A/N: Hey everyone.

Hope y'all are weathering this well. Stay safe everyone.

Updated the tags on Ao3 and the cover art (looking for an original artwork for this story).

As a point of clarification, I have aged Renly Baratheon to 14. This is important for later developments.

Also for clarification, yes, the endgame for Jon is for him to emulate his father and take two women for his brides.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 29: Dragons Don't Burn

Hooves of her mount thundering to a gradual halt, Princess Lyanna Targaryen clutched her abdomen. Urging the churning stomach to calm down as the race ended. Distracting herself by an incredulous look at Rhaegar. "I can't believe you beat me."

Standing tall as he guided Moondancer into a strut, even the stallion looked to lord over Winter, who neighed irritatedly. Rhaegar laughed. "There's a first time for everything, wife."

Heart racing, Lyanna sucked in a frigid breath. It calmed the slight tempest in her stomach, rare but not uncommon after a strenuous ride. Not to mention it made her feel like home. Though snow rarely reached down here, the bayside chill was so welcome to her… and if she needed warmth, she could always snuggle against her hearth of a husband. "This was wonderful, Rhaegar. Thank you."

Leaning over on his saddle, Rhaegar meant to kiss her lips but the jostle smacked him onto her nose instead. Lyanna giggled, beaming at him anyway. "Getting away from it all with a beautiful woman… most men would envy that."

"Yet you are the only man to enjoy my company, my dragon." Winter and Moondancer settled into a calm walk. "Lord Arryn wrote from Gulltown. Benjen's on his way." She was delighted that her baby brother would soon be here.

"I look forward to meet him. Planning on knighting him once Arthur confirms he's up to the oath - which considering what you've said of him will be a formality."

"Oh certainly. Benjen was born for this, and far better than him taking the black like we all thought." By her side instead of freezing at the Wall? I'll take that in a heartbeat. "You know… speaking of Arthur, he's been enjoying himself recently."

"Been smiling more, Gods know why…" he was cut off at Lyanna's laugh. "What?"

She shook her head. "You are oblivious sometimes, my love. Arthur's taken Dacey as his lover."

"Arthur? Arthur Dayne?!" His jaw dropped.

"Yes, Arthur Dayne… and if you say anything I'll cut your balls off." Lyanna's eyes narrowed. "Dacey's finally happy and I'm not gonna stand her losing it."

Rhaegar held up his hands. "Who am I to stand in the way of love?" Her smile returned. "Ah, we're here."

An eyebrow rose. "Trees?"

"Yeah." Rhaegar dismounted from Moondancer. "You'll enjoy it, I promise."

Hitching Winter to the gate in the low stone wall, Lyanna walked into the copse with inquisitive eyes. "These look like Northern trees," Lyanna exclaimed, laughing as she twirled around. Enjoying the cool air blowing out from Blackwater Bay.

"Queen Alysanne inherited her grandmother's love of nature." Rhaegar watched, drinking in the sight of his free-spirited bride. "She fell in love with the Wolfswood of Winterfell and had several saplings brought here." Had Lyanna been married to Robert, that spirit would have been crushed but as a Targaryen Princess she thrived. The Prince wouldn't have it any other way, deeply in love with his wild northern beauty.

Invigorated by the piney scent that reminded her so much of home, Lyanna found it so welcome moment after a moon in King's Landing. Recovering in the depth of nature's embrace… a flash of crimson halted her. Curiosity turning to shock turning to wonder... "But… how?"

In the middle of the copse of trees was a Weirwood sapling. Small and only just beginning to branch out into the lush canopy of blood-red leaves. One of only a few left in Westeros. "Howland keeps several saplings in Greywater Watch," Rhaegar explained. "Was glad to give me one..."

"To create a Godswood on Dragonstone…" she clasped her hands on her mouth. "To create me a Godswood on Dragonstone."

"You needed a wedding gift, my love." Smiling sheepishly, he drew out a Valyrian steel catspaw dagger, one he had taken off Maelys the Monstrous after Barristan mortally wounded him. "It was considered the greatest honor of a First Man to mark a new Weirwood with the face of the gods." Rhaegar placed it in Lyanna's palm. "The honor is yours."

