crossed to the Vale as well as the Reach.

"Ever since we were the Kings in the North, we were steadfast in our ways." He was adamant. "We will not change that, and Brandon will not allow it."

She smacked her wrinkled hand on her face. "Oh you poor, deluded northern fool. Tullys may be many things, but malleable is not one of them. They aren't harpies like the Ironborn and some other houses." Those that were she could recite from memory. "But they are stubborn, bullheaded, and quite impulsive even if it bites them in the ass." Olenna placed her hand on Rickard's. "Be wary, for I doubt your position in the North is as strong as you think."

Rickard's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Shrugging, the Queen of Thorns pointed to a corner - where Roose Bolton sat drinking in silence with Stevron Frey and Wyman Manderly. "That man, he's a snake. It's too cold for snakes up there, but I know one when I see one. Don't give your heir any leeway for that man to exploit."

Ah… of course. It was a common refrain. When not the Blackwoods and Brackens or the Martells and Tyrells, it was the Starks and the Boltons. Had it been Roose's father Royce, Rickard would have agreed with Olenna completely… the son was more an enigma. Quiet and crafty, but no sign of the opportunistic brutality that the house of the Flayed Man was notorious for. "I know Roose can be sneaky, but he is one of our most important vassals."

"Please, Rickard," Jon cut in. "I worry you are looking at this too rosily. The Boltons are not a house to be trifled with."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not looking at this naively, Jon. I actually want to foster his heir in Winterfell when one of them survives past the cradle…" Keeping his rival close could finally normalize relations. "Poor man, he's lost his third already."

"That's smart of you, but beware Catelyn Tully." She poured herself another cup. "I actually think that Lannister bitch would be a better Lady of Winterfell. Tywin's brood, they have no beliefs except for personal gain. Makes them... adaptable."

"Mhm, a lion and a direwolf do make for a mightier sight than a trout," laughed Jon Arryn.

"Brandon would never go for it. Tywin Lannister as his goodfather?" Rickard shuddered. There were some alliances he wouldn't go for - no sense in antagonizing Aerys further.

"You do have another son? Quite the smart one, I believe. Quiet but a lot of potential."

That caused Rickard to shake his head, much as the alliance could be beneficial if in the right moment. "Tywin's no Tytos. he will never wed his only daughter to a second son, even if he is the goodbrother of the King."

"You can decree him to be your heir. It's been done before... Gods wish I had done that," she mumbled about her dunce of a son.

Rickard gasped, aghast at the thought. "No, I could never do that to brandon." And I doubt Ned would ever allow it. "He might drive me mad sometimes, along with his sister, but he is still my heir and he'll make me proud."

Finishing her wine, Olenna grabbed her cane and used it to stand from the table. "Your funeral," she drolled, strolling away to find smarter company. The man's too honorable for his own good.

At the dias, the Queen had finally made her way to congratulate her son and gooddaughters, hugging each of them. "You look positively radiant, Lyanna."

Her smile could light up the entire room. "This is the happiest day of my life. I feel radiant, your Grace…"

"What did I tell you?" warned Rhaella, scolding as a mother would. "Especially now, my name is Rhaella to you."

"Better do as she says, my love," Rhaegar offered, smiling cheekily to a swat from Elia.

The Dornish Princess nevertheless held the same smile at her sister-wife. "I slipped up a lot as a young wife. She never let me forget it."

Lyanna laughed. "Alright, Rhaella." The two shared yet another hug.

Off to the side, Jaime watched the scene with half-satisfaction, half-longing when someone smacked him on the back of the head. "Argh… what the fuck, uncle?"

"Ah, so I finally got yer' attention," slurred Gerion Lannister, somehow able to walk in spite of downing two flagons of Arbor Gold. "Go make your move."

Jaime rubbed the still sore back of his skull. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Even drunk, the youngest of the five Lannister siblings knew when to keep his voice down. "You and the Valyrian beauty. Go ask her to dance."

