A/N: Hey all. Hope things are going well and everyone is staying safe.
Some troll attacked the story snd said i don't know how GOT works, namely on the issue of the court scene in the North, Ellaria being Elia's Lady in Waiting, and the diologue:
Nee is not s Lord, he thinks of his father as the Lord. Thats the key here, not the titles. Second, Catelyn has guards in the North because she is not a Stark yet. She is still a Tully. Third, as we all know Ned is the personality to try and avoid conflict.
About Ellaria, yes, she's a bastard. This is less of an issue in Dorne, especially considered in canon. Elia chose her because they are friends. She may be a bit over the top sometimes but it's close to her canon personality and her being there is not out of the ordinary.
As for the words... mea culpa. I'm doing this in my free time and while I try to be period accurate I never did borrow the Delorean so i could go to 14th Century Europe to study the language. If this is your complaint, it's a weak ass one.
Tags for the story on Ao3 have been adjusted to confirm various character changes planned for the future (far future in some cases).
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 31: Futures
"So the Greyjoys?"
Jon Connington nodded. "Raiding the west coast of the North… Deepwood Motte, Bear Island, Stony Shore, it'll weaken the northerners while giving them the excuse to move troops to Moat Cailin." Fucking hells, working with the Starks. "No reply to any of our feelers to Bolton."
"That's unfortunate." Master-at-Arms Ser Willam Darry - cousin to Lord Darry of the Riverlands and brother to Ser Jonothor of the Kingsguard - shrugged his shoulders. "North is united. Riverlands not so much, but most will follow Hoster Tully into the Seven Hells… maybe not Mooton and Bracken."
"Not the best hope, but it'll do." Pulling out a stack of dispatches, he handed two to Darry. "Transcribed communications intercepted from between here and Highgarden and here and Winterfell."
Darry pursed his lips, nodding. "I'd like to see what Rickard Stark says. Tyrell is a dullard that simply wants his daughter to be Queen or close to it."
That was the obvious truth - luckily for Connington's ends male succession kept the more capable Mina or Janna Tyrell away. I'll pawn Aegon off to his daughter once these things are settled. Rhaegar won't be in a position to say no, what with his brides out of the picture.
Under no circumstances was Connington planning to betray Rhaegar - at least that was what he told himself. I love him… probably the only one who truly does aside from his mother. But Rhaella was weak and he was strong, hence Connington placing it on himself to secure Rhaegar's best interests. A strong and united realm with his silver prince as the undisputed monarch. No powerful enemies, Queens uncontrolling, and a proper lover in his bed. One that only cared for the King.
Naturally, in both his plans and his late-night fantasies, Connington envisioned himself in that role. But to achieve that, he would need true allies not tainted by wolves or vipers. Velaryon, Staunton, Chelsted, Symun 'Silveraxe' Fell, the brothers Darry… Getting Jaime Lannister would have been best, but his head was figuratively up Queen Rhaella's cunt. Useless to approach him.
His thoughts went back to the dispatches. "Olenna wants Mace to put aside his hatred of the Dornish and betroth Margaery to Aegon, and that Mace's observations that the King would rather have Viserys on the throne is wishful thinking."
"Finally a smart thought from the fool. And the Starks?"
Connington chuckled. "Rickard wants Ned to work harder in convincing Catelyn Tully to adapt to the North. Apparently she's treating Winterfell as she would a keep in the Honeywine Valley."
Darry stifled a laugh. "This could be easier than I thought."
An hour later, the Hand was pressing his seal on various royal documents when there was a knock at the door. It revealed Varys. "Good morning, Lord Hand. I bear news from our Warden of the West."
He stiffened. "What do your little birds sing now?"
"The songs they sing are of Tywin offering the prize of a maiden daughter to a rather reluctant Robert Baratheon, the latter still pining after our dear Princess."
Groaning, Connington resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. "Gods, this is a disaster." The old lion could march on the capitol on his own accord with the Baratheon forces. They'd be none the wiser till whatever thug Tywin had in his employ lopped their heads off.
"I wouldn't worry just yet, Lord Hand." Even when offered a seat, Varys refused. "The little robins also chirp of a battle of wills within Casterly Rock. That Lady Cersei wishes not Lord Robert, but rather Lord Eddard."
This bit of news caused Connington's eyes to open as wide as an owl. Cersei looked down on Tyrells, let alone the boorish Northerners. "And how does this affect anything?" Tywin could simply smack the girl around and force the marriage. It's what he would have done.