Trembling, Lyanna was guided as if by an innate knowledge to the hard surface of the wood. Dragon-forged steel carving through the wood, wonderment spreading in a massive smile. Energy of her father and mother's gods coursing through her. Time passing to reveal a crude yet haunting face in the wood. Forever to watch all that would grace the Godswood - from Lyanna to her children and grandchildren… all thanks to the man she called her husband.

Facing him once again, Rhaegar took a step back. When before her expression was one of amazement, now a wolfish hunger covered it. "Lya?"

In a split second Lyanna straddling him on the ground in a savage kiss. "You are mine, Rhaegar," she growled possessively, hands almost ripping off his riding breeches. "My husband… my perfect husband." Yanking them off, she slid down his body till her breath was on his cock. "I will never let this perfect husband go."

He gasped as she licked a stripe up his length. "Lucky man am I."

"No, I'm the lucky one." She kissed the tip. "Wife of a wonderful, powerful dragon." Without hesitation Lyanna took him in her mouth. Forcing Rhaegar's head back, warm mouth around his throbbing cock quenching the straining pressure but adding countless more.

Hearing a rustling as the she-wolf slurped his cock, Rhaegar's own eyes darkened at seeing one hand buried under her hiked up her skirts. Frigging herself frantically. Just as she let go, Rhaegar roared and pulled her to straddle him again. Lyanna's lust-filled eyes meeting his own. "I need to be inside you," he hissed.

Lyanna grabbed a hand, guiding it to palm her breast. Moaning as she impaled herself on the only cock she would ever have. "So do I."


"Summoned by the King." Tyrion tried to keep up with the Lord of Winterfell's long strides. "Gods, I'm coming up in the world."

Rickard snorted, unable to resist a smirk. "No, I was summoned by the King. You simply insisted on joining me."

"And would you begrudge me for it?'

"Not a smart thing, Tyrion." The lad had been an irritating if persistent applicant to his staff, but the boy was quite bright - at least one of Tywin's children had to inherit his skills, Tyrion able to do the work without difficulty. Wasn't a bad choice at all… even if Tyrion was as stubborn as he was now. "You should have stayed."

The Imp looked up at him. "Want me to miss whatever juicy thing the King is cooking up? Not on my watch, Lord Rickard."

"The King doesn't like Lannisters."

"My own father barely considers me a Lannister."

Lord Stark sighed. "Alright, I warned you though."

They were the last of the Small Council in the Throne Room, though surprisingly Queen Rhaella was there as well. She flanked the throne along with Connington, currently speaking with Lord Velaryon and Lord Tyrell. Rickard's choice to stand by was obvious. "Lord Stark, Lord Tyrion," Rhaella expressed warmly.

Tyrion bowed. "My Queen. I would kiss your hand, but…" He gestured to his legs, smirking.

Rhaella laughed. "You have Joanna's sense of humor." That… touched Tyrion in a way smiling broadly. "So, any knowledge of what this is about?"she asked Rickard.

He shrugged. "I wanted to ask you."

"This is about the eggs." All three of them looked at Lord Varys, hands behind his back. "His Grace has a collection of dragon eggs that I procured him. Wishes to do what his father failed to do."

The Queen paled. "Gods… is that why Rossart is here?" The skeletal royal pyromancer stood to the side, fingers fiddling. Memories of the Tragedy at Summerhall still haunted her mind.

Varys smiled softly "Don't worry my dear, this won't go as your father made it. I've seen to that."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Rickard replied, Varys' wan smile not falling.

"Make way for the King!" The herald smacked his staff atop the stone floor. Everyone in the Throne Room bowed as Aerys emerged from his chamber, once a storage space for the trappings of ceremony - now his own personal work chamber and living quarters. Hair scraggly, nails untrimmed, royal robes splotched with various stains he didn't bother to clean up… nothing like a King. And yet carried himself as one. Proud, powerful, in control of his destiny. Control, Dunk, it is I that have control… and power. Hopefully soon, the ultimate expression of Targaryen power would be in his hands.