Face going red, the kingsguard wished Gerion hadn't said that. "Uncle… I like my head the way it is."

"Oh pish, it's just a dance… his Grace won't be alive forever." Gerion shoved him forward. "Now go, or I'll tell your sister that it was your idea for Tyrion to milk his eel into her turtle stew."

Judging the peril of a dance with the Queen was far less likely to have him killed than Cersei's wrath, the Lion of Lannister hastily approached just as the Queen was about to descend the steps. "Oh, Ser Jaime," Rhaella remarked, stopping herself before she could run into him. "I may be a little tipsy."

He gulped. "You look fine to me, your Grace." Jaime bit his tongue and offered her a hand. "Enough for a dance?"

Rhaella blinked. "Ser Jaime…" Not that she didn't want to. She very much couldn't decline an offer to dance with a handsome young knight, but…

"His Grace is retired. I'm probably the only person besides the Prince who could and…" Both peeked at how he listened to Lyanna regaling him about a story of a wildling raid. "He's busy at the moment. Shall we?"

There was a silence before a grin stretched on the Queen's face. "It's been years since I had a proper dance. Lead the way, Ser Jaime."


The corridors were deserted. Hopes for a raucous bedding ceremony having drawn servants, guards, and whatever highborn invitees to outside the official royal quarters, leaving the guest ones practically abandoned. Given that a drunk Brandon Stark would likely be showing up now that the party was slowing down - with or without his betrothed for some post-wedding fun - the two would-be lovers knew to rush. Not making haste, but not at a ponderous pace by a long shot.

Biting her lip, Cersei's heart pounded in her chest. Her velvet lined wooden pumps clicked on the stone floor beneath her, echoing in the cavernous halls. Anything for her senses to focus on. Anything to calm her racing heart against the feel of the pair of eyes undoubtedly staring at her from behind. The soft breaths of the man that had caught her fancy only a moonturn before…

A thought coming to her, Cersei added an extra sway to her hips. Lips curling into a smirk when she heard his breath hitch. Normally, she enjoyed manipulating men - even her brother - to get what she wanted, but at that moment she merely wanted to please him… and glad that she succeeded.

"Do… do you know where you're going, Lady Cersei?"

Her name on his lips didn't cease to cause shudders to go through Cersei. A few nights ago might have been blamed on the alcohol, but she hadn't had a drop to drink tonight. "I've stayed in the guest quarters before… Lord Eddard." Turning the right corner, they came upon a dead end hallway. "Though I need to know what room you're in."

Chuckling, Ned moved to slide ahead of her. Bare hand brushing her waist, causing her to jump a bit. "Allow me to lead the way, this time." The little tug of war between them, a battle for dominance both scathing and so soft as to be seductive, he rather liked it. As if the two of them fit like pieces of a childhood block her hand in his, he gently led the Light of the West towards his particular chambers at the end of the hallway. "Here we are… Cersei."

"Are you nervous... Eddard?" At that moment she was nervous, but not from what an observer would think. Face to face against the enigmatic, brooding, handsome northerner… after the little but no less meaningful contact they shared, Cersei was actually worried she wouldn't measure up. It was an… unexpected feeling.

Ned was silent, merely opening the door. Thoughts clouded by this intoxicating woman now returning with full force. Certain... uncomfortable truths. "Aye," he murmured as she walked into the room past him, closing the door behind him. "I am nervous."

Cersei's face fell. Worried that he might be backing out, the first man she truly wanted since she and Jaime. Wordlessly, she turned away, looking at the open window and the bright moon in the inky-black sky. "Why is that?" she almost croaked. Half-unwilling to know the answer.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Ned decided to be honest. "I… well… you'd be my first woman."

Turning abruptly, the lioness found herself gaping at him. Not in any circumstance expecting that. "You're first…" Someone as handsome as he… this had to be some kind of jape. "Aren't you of twenty namedays?" Surely he's had a smallfolk maiden, lonely older widow, or something?