"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps it buys you time to make your own arrangement." Heading to the door, the Master of Whisperers gave Connington one last look. "I wouldn't doubt Robert taking the Princess if you… found it in the Realm's best interest for House Stark to resume its isolation."
Alone once more, Connington fell back in his chair. Staring at the ceiling and feeling as if he had gone five sparring sets with Arthur Dayne. Tywin allying with Robert… Cersei loving Ned… All pointing to a situation in flux - and ripe for exploitation if he was quick about it.
His head throbbed as he thought. The fact remained that the Baratheons were not reliable… at least Robert wasn't. Stannis was competent if a cold fish, while Renly was too young. They weren't likely allies of either side… unless…
Connington sat up, eyes twinkling. A drunken, mercurial brute that hates Rhaegar for stealing his betrothed? Uncontrollable. Reckless… a perfect person to use for actions that he himself would be best to stay an arm's length from, yet also being in need of a scapegoat after the fact. Perfect. He dipped his quill in ink and began scribbling. Hopefully Stannis would see it first and treat the matter with discretion. Who am I kidding? The odds that Robert would go near there bordered on nil… unless some whore demanded he fuck her in the Rookery.
Mind flashing with an explicit image of him and Rhaegar in such a position, he forced himself to keep writing. In due time, Jon. In due time.
Chewing her lip ever so slightly, Lyanna allowed her excitement to temper the slight fatigue she was feeling. A babe. Mine and Rhaegar's. It was a dream… the most wondrous dream.
Sitting on the other side of the Dragonglass Throne, Lyanna watched her sister-wife. Elia was just as delighted at a new babe arriving in the family, airy smile in place for days as the reality seeped in - one that translated into the bedroom when she and their husband coupled…
Well, the airy smile that would have happened had she not been apprehensive of today's events. "Calm down, Elia." Lyanna had to bite her tongue to keep from giggling at the neurotic Dornish Princess.
"I'm calm," she countered, only to notice her leg bouncing. Lyanna giggling at it. "Alright," Elia confessed, smiling softly. "I may be a little nervous."
"Why would you be?"
A sigh. "Well, I am meeting your final to our children."
Lyanna quirked an eyebrow. "And why would that make you nervous?" As Elia but her lip, she understood. "Oh I see." She laughed. "You're worries my brother won't like you."
"Isn't it a valid worry. Doran already hates you."
"He's never met me."
"Doesn't matter. You're a political threat and that's enough for him. What if Benjen's the same way?" Given how she was raised, it was her deepest insecurity. The personal and intimate being merely shadows and masks for the game of thrones.
Lyanna snorted. "Benjen is the last person who'd be like that. He has Ned's honor and Bran's zest for life." Elia nodded, but her leg still bounced.
Shaking her head with a smirk, Lyanna's attention was drawn aside as Rhaegar entered - dashing in a dark-red doublet and black trousers - with young Garlan Tyrell hurrying after. "My brides." As he kissed Elia deeply, Lyanna watched him with hungry eyes. Wishing she could strip him bare and devour him… was this the result of the babe, or just love? Likely both. "Lya." However, she'd simply have to settle with his passionate kiss, lingering with biting his lip sensually. "Later, my love," smirked Rhaegar.
Her eyes sparkled, seeing him sit upon the throne. "Is he here?"
Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, he's here. Arthur says his blade skills pass muster." Beaming in pride for her little brother, Lyanna leaned back. "Send them in," boomed the Crown Prince.
While Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan took position in front of the royals and Garlan behind, Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell escorted a young man. Eyes meeting, undoubtedly matching smiles found Benjen and Lyanna's faces, being so long. So much changing, Lyanna leaving as a sullen maiden and Benjen a directionless youth, now Lyanna a Princess and Benjen a Kingsguard-to-be. "You stand before Rhaegar of House Targaryen, rightful Crown Prince of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men," announced Ser Barristan.
Clearing his throat, Gerold stepped forward. "This is Be…"
Never one for convention, now that things were far more informal Lyanna swept it aside. "Brother!"
Benjen nearly toppled over when the Princess slammed into him, squeezing him in a tight embrace. "It's good to see you, Lya," he beamed, hugging her back.
While the royal court would have whispered scandal, Rhaegar and Elia only laughed at the situation, as did the Kingsguards. "Well wife, there's no doubt as to who he is."