Sitting atop the Iron Throne, Aerys finally looked at his gathered council. Missing his son, but he'd rather not have that moralizing brooder here. "You have my leave to rise," he drolled, absentmindedly waving his hand. Varys, Stark, Rhaella… Turns out there was someone between his wife and his Master of Coin. A half-man. "Who the fuck are you?'

At that moment, Tyrion realized that Rickard may have been right. "Tyrion…" He gulped. "Tyrion Lannister, your Grace."

"Tywin's brat?"

"Aye." He waited for the coming storm…

Only to be followed by a simple laugh. "Welcome Imp. You'll be looking up to your King today." Many laughed at the King's jape, though some rather halfheartedly.

Tyrion laughed too, knowing it was a must. "Good one, your Grace." Watching the King slap his knee, Tyrion felt himself his father's son - an effortless liar. Everyone who makes a joke about a dwarf's height thinks he's the only person who made a joke about a dwarf's height.

"Alright." Aerys' bark silenced the hall. "Send for the maeges."

Led in by Alliser Thorne, Lady Melisandre was in front, eyes a piercing red. The others were disarmed members of the Fiery Hand, personal bodyguards of the Faith of R'hllor, while two were dressed in crimson robes of sorcerers…

Beside Rickard, the Lord of Winterfell heard Varys take a sharp intake of breath. "Presenting," the herald began, "The Priestess Melisandre of Asshai, representative of the Temple of R'hllor in Volantis…" Glancing as the herald continued with Aerys' titles, he found the Master of Whisperers paling in terror. What's wrong, Lord Varys...

"Lady Melisandre. I was told that you can help me with my predicament," the King stated.

She smirked. "Of course, your Grace. As long as Lord Rossert complied with my instructions."

A cough suddenly echoed in the room, drawing Aerys' attention. Eyes blazing at a young priest, hair a scraggly red and balding. From how he was swaying slightly, Tyrion deduced he was drunk. "You! What's your name?!"

The young priest gazed glassily at the King. "I… uh… forgot, your Grace."

Melisandre quickly saved him. "His name is Thoros, your Grace. Leader of the Fiery Hand, strong with the Lord."

"Hmphh," Aerys huffed. "Let me give you a lesson in court procedure." He stalked right up to the man, smelling the wine on his breath as Thoros struggled to remain still. "First and only lesson, my word is the fucking law! I tell you to piss off, what do you do?"

Thoros hiccuped. "I… piss off?"

"You'll go far in my court. Now piss off." Walking to the Iron Throne, the King peeked over his shoulder to see Thoros still standing there. "Well?"

"Just deciding whether to piss off on… hic... the floor here or one of the columns…" Easing down his breeches a bit as he walked to the closest column, Thoros sighed in relief as he passed stream of urine. The reactions of the courtiers were mixed between scandal from Pycelle to barely disguised laughs from Tyrion, Rickard, and even Rhaella.

Nodding in approval at Thoros' direct action, Aerys' eyes fell on his small council. "Connington, why are they laughing?" Thoros was only doing what he himself had ordered. "WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!" Everyone shut up, the throne room silent except for the still flowing piss. "The eggs!" He ran out of patience, screaming at the Kingsguards. "Get the eggs!"

Ser Jonothor nodded, gesturing to the servants. "You heard his Grace. Move your arses!"

"Any man who drops them loses his head!" the King screamed at them.

The servants manhandled the massive braziers, three hefting each in order not to spill the coals… or the precious eggs. Eight dragon eggs. Tyrion stared with wonder, the spherical shapes radiating power even ossified. The hall began to reek of smoke as the servants placed the braziers between the dias and the maeges.

"Start," Aerys ordered Melisandre.

"Are they coated?" she asked Rossart in the corner.

"With a thin film of wildfire, Priestess," he croaked in his raspy voice.

Melisandre nodded. "Those. Get them ready for me." The two sorcerers stepped forward, one glancing up at Varys with a twinkling mirth before lighting the eggs.