But his initial statement was the truth. "While Robert often pushed me, I never took any of the women he threw at me up on their offers." There had been quite a few of both high and lowborn, but Ned had refused them all. After meeting Cersei, he realized whom the gods had been saving him for. "You would be my first."

"But your brother…" While not as notorious as some of the other noted womanizers in court, Brandon's flirty nature had gotten around.

"I am not my brother, Cersei."

Thank the gods for that. Regardless of what some said, Ned was by far the more attractive of the two. "Why did you wait?" She wanted to know.

Ned looked away, face resembling a ripe strawberry. "I couldn't dishonor any maidens, or risk shaming my house and myself with a bastard." Cersei gulped. The former isn't an issue for me. "With you… gods, Cersei." Running a hand through his hair, he struggled to find the words. "...I can't help myself. We've only truly spoken twice, and yet you're my clearest weakness." He turned, grey eyes so dark they were almost black. "And I don't regret these feelings."

She shivered. His wolfish gaze filling Cersei with lust. "I shall be your first." She spoke it as if holding some sort of crown. "I… I hope I am up to the task."

Taking big strides, Ned cupped her waist. "You already are… I am enchanted by you, Cersei."

His simple words of passion more incendiary than any of the flowery speeches and lascivious propositions of all past suitors, Cersei closed the distance between them. Fusing their lips together, frantically begging for entrance which was immediately granted.

Unlike Rhaegar, Ned wasn't a bloody poet… but in this he didn't need to be. Lack of experience outweighed by enthusiasm, one hand wrapped tightly round her waist. Pulling her flush to him. Cersei gasped into his mouth as the kiss grew even deeper. The other hand tangled in the crown of braids. Tugging hard, needing the golden locks loose as he began pushing her to the bed.

Cersei felt the pain, and yet it only spurred her on. Delicate fingers fought off the cumbersome long sleeves to ghost over her new lover's body. Admiring the hard planes of the northerner's body that had fought and defeated the Sword of the Morning. Kiss never breaking, devouring his mouth with the hunger of a lioness, Cersei struggled to undo the laces of his doublet and trousers just as her hair fell down in waves and loose braids. Her gold, lion-emblazoned choker clattering to the floor to expose her neck. She needed him bare… impatient to finally feel this man inside her.

To truly see if he could tame the mighty lioness.

Kiss finally breaking when she slid the formal wear off his torso and hips, Ned attacked her neck. Encouraged by her wanton moans while he moved to her own dress. Exposing her shoulders as he pushed it down. Robert had often complained that highborn girls were prudish and inhibited compared to the more earthy smallfolk, but Cersei held no such compunctions. She was pure lust, and it drove something inside him. Brought the inner wolfsblood from beneath the dutiful, quiet exterior.

While it was deliciously tight across her slim body, Ned's insistence brought the entire dress down to her hips, nearly ripping it… not that either cared in the moment. Causing a sharp intake of breath - she wasn't wearing smallclothes. "Gods…"

Shivering under his gaze… hungry with desire for her, Cersei grabbed his head. "Don't speak." She couldn't handle hearing his sweet northern brogue. They fell onto his bed just as she brought him to her chest. Gasping when her wolf - my wolf - latched to a heaving breast. Don't… stop. Licking, nipping, and sucking, Ned's stubble tickled her skin. Bringing her so much pleasure. Inside… please inside...

She was breathtaking. A goddess in his eyes. As soon as he glimpsed her nude form, all honor and propriety was forgotten. Cersei Lannister was his sin, and gods help him he did not care. Devouring her breasts. Hands fondling her waist and stomach, urging a leg to hike around his bare hip. Desperate, wanting to finally feel a woman - this woman - surrounding him, he fished for his rock-hard length and began to guide it towards her entrance… though fumblingly unable to find it...