"Agreed, husband," Elia replied. "Benjen," she said, her goodbrother looking away from the happy reunion. "We are glad to have you at Dragonstone." No man who greeted his sister so warmly could be inherently cold and sullen
He smiled sheepishly. "Tis fine, your Grace. It is I who should be thanking you for the honor of a lifetime."
"You deserve it, stupid," Lyanna laughed, kissing him on the cheek before resuming her seat.
Rhaegar looked at Benjen. "Now, shall we get the formalities over with?" At Gerold's nod - he was Lord Commander after all - Rhaegar stood. Garlan presented him with Blackfyre, which he drew seamlessly. Benjen's eyes widening at the sight of such a famous blade before falling to his knee. "Benjen Stark," he raised Blackfyre into the air. "Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves? To protect all women and children? To obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king? To fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"
The northern princess watched with a smile. It warmed her heart that Rhaegar used the more informal oath rather than the one professing piety to the Seven. My perfect husband. A quick glance to Elia found the other woman smiling as well. Both knowing what was the truth. Now she would always have a connection to her northern family, Benjen by her side. Lyanna knew that while others might be wretches and forget their oaths, Benjen wouldn't. Her sweet, kind if mischievous brother, a proper knight.
"I so swear, my Prince," Benjen finally said.
Gently, Rhaegar tapped the young man's shoulder. "In the name of Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of his Name, I proclaim you Ser Benjen of House Stark, sworn brother of the Kingsguard."
"Ser Benjen!" shouted the four Kingsguards.
"Ser Benjen!" whooped Lyanna, racing down to hug him again.
As she expected, Sandor entered her chambers without so much as a knock at the door. Only this time, there was no tray of bread, water, and porridge, the proper meal for a disobedient child. "Where's my supper, hound?" she scowled.
"I don't got your fuckin' supper," he growled back. Apparently, Cersei's nickname for him stuck and it did not improve his disposition towards her. "You've got a visitor."
Cersei furrowed her brows. Her father had essentially locked her in complete isolation and starvation rations - at least they were starvation rations given the stomach malady that continued to roil her - until she 'came to her senses' and agreed to go to Storm's End with a smile on her face. As if… I will never marry that oaf. Only Ned. That attitude quickly drew away her father like the pox, willing to wait her out.
As such, Cersei was quite surprised that someone would visit. "Who?"
Before Sandor could answer, he seemed to grimace. Coincidently just as a shrill voice warbled out. "Why are you still standing there, scar-faced dog!"
That voice was one any highborn in the Westerlands would recognize. "Aunt Genna?"
The voluptuous figure of Lady Genna Lannister stormed inside. Poofy golden curls bobbing up and down and buxom chest nearly bursting from her skin-tight red gown. "Did you not hear me?" As she spoke, the larger-than-life sister of Lord Tywin advanced upon the still seated Cersei and pulled her into a tight hug.
Sandor couldn't be told twice to leave. "I shall be outside if you need me… my Lady." The last sounded close to an epithet.
With the door shut, Genna's face shifted to one of concern. "My dear Cer Cer." Her arms tightened, pushing Cersei harder into her bosom. "Ger sent for me and Emmon, and I'm sorry for taking so long to get here. Lady Crakehall just had to yak yak yak about gods only know what."
"Aunt Genna…" Cersei croaked… "You're crushing me…" A gurgling cough. "Can't breathe…" As if the older Lannister finally heard her, the grip was released and Cersei collapsed onto the bed. Stomach churning as she scrambled for the chamber pot, releasing its meager contents. "Fuck… what is wrong with me?!"
A gentle hand caressed her back. Pulling her hair out of the way. "Oh, Cer Cer." What a sight the 'Light of the West' might have been. Skin pale, eyes bloodshot. Much of her cheeks and torso bruised from her father's assaults. Cersei looked as shitty as she felt. "What has you so ill?"
"Other than father using me as a training dummy?" Cersei snapped, only for her stomach to spasm. "Seven hells, just the stomach malady."
"We all have that…" Genna trailed off, regarding Cersei with a queer expression. "Tell me, was what your uncle told me true? That you begged your father to marry the second son of the Warden of the North? Eckard Stark or something?"
Cersei groaned. She really didn't want to talk about it, but Aunt Genna was like a second mother to her - the one who raised her, Jaime, and Tyrion after Joanna Lannister died. If anyone was owed an explanation or was safe to speak with, it was her. "Eddard Stark."