All but Melisandre and the King flinched as the green flames exploded into life. Thin coating of wildfire filling the room with heat. While Aerys gazed with glee, the priestess only smiled softly. Lord of light… show us the power that resides in these tools of your will… ensure only those destined to wield these great creatures feel their might… Aerys whispered something to Connington, who thereafter whispered something to Prince Lewyn, who rushed out shortly after.

What seemed like hours passed before the wildfire died down. Wisps of smoke rising from the eggs, almost glowing with heat. "Your Grace," Melisandre began. "Dragons bond with a preordained dragonrider. The strongest bonds create unburnt blood and flesh. Find your egg and make your bond."

He stood, eyes glowing with anticipation. They were his, Aerys swore he could feel their power. Their fire. A drive deep within his very blood to hold them… There! The black and red in the center - it would be his. My dragon. He walked to the egg, hands out. Aerys the Sunrise Dragon, the Fyremancer. Aerys the Great...

It burned him.

Aerys leaped back, howling in pain. Hands seared when his fingers and palm brushed over them. Pycelle darted forward as on instinct. "Your Grace, may I…"

With a snarl Aerys hurled Pycelle to the floor. His rage erupted, grabbing a large candlestick and tossing it across the room as the council watched, trying to melt into the floor. "I AM THE DRAGON!" He was the reborn hero, the blood of the dragon that would break the Curse of Old Valyria. "I will bring the saviors to stop the Doom! Me!"

"Your Grace." The voice was of Prince Lewyn. "I have brought Prince Viserys at your orders." It was Rhaella's turn for the blood to drain from her face. Struggling to put aside her terror as the little boy with bouncing silver curls was led in.

Grumbling, anger petering out, Aerys looked at his youngest son. "What too you so long, you fucking walked here?!" Without letting the Kingsguard answer, he waved to Viserys. "Get over there, my son." He turned to Rhaella. "Say nothing or I'll strangle you." Behind, Jaime Lannister's hand tightened on his sword, but no one noticed.

Having been busy with his tutor all day, Viserys had gone along with a bright smile on his youthful face. To have his father - the mightiest King in the history of House Targaryen - to approve and love him was the greatest thing he could achieve. "Father… what…" His eyes widened. "Dragon Eggs?"

"Yes, Viserys. Touch one." The boy blinked, unsure. "A dragon cannot burn, touch one!"

Hesitantly, Viserys reached out his hand. Unsure of which of the beautiful eggs to touch… suddenly guiding his attention to a particular one, as if a gentle whisper called out to him. Slowly bringing it to the blood red scales, Viserys' purple eyes shone brightly. Fingers just approaching the scales…

"Ahhhhh! Kepa, it burns!" Only instead of the fussing love of a worried father, Viserys found himself slapped in the face.

"I knew you weren't a dragon! Get out!"

Tears formed in the Prince's eyes. "I am a dragon, kepa…"

Rhaella felt tears prick her, wishing to run to her son.

But Aerys wouldn't have it. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" You won't corrupt me, Jenny! No matter how many priests, pyromancers, maeges, and mystics he brought to the capitol he would unlock the secret of the dragons in the way his idiot father and useless brother couldn't. I am the dragon!


"Shhh, baby boy." Rhaella felt as if she was being stabbed, each sob from her young son being the knives doing the painful work. Gently, she stroked Viserys' trembling back, matted hair. "It'll all be alright."

The tiny prince only sobbed further. "No! No, muna, it won't." Never having seen his father behave in such an… inhuman way, the sobbing Prince had nearly tripped over himself twice in scrambling to his chambers. Crying on his bed, even when his mother wrapped her arms around his back. "Kepa hates me!"

She gave a quick look of anguish to Ser Jaime in the doorway before leaning down to kiss the crown of her son's head. "Oh, Viserys." Hands red from the heat of the eggs, a large red handprint marred his cheek. "Kepa doesn't hate you, sweet hatchling. He…" Viserys adored his father, and she struggled to find a way to phrase the truth properly to not hurt him even more. "Your father is very preoccupied with ruling. It's his burden, not yours…"

"Muna, I'm a dragon?" he choked out.