While it was truly adorable - he was a virgin after all - Cersei could only grow impatient in her lust. Reaching down and batting his hand away, causing a hiss from her lover as she wrapped her digits around his length. Pulling it to her entrance. Locking her legs around his waist so that Ned's only recourse was to slide inside her.

"Fu…" All words were silenced with a kiss, Cersei's hand fisting in his hair to keep him in place. Hot and wet walls sheathed him, an indescribable feeling. The goddess beneath him urging him on, begging him to thrust...

Cersei let out a scream inside his mouth. This was no tender passion, but a mating rut once he slammed into her… and she loved it. Craved it. Yes… yes… yes… Her dreams had been filled with his touch since the tourney, but nothing could compare to the truth. She wedged her free hand between them, finding her nub and stroking at it. Wanting to shatter with him.

Walls tightening around him, Ned increased his force through gritted teeth. Watching Cersei's hypnotic green eyes roll into her skull. It didn't take long for the winter blizzard to howl within him, finding his release buried deep inside her.

Feeling his seed coating her walls as she attacked her nub... the lioness couldn't hold. Shattering around him, a rippling climax coursing through her entire body. Cersei felt him collapse on her, his welcome weight pressing down on her still shuddering body. Kiss broken, room filled with her pants and his grunts. Magical.

And so they found themselves enjoying the trembling aftershocks tightly wrapped together on their sides facing each other. Arms pulling them flush against the other, legs intertwined. Cersei's head was buried in his chest while Ned stroked her back. Fingers delightful on her bare spine. Sighing happily with love.

Love?

Yes, love… rather close to it. Never did Cersei feel so loved in her life, not even with Jaime - with them it was merely a taboo thrill, as thrilling as being Queen was to her. With Ned… she could feel herself truly falling for this man.

The reality of their situation hit her like a collapsing castle wall. A tragedy worth a hundred songs.

Unknowing of her thoughts, yet thinking nearly the same, Ned buried his face into Cersei's golden locks. So exotic - unlike anything in the north. "I don't want to ever leave this room," he murmured into her hair.

"Me neither," she responded, inhaling his northern scent of pine and snow. It was simply so easy to be close to him. A man that both understood her feelings and yet tempered them.

"By the old gods… we should run away together." Ned wished to fully confess his love, but it would cause him so much pain. Never break an oath you make… never make an oath you can't keep. He couldn't keep such an oath to her. "You'd love Winterfell... It's boring compared to here, but better - calm and free."

She kissed his chest. "Anything sounds better than being bored to death on Casterly Rock." They shared a laugh. "Nothing much happens there. No drama since father defeated the Reynes."

Ned leaned in to kiss her, skirting the pain of their reality - banished temporarily by passion. "I'd marry you in an instant, Cersei."

"I…" She would have died to marry this man, someone that truly cared about her and not her body or position. But Cersei was like her father in that way. Often killing her sentimentality for the greater good. "Alas the 'Lion of the Rock' would never allow his only daughter to wed a second son. He is no Tytos, Eddard." Her grandfather let her aunt Gemma marry a Frey… not the heir to the Twins. Knowing how Tywin hated her uncle, Ned didn't stand a chance.

Ned sighed, heart heavy. Drifting into his brooding, but the feel of her hugging him tighter banished those feelings. It wasn't fair to either of them to add on to the inevitable. "At least we have tonight." A night he would remember for the rest of his life.

Looking up at his words, Cersei smiled. A smile that turned into a smirk, rolling him over so she straddled him. Pinning his arms above her head and grinding into his crotch. Reveling in the direwolf's groan. "We have tonight…" she purred, bringing his hands to her breasts. "All... night..." Sorrow was once again lost in their passion.


"Make way for the Princess!" Ellaria called out into the hallway, voice loud and dripping with sex. "The night of her deflowering has arrived!"

"Fuck you," Lyanna replied evenly, causing gasps from some of the highborns carrying her in spite of her smile. Such was the compromise with tradition her husband - husband… I quite enjoy that - had insisted on. The women would carry her, while the male guests had hoisted Rhaegar on their shoulders, singing The Dornishman's Wife at the top of their lungs to the Crown Prince's chambers.