Genna nodded. "Did you couple with him?" At Cersei's blush, she patted her shoulder, urging the girl to sit next to her. "Don't be embarrassed my dear. It's not like I don't know what fucking is."
The young lioness blushed. "Aunt Genna…"
"No, tell me the truth."
She sighed. "Yes… I did." A warmth spread through Cersei, remembering just how wonderful it was. "Many times."
Clicking her tongue, Genna chuckled. "Never have seen a Stark, but I've seen Blackwoods. Blood of the First Men… dark and mysterious." Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Genna pulled Cersei against her. "Did you stop to consider you may be with child?"
Gasping, Cersei stared wide eyed at her aunt… and then her stomach… and back to her aunt. "What? But I… no… um…" Biting her lip, she felt her belly. No swell of a babe, but ever so taut…
She had her answer.
Barely moments after the servant set the tray of drinks upon the table did the armored men grab the mugs. Froth dripping onto the tabletop as they held them high. "To Ser Benjen of House Stark, newest brother of the Kingsguard!" announced Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the august institution. "May his deeds be glorious, life long, and his page in the white book extensive!"
The mugs clinked together. "HERE HERE!" Without delay, all five brothers threw their heads back. Hearty Northern ale disappearing down their gulping gullets as fast as each of them could swallow.
Benjen's crashed down before the others, only a ring of foam on the rim and in his mustache left of his helping. Looking at their ruddy faces and unfinished mugs, he chuckled. "Southerners…" Benjen shook his head. "So used to your fruity piss, can't handle a proper drink."
"Proper drink?" Oswell choked out incredulously. "That tasted like dishwashing swill."
"Like you know what that tastes like," Barristan drolled, taking another swig. "I've had ale before in the field, but nothing as strong as this."
Smirking, Benjen slapped his new brother in white on the back, nearly making Barristan spit out his helping. "That's cause none of you ever had a proper Northern ale. Only the mountain clans make something stronger, but I'm not sure any of you are strong enough."
Oswell scoffed. "I'll take that challenge." The knight banged his palm on the table.
"Will you shush. You're not a child," Barristan chided. "We all remember what happened when you drank that Tyroshi rum."
"I told you never to speak of that," Oswell hissed, eyes darkening.
It was Gerold's turn to laugh, nudging Benjen's side. "He took a giant swig of it only to puke. If It hadn't been for Ser Jaime then her Grace the Queen would have slipped right into all of it." A chorus of laughs were had at Ser Oswell's expense. "You're gonna get along just fine, Benjen. Duncan the Tall reborn, only far shorter."
The young pup nodded. Duncan the Tall? Gods, it would take a lifetime to fill in the White Book enough to match the men at this table. "Good luck to me, I presume." Flagging down another mug, this time he merely sipped the brew. "Need I worry about the three others?"
"Jaime's fine," Oswell shrugged. "If a bit straightlaced and broody. Lewyn is the same, only without the brooding. Jonothor…"
"Jonothor has a stick up his ass," Arthur belched, frown on his face.
Blinking, Benjen couldn't place this with what he had heard of the great Arthur Dayne. "He always like this?"
Glancing at Arthur, Oswell only smirked. "No, not always. I believe he has a lover's spat."
"Kingsguards cannot take lovers. It's forbidden."
It took a moment before Gerold and Oswell both burst out in laughter. "Ah, to be young and idealistic," the Lord Commander chortled. "Arthur here has been sharing the bed of her Grace's lady in waiting."
A snort. "Ellaria Sand? Bran warned me about her in his letters."
"Not her, your sister's lady."
Benjen nearly spat out his drink. "Dacey Mormont is your lover?"
"She was at least." A despondent Arthur was… rather depressing to watch. "I have no idea what happened? We made love that morning, and then nothing but avoided contact or whispered excuses."
"Probably she has unwelcome news from home… or she's ill," Barristan mused. "Either way, if she truly cares for you, this will last but a fleeting time."
"I'd hope so. Dacey Mormont, mate." Benjen shook his head with a smirk. "She's gorgeous."
"You should see his sister," grinned Oswell. "Prettiest of anyone not of Targaryen blood or married to a Targaryen… not that you'd have a shot with her or anything. Very very picky… argh…"
Arthur glared at Oswell after punching his exposed shoulder. "Don't talk about my sister."