Rhaella gently brushed her fingers through his curls - wanting to both kiss his pain away and strangle Aerys "You will be a strong Prince…"

"No! Tell me I'm a dragon!" came the shrill cry, Viserys turning to blaze at her. Eyes once of pain, they now held a sudden anger. "I felt the power! Felt the egg move!" For a moment, Rhaella saw Aerys' eyes. It caused her to flinch.

Holding him ever closer, Rhaella kissed his brow and forehead. Aerys… he got to him… It wasn't a stretch to infer that as the cause of Viserys' pain. "You are a dragon, my son. Fire made flesh."

Hot tears soaked her dress. "Fire burns… but dragons don't burn… I burn, muna."

"That doesn't matter… you are still a dragon."

That seemed to calm him. A few errant sniffles but otherwise the crying petering out. When the Queen looked down, she saw the usually carefree boy's expression harden. "I will be a dragon! Make kepa proud!"

"Shh, my son. Rest."

"I will…" his voice started to trail off, exhaustion and stress overcoming him. "I will make him proud…"

"Sleep. Just sleep, little dragon."

"Kepa… proud… me…" In sleep, the childhood serenity returned. Pain evaporating as slumber claimed him.

Unable to hold her own tears back, Rhaella stood, legs quivering. Closing the door to viserys' bedchamber ever so gingerly… yet knees buckling right after. Falling into Jaime's waiting embrace - too worried to even bother with propriety. "Gods, Jaime… what am I going to do?"

While he hadn't been there during the breadth of the marriage between the King and Queen, Jaime had seen Rhaella largely put together and stoic in her dealings with Aerys… never did she break down in a despondent anguish until recently. "Perhaps a visit to Dragonstone, your Grace? Be with Rhaegar, your grandchildren, and your gooddaughters."

"He'll never let me leave, Jaime. Never… I can't let my baby suffer the same fate as my brother… I just can't."

As she trembled in Jaime's arms, all he could do was rub her back. Even with how she dismissed him the last time he truly held her close, Jaime ignored it. Knowing she needed comfort. Trying to hide how much he enjoyed feeling her slender body pressed against his.

Sighing deeply Rhaella extracted herself from the embrace. She walks towards the window, simply staring out into space. "I saw them all."

Her voice was flat… hollow. Nothing like the beautiful lilt that had entranced Jaime from day one. "Saw who, my Queen," he asked hesitantly. Hating that the woman that he loved was hurting and he couldn't truly bring her joy.

It just… felt so easy to talk to her guard. Unlike anyone but her son and gooddaughters, he always listened. "My children. All of them, even in death." Rhaella reached out, fingering the curtains. "Shaena, Daeron, Aegon, Jaehaerys… even those stillborn that never recieved a name… I remember them all. Loved them all."

Jaime nodded as she turned. Each day it seemed her gentle, joyful spirit was chipped away. Begun with her dead children and continued by her uncaring husband. He never deserved her.

Wrapping her arms around her chest protectively, the grimace on Rhaella's face made her look far older than she was. Far older than when she smiled. "Only two babes surviving out of ten, Jaime… and… oh gods." She gasped. "And Aerys wants to have more with me! "

The kingsguard walked briskly to her, holding her upper arms… trying to resist the urge to comfort her more intimately. "Please don't, my Queen."

But Rhaella couldn't help herself, sobbing once more. "My womb is hostile to life, Jaime. If I lose one more…" I don't think I could go on living. It was an unsaid thought, but Jaime understood nevertheless. Like a mace to his own chest. "And even if I bear a healthy child. Aerys will just take him or her away from me as he did with Viserys. I may never even get to see my babes…"

Her words tapered off as Jaime hugged her tightly. The gesture almost instantaneously calming the Targaryen Queen, simply giving in. Silver hair pressed against his shoulders and strong arms making her feel safe. "You can't torture yourself like this, your Grace. Strength of a dragon lies within, you just need to keep fighting."