"That's what Prince Rhaegar will do to you," grinned Dacey, pretty much all the Ladies Paramount and royal household giggling as they carried her. Two were missing in the group of laughing and singing maidens. Rhaella, she knew, had retired at Ser Jaime's insistence when the Queen was close to collapsing after three fast dances with him. Don't think I didn't see what you did there, Ser Jaime. As for the other... Where is Lady Lannister? Last she saw, Cersei was leaving for the gardens with… oh. Lyanna grinned, which the ladies thought was for their japes. Good for you, big brother… If Ned actually was… intimate with Cersei Lannister, then she had to have passed top muster.

Her thoughts on Ned's sex life evaporated as a male hand smacked against her leg. "Your man is waiting!" whistled Bran, another smack hitting the rup of Catelyn before he joined the other drunk Lords racing back to the great hall. Whooping and jeering. Lyanna rolled her eyes just as the women set her down in front of the Prince's chambers, Ser Oswell and Ser Barristan standing guard.

"Alright, the fun is over. Shoo." Elia practically pushed the ladies away, alone among them to know the gravity of a wedding to a Targaryen Prince. How exhausting it was. "Holding up, Lyanna?"

Gulping, Lyanna nodded. "Aye, I am." She just couldn't stop smiling.

Her smile was infectious. "I'm glad." The two Princesses hugged tightly, bound before the gods to the same man rather than simply by affection. "I'll leave you to your night. Just relax and let him know what is pleasing and what isn't. He…" She blushed a bit. "Knows what he's doing."

Lyanna blushed as well. "I'll keep that in mind." Leaning in, she kissed Elia's cheek. "Tell Rhae and Egg that I love them."

"I will." And with that, Elia shut the chamber door behind her, leaving the newlyweds alone to their wedding night.

Rhaegar was waiting for her by the bed, stripped out of his fancy doublet, breeches, and all the other finery of a prince. A simple maroon sleep tunic covered from his neck to the middle of his thigh, showing off plenty of muscular leg and dark silver hair dotting the top of his chest. Lyanna drew her lip between her teeth at the sight, both scrumptious and intimidating. The wolfsblood inside her urged the new Princess to jump him where he stood, but she was rooted in place. The shyness of a maiden wed suddenly surrounding her.

Hair tied back in a simple bun, in spite of having done this before Rhaegar felt similar. "Um… how are you?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Taking several anxious steps towards her, approaching as warily as one would a growling dog.

Suddenly modest, Lyanna wrapped her arms protectively around her side. "Very well," she practically squeaked. What has gotten into you. A large shadow towered over her, reminding Lyanna very well of what had changed.

"Hey." Rhaegar reached out and cupped her cheek, feeling the newfound tension start to melt as she nuzzled his warm palm. "Are you alright, Lyanna?"

She nodded, warming for the first time - regardless of how hot the fire was. Strolling absentmindedly around him, Lyanna reacquainted herself with the chambers that would now be hers. It was utterly huge. Bigger than the sleeping chambers of her father at Winterfell which had been her previous frame of reference. It could swallow my old room whole! Ceiling high, windows large to let in the ocean breeze, it felt so very airy. Unlike the cavernous rooms in the North designed to trap heat. And so very grand, black and red of House Targaryen inlaid with gold leaf and frescoes. Depictions of various moments of House Targaryen on the walls. Aegon I burning Harrenhal. Aenys gifting Maegor with Blackfyre upon his coronation. Good Queen Alysanne landing Silverwing at Queenscrown in the North. Rhaenerya's triumphant return to King's Landing during the Dance of the Dragons. Daeron II proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms. All so gilded, nothing like it similar from Lyanna's childhood at Winterfell.

At long last, Lyanna answered his question. "I'm alright. Just admiring the frescoes." The detail was just so… intricate. "There's nothing like this in the North."