"There's the Arthur we sometimes love," Gerold boasted, hoisting his mug up again. "To the White Cloaks."
This was something all could get behind. "The White Cloaks!"
"You're smiling, Elia." It was less of a question and more an observation - her smiles had been so rare that Rhaegar grew to cherish each one.
The Dornish Princess shrugged. "I can officially say that I am fond of each and every member of House Stark"
What if they are not fond of you…? Elia shook away an odd voice in her head.
Rhaegar arched an eyebrow. "Need I be jealous?"
She looked at him incredulously. "Firstly, the man who is going to sleep in a bed with his other wife doesn't have leave to be jealous." Elia smirked at Rhaegar's blush. "And besides, I am not Ellaria and Benjen is not Oberyn."
"I would hope not. One Oberyn is enough for the world."
"You are speaking of my brother, Rhaegar… but I agree with you." Elia never remembered being so content, simply bantering with her husband. Hopefully it would only get better. "Benjen reminds me more of a younger Ser Arthur."
His brows furrowed. "Ser Arthur isn't old… hells, he's only one nameday older than I."
"Exactly," she grinned. "Practically aged and infirm." Elia bumped him with her hip and giggled… only to be pinned on the wall of her door. Rhaegar growling as he kissed her. Amusement melting into desire as she kissed him back - moaning when his hands groped her pert breasts under her dress. Lidded eyes staring back at him, she sighed. "I would never stray." Grabbing his hand, she placed it over her chest. "My heart is yours."
Rhaegar smiled, kissing her sweetly. "Mine is yours and Lya's."
Wishing to pull him in and ravish him, Elia knew of their arrangement. "Good night, husband. I will see you in the morning." Another kiss, then he stepped away. Elia resisting every urge to follow him… even if she would see Lyanna as well.
Perhaps that was an incentive, not a detriment...
Lights all out in the chambers, the Prince expected his bride to be waiting for him. Completely nude, perhaps… He grinned. His direwolf was insatiable. Climbing on the bed, he reached for the far side...
Only to find the bed empty. Sheets cold. "Lya?"
Suddenly the room filled with a gentle light. "Right here."
Seven fucking hells… There was Lyanna, dressed in his house colors. Hair pulled up in a simple bun with ringlets falling across her creamy neck and shoulders, the black leather cuirass fit her tight body perfectly - no tunic, the hard leather pushing up the tops of her buxom breasts. Topping it off was a red skirt with black frills… A sort of fetishized version of Visenya Targaryen. Fuck me…
Lyanna's embarrassment at dressing like this all evaporated at Rhaegar's look. Part stunned silence, part utter lust that darkened his eyes. Her confidence surged. "Does my warrior prince enjoy his bride tonight?"
He could only nod dumbly. "What… what is this, Lya?"
Butterflies in her stomach, Lyanna fought the blush that threatened to creep up on her cheeks. Resolved to inform him of the wonderful miracle they created after arriving at the capitol, so it could be announced formally to the Small Council, the princess still felt they should celebrate. "I would think it obvious, my Prince."
Mouth dry, Rhaegar's hungry gaze worked her top to bottom. "You look stunning."
Lyanna was enjoying this… simply a dozen nighttime fantasies rolled into one. Bare feet cold upon the grey stone floor, hands on her hips as she towered over her husband. "Now, are you going to try and tame your powerful Queen, my King?"
Irises darkening in hunger, Rhaegar grabbed Lyanna by her trim waist and pulled her onto the bed. Growling like a dragon as he mounted her… only for the she-wolf to catch him off guard. Wrapping her legs around his hips and flipping him over. Hands splayed on his bare chest. "Oh, so my Queen is going to tame her dragon."
"Mmmm, my dragon." A roll of her hips confessed a lack of smallclothes. "My dragon… mine…" Only with Elia would she share Rhaegar - his intelligence, his strength, his beautiful face… Lyanna caressed his hair, the shimmering silver locks. Her hands drifted along the chiseled chest and stomach, reaching his loose trousers which she frantically yanked down. That thick, powerful cock… all mine.
Just as her wet folds enveloped him with a tight perfection, he reached up. Yanking her bare mounds from their leather prison. Large and perky, the perfect size for his hands as they kneaded them. Thumbing her nipples.