Pulling back, peering at him, she nodded. "Thank you, Ser Jaime." A wan smile formed. "It's too bad, your embrace would have made any lady swoon."

Forcing a smile of his own, Jaime reached for the helm resting on a side table. "How about we get you some fresh air in the gardens. Let the Prince rest." At her nod he set a pace behind her, sighing inaudibly. She didn't deserve any of this… she deserves all the babes in the world.

A babe having strong Lannister blood would undoubtedly survive. Such thoughts, so tempting and wonderful in his mind, only brought sorrow to Jaime. He should follow his own advice to not torture himself… but like his twin, Jaime was truly weak.


Catching his wife shivering as another draft swept through the cavernous corridor, Rhaegar pulled her closer to him. "Would you like my cloak, my dear?"

Elia turned her head with a tender look. "Thank you, husband, but it's not necessary." Her hands rubbed along the fitted sleeves of her woolen dress. "Lyanna was kind enough to lend me one of her dresses.

The Crown Prince nodded. "It was. Looks warm." He eyed it over, appreciating the outfit in a far… different respect. While she had plenty of warm Crownlands dresses to do the job her thin Dornish gowns wouldn't, the baggy folds and awkward sleeves made them a pain. Nothing like the elegant simplicity of Lyanna's northern gowns… or how they fit the female form so snugly.

"Delightfully warm, though I think that is the point," she grinned. "I'm still irritated at the Citadel for the false spring." The sudden drop in temperatures after a slight warmth during the Tourney had been interpreted by the Most Devout as a horrible omen. Against his better judgement, Rhaegar couldn't help but worry…

Thankfully, he had his gorgeous wives to calm him. Especially Elia - the concerns he had addressed to his mother and Aemon were growing weaker by the day, his dragonblood boiling hotter each time he took his beloved Dornish Princess with the same power as he tamed his wolf. Their past slowly melting into affection, Elia returning to the flirty charm that so characterized the family. Unlike what Lyanna happily gushed in bed after they made love that morning, Rhaegar knew things had not completely repaired, but was determined to overcome for the last four years of mistakes - his mistakes.

"My Prince?" Huffing, Elia smacked his shoulder, shaking him from his daze. "Are my words boring you, husband?"

He blinked, shaking his head. "Forgive me love, just distracted by something." Hips and breasts just slightly fuller from carrying Rhaenys and Aegon, Lyanna's dresses were a bit tight on Elia. Everything covered but on display.

She smirked. "You're quite transparent." He must know I can see him staring. "Lustful Prince. Coveting your own wife so brazenly?" She was going to attack him that night in his chambers, so couldn't he wait?

"I doubt you can blame me." He grinned, not denying it.

"You're insatiable."

"You adore it." Elia bit her lip. He spoke the truth.

Descending the steps of the outer courtyard, their conversation changed from the flirty to the serious. Rhaegar eager to keep Elia's attention elsewhere. "Oberyn has arrived in Sunspear, but his efforts are… not bearing much fruit."

"I presume that Doran hasn't forgiven the insult of my marriage to Lyanna."

She winced. "He hasn't been… even remotely kind since I failed to send him whispers of the royal court anymore." She was honest about her half-hearted efforts to act as Doran's spy. Even attempting had kept she and Rhaegar distant. "Oberyn won't make direct overtures without Doran's tacit acceptance."

Rhaegar nodded. "Which leaves the Daynes and Yronwoods."

"And the Wyls. They hate the Reach, which is in Aerys' camp, and will want influence." It hurt to undermine her family, but House Martell wasn't her first allegiance anymore.

"I think Lady Olenna is smart enough to see that as foolish."

"Lady Olenna is not the one on the Small Council. Mace may be a fool, but he's close enough to the King to bind House Tyrell in a manner to make it impossible to retract."

Rhaegar nodded grimly. "Since the Hightowers follow the Faith and Robert Baratheon hates us… getting the Dornish Marches are our best shot."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "You don't think his apology to the Starks was sincere?"

"Not a chance in hells."

"I always did admire your keen mind."