The Prince looked away, embarrassed. "Didn't have time to consult you about your preference," he murmured. "Sorry."

"No…" Rhaegar looked adorable, the way he brooded. "I don't honestly mind."

"My grandfather made them, it was his chambers," he shrugged. "Elia liked them."

Chuckling, Lyanna made her way to hug him from behind. "I love them, husband." She stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his clothed shoulder blade. "Do all your wives seek to redecorate?"

This coaxed a chuckle of his own. "Women like to make their own touch on things."

"So shall I… though I'll consult with my sister-wife." Not keen on banter anymore, she grabbed his hand, urging him to turn and face her. "Why are you brooding, my love?"

He looked down on her, a mighty Valyrian warrior struck out of his element. "I… I can't believe you're in my life... you're a goddess."

Lyanna's heart melted. My Dragon Prince… my Prince Daemon… my Aegon the Conqueror. All her dreams come true, and yet he was the one seemingly out of his league. It made her love him more. Leaning up once more, she kissed him sweetly. One he eagerly returned. "We'll just have to figure it out from here," she grinned, hands deftly tugging at his hair to let the silver locks free about his shoulders.

Disengaging, she walked slowly to the bed. Removing the crown of winter roses and setting it on an ornate oaken table before then pulling her hair out from the northern braids. Lyanna peeked over her shoulder, watching him staring intently. Biting her lip, this time naughtily, with a few expert moves the dress was falling from her body. A tug here and there causing it to tumble completely. Leaving her naked as her nameday. Easing herself onto the bed, Lyanna hiked up one knee. A curtain of hair falling forward to obscure the inviting look on her face, she smiled sultrily. "Come to bed, my Prince."

Mouth dry at glimpsing the toned, milky skin of his bride, Rhaegar padded slowly towards her. Stone cold against his bare feet and cock hard with desire for her, he nevertheless wanted to savor the moment. The sight of her like this, innocent eyes wide yet supremely naughty lips curled into a smirk, Rhaegar wanted to remember it for the rest of his life.

Soon he was beside the bed. "My sweet Rhaegar… you're wearing too many clothes." He moved to doff his tunic, but she stilled his hand. Standing, exposing the entire length of her bare form. "Let me." Fingers fisted the hem of the tunic, lifting it up and off his head, it was now Lyanna's turn to admire the beautiful body of her husband. Toned, muscular, well-proportioned… and a thick length all for her.

"Does the Princess like what she sees?" Her wanton glare surged his confidence.

For want of an answer, Lyanna simply kissed him greedily. Pulling him atop of her on the bed, finally getting the skin on skin contact she so desired. The kiss was short, Rhaegar beginning to lick and suck down her neck and chest - paying special attention to her breasts. Lavishing his love on her nipples, making her writhe with pleasure. Fingers tangling in his hair… the silver locks she so adored. Urging him downward when the ache between her legs grew too much to bear.

Familiar but yet so new, Rhaegar swiped his tongue through her wet core. Juices tasting sweeter than before… Is it from our marriage alone? Devouring her, he figured it was. A moan emerged from her, deep and throaty. Reveling in it, Rhaegar turned it into a gasp as slid his tongue inside of her throbbing cunt.

"Oh, my dragon…" Lyanna purred, feeling his tongue lick her insides thoroughly, pull out and trail up to her tender bundle of nerves, and then thrusting back inside. Deeper and deeper with such relish that she shattered for him. Body humming with pleasure. Desperately, she reached down for him. Begging that he meet her face to face. Rhaegar was more than happy to comply.

And so it was, the moment of truth. No formalities or proprietes, ancient distinctions of law remaining to form a wall forcing her and her beloved apart. In the eyes of gods and men, she and Rhaegar were now one soul

As Rhaegar positioned himself above her, he stilled - eyes searching out her own. "Lya…"

Writhing with lust, Lyanna nevertheless had a clear enough mind to know what was coming. "I'm ready, my dragon."