The jolt of his touch made Lyanna yelp… moaning at the delicious stretch of her walls around his cock. Gods, this was the only cock she had but instinctively knew there was no better. None that would compare to the pleasure Rhaegar's gave her. "Yes, love… grope me. Ravish your Queen." A burning pressure building inside her, Lyanna couldn't wait. Quivering lips unable to hold back her screams of pleasure once riding him. Bucking atop him as if she were on Winter.
This woman… she did things to him. Entranced the Crown Prince of Westeros to the point where Rhaegar almost forgot his own name. Growing harder inside her, hips joining hers to hit up just as she pushed down. Shut eyes fluttering open to watch hers. The wolfish grey staring down with complete lust.
Lya's heart was beating out of her chest throat hoarse from her screams. "Get it off…" It came as a trembling whimper, Rhaegar slamming hard into her cunt. Her hands gestured to the cuirass, struggling with the laces. "Off…" Rhaegar leaned forward, attacking her nipples as he helped her. Cuirass peeling off, the Prince using the distraction to flip her around.
Rhaegar slammed into her hard, turning his bride to jelly. "You're my wolf, Lya."
Her mouth gaped in a silent scream. "Yours…"
"No other man touches you!" he growled.
"No other! I'm Yours!"
In the adjacent chambers, separated by walls not as thick as once thought, the moans and grunts and harried screams of pleasure - hushed as they were - drowned out the tiny mewls from Princess Elia Targaryen. Snuggled under the thick covers, her nightgown was yanked up to her waist. Eyes closed as her fingers stabbed through her cunt, pleasuring herself to the sounds of lovemaking in the royal chambers.
"So close, Lya… so close…"
"Yes, Rhaegar… fuck… yes, yes…"
The words dissolved into formless babble, the Northern beauty clearly shattering as the Prince erupted into her. Joined by Elia, her climax ripping through her just as Lyanna's did. Lya… Rhaegar… fuck...
Tywin Lannister erupting in rage was not unknown to Cersei. Scream, shout, toss things about the room… even assault her on occasion… but she had never once seen him so enraged as to be completely speechless. The mighty Lord of Casterly Rock, seated upon the chair of the keep's audience room with a vein throbbing on the side of his head and a dark, sunken glare in his green eyes.
Throat dry, Cersei gulped. "Father… I…"
"Explain this to me one last time, daughter." Tywin's voice was low. Dangerous. "Are you telling me that you are with child?"
Turning her head under the withering glare of her intimidating father, both the gazes of her Aunt Genna and Uncle Gerion were supportive - Uncle Emmon Frey looked like he was about to piss himself. "Yes, father. I am with child. The Maester has estimated about a moon and a half."
"You'd better tell me that the child is Robert Baratheon's."
It was Genna that answered. "I think you know the answer, brother." It was clear - the likelihood Cersei would sleep with that oaf was nil.
Tywin openly gnashed his teeth. "Then who was it?"
Looking back at her aunt, the shapely woman gently nudged her lower back. "It's alright, child. Go ahead."
Head held high, the Light of the West was not ashamed of what she would say. "The father of my child is Eddard Stark." I will never regret coupling with him. "He is the only man I laid with." Her father had noticed Jaime's pining after Queen Rhaella, certainty in the offing that even had Cersei desired it there wouldn't have been a resumption of their youthful indiscretion.
Suddenly Tywin erupted from his seat. Face red and finding his voice once more. "And not once did you think that spreading your legs for some horny shit was a good idea?! Have you learned nothing from fucking your brother?!"
Cersei stood firm. Fighting her tears. "I regret many things, father. I do not regret taking Ned into my bed." He stared at her incredulously. "I love him."
His fists clenched, advancing upon Cersei. "You little whore…"
Slap.
Only this time it was Tywin that brought his hand upon an imprint on his cheek. The room quiet with a stunned silence. "Don't speak to your daughter that way, brother," Genna seethed. "She made her mistakes, but the only one of us being an atrocious slug at this point is you!"
Rubbing his cheek, Tywin met his sister's gaze. The two had always held a soft spot for each other. If one person could give him a thumping, verbal or otherwise, it was Genna.
Eyes darting from Genna, to Cersei, to Gerion, and then to the openly trembling Emmon Frey, Tywin made his decision. "Everyone out except Genna."
Grabbing Cersei by the shoulder, Gerion guided his niece out with a smirk on his face. But Emmon hesitated. "Um… I should stay… with my wife…"
"Did you not hear my brother?" Genna hissed at him.