Passing under the arch of the Dragon's Tail, Rhaegar extended the loop of his arm. Wlia accepted with a gentle smile. Allowing him to escort her through the gardens that branched out along the lush volcanic soil. "It's been a while since we've been here together, wife."

Eyes fluttering shut, Elia nodded as she inhaled the piney scent of Aegon's Gardens. "Aye, it has," she murmured, following him along the well-hewn stone paths committed to memory. The forest of tall dark trees, wild roses, and cranberries was her serene refuge on Dragonstone. "I often take Rhaenys here, but you… you've been far too busy to come with me."

He hung his head. "I know." It was known to both of them that he blamed himself, and Rhaegar didn't wish to relitigate it. "You must have found out I built a Godswood for Lyanna."

Sighing, Elia murmured in the affirmative. The Dornish Princess knew the political nature of their marriage… even as they were growing closer than ever before. "It was a beautiful gesture, Rhaegar. You are very romantic."

"I try to be… to both my brides."

The smile stretched sadly. "Lyanna is your great love, Rhaegar. I am the mother of your children and that will always make us close, and I long accepted that. You have no need to brood over it…"

Grabbing her shoulders, Rhaegar stilled her. Eyes filled with a passionate intensity. "Don't say that again, Elia. You are so much more to me than that. I know I haven't… this is the least I can do to show you how much I love you."

"Rhaegar…" Even through the passion and love of the last moonturn, this caused her heart to flutter. "Wait… what is the least you can do?"

Lips curling into a knowing grin, Rhaegar weaved their fingers together. "Just around the corner."

Noticing it for the first time as he guided her, Elia looked up at the new row of hedges planted at the edges of the gardens. Where the hottest part of the bubbling volcanic springs that made the gardens warm enough for planting year-round. Her eyebrows rose as they rounded the hedges, only for both to fly up as her jaw dropped. "What…"

It was unfinished. Dug out holes contrasting with stacked bricks of sandstone and limestone… but Elia wasn't stupid. Lines of palm trees and flowers, feeding off the warmth of the springs. Unfinished columns and pathways styled in the same fashion as her childhood home - dug trenches forming a distinctive geometry of the pools of…

"I know, it's harder to make than a simple northern Godswood, but I wanted you to see." Rhaegar walked to wrap his arms around her shoulders. "Our marriage brought you away from your home at only five-and-ten. You had to endure being in a strange place without familiarity, and I was too foolish to realize it."

"The Water Gardens…" she murmured, turning around. Dark eyes glistening with warmth.

He nodded. "Aye. You always felt so serene in Aegon's Gardens, so you deserved a slice of home. I'm sorry if it's too late…" Rhaegar was cut off - for the second time in twenty-four hours - as one of his wives quickly pressed her lips against his.

Warmth spread through Elia. A love indescribable for the man before her - he had planned this… planned the sweetest of gifts for the both of them. "No," she breathed as she kissed him desperately. "It's perfect… you're perfect." Whatever problems between them, Elia knew enough to enjoy this to its fullest. "I love you, so much." Gods, it felt so good to say.

Rhaegar chuckled as she pulled him to a stone bench, his cloak covering the both of them as Elia began working at the laces of his trousers. "I love you too."

Gasping, Elia angled her hips so that he could hike up her dress. Feeling his hands move from the hem to her breasts. Moaning deeply into his mouth as he squeezed them. "Rhaegar… I… I want… us…"

"I know, Elia, I know." Falling into the crook of her neck, his length slid into her already wet slit. Both of them groaning. "I won't let us fail… not when, ugh, we finally have each other." Sighing in pure joy and lust, Elia lost herself as he began rocking into her.

A/N: Can we admit that Rhaegar knows what gifts to give his brides? :D

And here we have Viserys entering the frying pan. A victim of his father's growing insanity with the dragon eggs. Poor Rhaella, having to see this happen. But at least she has Jaime.

Next chapter, Tywin makes a betrothal, and the Bear Knight makes his first appearance. Thirty-five reviews and I'll post on Saturday.