"It'll hurt." Worry was written in his expression. Knowing from experience that breaking her maidenhead would cause pain. Caring enough to never wish that pain upon her.

"I know…" She looped her arms round his neck, leaning up to gently kiss him. Rubbing his tongue with hers to reassure her husband. "Please don't make me wait, ñuha jorrāelagon."

Hearing the Valyrian phrase on her lips, begging in her sweet northern brogue, all hesitance left Rhaegar. Mindful of her comfort but with pure desire returning to his darkened violet eyes, the Crown Prince guided his head to her entrance. Gently spearing forward, swimming in the copious juices of her arousal as he began to stretch her. Hissing even from the pleasure on his tip.

But Lyanna wanted more - so much more. Squirming, she moaned. "Please, my Prince…" Only for her to bite back a cry of pain when the thick cock finally thrust forward halfway. Spearing through her maidenhead with ease. It stung, tears falling from her eyes.

Rhaegar's mouth was on hers in an instant. Tongue desperately but languidly dancing inside her cavern, hand kneading her breast and playing with her nipple. "I love you," he breathed, kissing down to her sensitive neck. "I love you, ñuha zokla." Letting her stretch for him, making her wetter.

Slowly at first, Lyanna's burning morphed into a burning need. Pain from his cock gradually delicious as it scraped against her inner walls. Reluctance faded to passion, desperation as she yanked him by the hair. Frantically kissing him, hunger returning with a vengeance. "In me," Lyanna growled, eyes a stormy tempest of grey. "All of you, in me now." Rhaegar obliged, Lyanna gasping into his mouth when his long, hard member eased into her to the hilt. A fullness she had never before felt but knew she now couldn't live without. Fuck… Rhaegar… yessssss…

Whatever restraint was left simply dissolved in an instant. Rhaegar lost it - devoid of a woman contracting and bucking around him, his almost instinctive urge to mate and breed consumed his body. Angling his hips, anchoring his arms underneath her shoulders, the Prince thrusted. Hard, slamming her rear into the bed. Cock rising till it almost left her and then right back in. Over and over again, breaking their kiss so he could suck in deep breaths, mouth hot against her ear.

Lyanna' mouth was open in a silent scream. Literally unable to make a sound, the sweet pleasure of his length trying its best to split her in two. "Fuck… Rhaegar…" Nothing could have prepared her for this. Not their fun prior to the wedding, not speeches from Ellaria or Elia - no lesson could top the sweet lovemaking from the man she adored with every fiber of her being. His cock rubbed against every sensitive spot she never knew she had, pelvis slamming against her exposed nub till she cried out. Desperate for more. "More… more… more… Gods! I can take it!"

Sinking his teeth into the join of her neck and shoulder - loving how she screamed his name - Rhaegar pounded his bride like a man possessed. Mind overwhelmed by her vice-like tightness as he kept on thrusting. Ever harder, ever faster. Muscles straining to the point of agony yet nothing could stop Rhaegar. Nothing stopping each of his frenzied, desperate thrusts.

"Ohhh… gods…" His tip was kissing her womb with each thrust. Powerful body smothering her lean frame and teeth likely marking her and she loved it. Craved it. Clenched her teeth to bite back a scream. Lyanna wrapped her legs around him, eager for him as deep as possible. Nails clawing at his back in a frantic effort to beg it of him. She tumbled over the edge a second time, only for his grunting, sweaty movements to bring her right back up the peak. Cunt gushing, legs tightening, nipples tingling from her breasts mashing against his chest. "I love you… love… you…"

"Lyanna… ñuha ābrar... ñuha zokla…" Never had it taken him so quickly to reach the edge, so he pounded into her three times, hard. Praying she would follow him into the abyss. "Fuuuuck!"

It certainly did the trick. Her vision exploding into a complete battlefield of explosions and color. "Yes, Rhaegar… yes… yes!"