"But my love."
"Out!" Her scream found him scurrying away. Scoffing, Gemma turned to see Tywin holding back a grin in spite of himself. "What?"
"After father forced you to marry that worm, the only salve to that wound was seeing you turn him into your bitch."
"Hmph, he's the father of your four nephews." She grinned back. "I am a lion, after all."
The moment was short. Tywin sighed deeply. "That girl is the stupidest Lannister." All his plans with Robert ruined. If anyone finds out I killed Eddard Stark's child… He could kiss his position goodbye.
Genna's scowl returned, a match for her brother's in every way. "That girl is the smartest Lannister, idiot." Her hands were on her hips, challenging him to disagree. When he didn't, she continued. "With her child, you have the North in your pocket."
Tywin didn't respond, simply leaning with his hand on the back of the lord's throne. Back to Genna.
"Do you think that Ned Stark wouldn't marry Cersei the moment he hears she's with child? He's going to be to Rhaegar what you were to Aerys in the beginning, guaranteed." Nothing. "Fine, be an ass!"
Hearing Genna slam the door shut, Tywin exhaled. Forehead against the back of the chair with his eyes closed. I am sailing through uncharted waters. Cersei pregnant, Genna standing firm against him, Gerion determined to sail to Valyria… for the first time in his life, Tywin Lannister knew not anything he could do.
Silently cursing, the lone woman sprinkled droplets of blessed oil upon the flame-shrouded eggs - stoking the flames till they enveloped the unburnt objects in their entirety. Please, Lord… show me your will.
Guarding the eggs at the King's order was the flummoxed Alliser Thorne, standing off in the corner. Half-disgusted, half-fearful. Blood magic, may the Seven take her.
Melisandre ignored him. She smiled as she felt the welcome heat of the crackling red flames. No wildfire for her. The substance was evil, unnatural. Valyrian chants tumbled from her lips, seductively dancing around the braziers as she beckoned R'hillor to deliver a vision.
"Lord, my Lord!" Melisandre threw her torso back, bending flexibly. "Bestow upon me the secrets of the dragons!" The voice shouted to the rafters in a melodic harmony. "Show me their champion!"
Suddenly the flames halted in place. Thorne almost fell back, tripping over his own armor. But for the Red Witch, she saw it. A picture formed in the fire surrounding the first egg. Black and red, the largest of the clutch.
"Show me, oh Lord of Light. Tell me your secrets…" Slowly she leaned in, eyes sparkling red-orange as they gazed into the fire.
What she saw did surprise her.
A battle. A massive clash of armies, banners waving wildly as steel slammed against metal and flesh. One wave charged forward, mingling with the other in a bloody melee.
Fields upon fields of corpses, a dull light glowing in the background. Overlooking a world on the verge of death.
Shadows dancing about the Iron Throne, one dark and two a glowing red and gold - each twisting in a frightening dance to overcome the other.
A frozen clearing, filled with trees. An immense spiritual energy emanating from the center, where a single figure stood. Hair as black as night, and yet eyes a glowing violet. Standing, smiling, watching as two maidens stepped on either side of him. One ice kissed by fire, one fire touched by moonlight. Standing together as their faces morphed into dragon heads. Roaring.
Suddenly, the flames exploded. Heat welling from the bottom and shooting out. Forcing Melisandre back, stumbling and falling to the floor - as if the Lord did not wish for her to see the remaining image… Only a word. A single whispered word…
'Rhaegar… Rhaegar…'
"Rhaegar…"
"My Lady." Thorne was still a knight, and the woman was under his protection. He gently pulled her up. "Are you alright."
Clearing her throat, Melisandre nodded. "Aye, Ser Alliser. I shall just need a ship." It was time she truly meet the Crown Prince.
A/N: Melisandre's vision... plenty of foreshadowing for so many things. Discussion is open with reviews and comments, but keep it civil and with an open mind. I don't intend to disappoint anyone reading this story.
And so Benjen is now Ser Benjen Stark, Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. Pretty good for him, no?
Elia is thirsty, but who wouldn't be in her position? I had fun thinking up Lyanna's outfit :D
We've now met every member of the Lannister clan. As well as gotten confirmation that Cersei is indeed pregnant with Ned's child. Didn't see that one coming when you started the story XD
Next time, Melisandre arrives in Dragonstone eager to be part of Rhaegar's retinue.