Minutes later, aftershocks a pleasant tingle and cries of passion transformed into sweet whispers of love and devotion, the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms fell asleep atop of her husband. His cock still buried inside her so wonderfully. Contented smile on her face, dreaming of the moment in the next few hours when she would wake him up for another round…

And of the dark-haired, violet-eyed or silver-haired, grey-eyed babe that would hopefully quicken inside her that night.


Whatever final revelry from the wedding feast ceased as the door to the King's inner sanctum slammed shut. Lady Melisandre walking calmly in as if she hadn't entered the den of a hungry dragon. "You sent for me, your Grace."

From the cot in the far corner, King Aerys stood up. Finally ready to entertain a gap in his self-imposed solitude since the end of the actual wedding. "Aye, Lady Melisandre… or should it be Priestess?" He didn't care either way, but it was pro forma.

"Priestess is preferable, your Grace. Such is our title ordained by the Red Temple in Volantis." She had been surprised when the High Priest sent her to Westeros instead of someone more… politic, but what she had discovered only led her to praise her Lord for his foresight. "May I be of service to you?" Melisandre asked, hiding her gaze at the line of eight eggs in the center of the room.

"You have claimed to see the future," Aerys hissed, hoping that the Red Witch's blandishments would not be so meandering. "To see the will of your god."

Melisandre stood still, hands clasped together with an emotionless expression. "I cannot be certain as to anything, your Grace. The Lord of Light shows me what he wishes - it is up to me and whomever else he chooses to witness such glimpses to decipher them."

Scowling, Aerys grabbed Melisandre and manhandled her to the brazier. "Here, decipher his will. Now!"

Breathing deeply, Melisandre reached into a pouch of her dress to retrieve two red leather gloves, which she donned. Gracefully stepping towards the line of eggs and picking up the one black with red swirls. "The essence of Old Valyria," she then said in an almost daze, dropping the oval into the brazier. "May it allow your will to appear truer to your humble servants, oh Lord of Light."

Suddenly the flames rose higher, turning from the yellow-orange into a deep blood red. Making Aerys flinch, jerking back and nearly tripping over himself. Eyes widening in sheer entrancement, one only before seen when gazing upon the green flicker of lit wildfire. Is it now that I see my destiny?

A flash of light in her eyes, Melisandre tilted back. Body undulating with the crackling flames. Mouth dropped in a silent gasp. Aerys blinked. "What?" She stilled her form, merely reaching out to cup the fire at a safe distance. Letting it warm her palms. "What do you see?!" thundered the impatient King.

"He… this egg… It shall be the one."

"Spit it out!"

Another shock of power shot through her. Melisandre's head tilting back, a chant echoing through the room. "The one!" Her entire body trembled. "The one to defeat the curse. This egg shall be his."

Wicked grin forming on his face, Aerys wanted to reach out and hug the egg to him. Knowing it would be his. Knowing that it would be he, Aerys Targaryen Second of His Name, that brought dragons back to the world. Not my shit of a father and disgrace of a brother. Me! "What else, tell me what else!"

Eyes flying open, it was as if their color was a pulsing blood moon. "Two among this clutch, a dragon they shall not belong." Aerys' brows knit into confusion. "A wolf owns one… a false dragon the other." The flames retreated to their usual height, egg glowing as would a dying ember. Melisandre sighed. "That's all I can discern from the flames, your Grace, and even these are vague… as you can likely tell."

Frown telling nothing, Aerys hobbled over to his cot in the center of the private room. Back turned to his guest. "Get out," he barked. "Leave me." Melisandre could only curtsey, leaving the King of the Seven Kingdoms to digest the will of her Lord.

A/N: Gotta love it, right? Ned and Cersei have their bittersweet first time while Rhaegar and Lyanna finally consummate their love. Plenty more coming up :D

More drama with Mel and Aerys, while Olenna gives a warning that Rickard should heed.

Next up, some really big drama and more smut! Be sure to comment. I might update sooner if y'all do :D