A/N: Hi everyone. Hope everyone is safe.
Some personal stuff is coming up for me and I'm gonna be very busy. While I plan on continuing updates (writing relaxes me), I will likely not be as active on the website for a while. Not disappearing by a longshot though.
I have decided who Jon's second bride should be. Before I reveal it, I'm opening one final bit of the discussion sections for y'all to make their comments about it. Get your input :)
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 37: Cabin Fever
Elia flinched at the clashing steel. Worrying for her far slighter sister-wife as compared to the stronger, more muscular form of her husband… But her worry was misplaced. Lyanna deflected the attack, leaping nimbly to the right. She twirled her blade and attacked, putting the Targaryen Prince on the defensive. "Excellent form, Princess," she heard Rhaegar say. Elia smirked. He only calls us 'Princess' to tease.
It worked on Lyanna, the she-wolf snarling. "You won't beat me so easily this time," she hissed, furious side slashes interrupting her retort every few words. While fluid and flexible, Rhaegar was a master swordsman. Parrying each with ease - Elia knew he was better with Blackfyre than a training sword.
"Magnificent, aren't they?"
Elia's fascination with the mid-morning spar was disturbed by the rather… intense presence of the Lady Melisandre. "They are," she said, eyes narrowing. The Red Witch's small smile was not something Elia liked. "What are you doing here?"
Turning her head away from the sparring session - Rhaegar suddenly put his bulk into an aggressive lunge, pushing Lyanna back - Melisandre's red eyes now bored into Elia. "I am simply enjoying this dance of warriors. Is that not allowed?"
To most, her blood-red gaze would be intimidating. Elia was simply put off. "Is that what you're really doing, Lady Melisandre?" While unofficially the 'spiritual adviser' to the Prince, some of her behavior put her closer to 'official royal mistress.'
"The only lusts you should concern yourself with, Princess Elia, h are your own." Melisandre noticed the Lady in Waiting emerge onto the balcony. "It was lovely to be in your company this morning, Princess."
So shocked that the Red Priestess could see through her so easily that Elia didn't notice Ellaria's arrival until she was only a few paces from her. "Your Grace," she curtseyed. "You sent for me."
Elia frowned. "Cut it out."
"You're upset at me being a proper Lady?"
"I'm irritated that you're trying to tease me."
Laughing, Ellaria bumped Elia's hips with her own. "So, what did the fire bitch want?" She motioned to Melisandre, who was just leaving the balcony. "Trying to slut up Rhaegar again?"
The Dornish Princess rolled her eyes. "As if that whore stands a chance." Elia's gaze fell back on Rhaegar. Her gorgeous Valyrian warrior - his muscles straining tight against his tunic. Sweaty from constant strong assaults. Although Elia's favorite use of those muscles were to tense beneath her touch as he thrust into her…
"Maybe she's thirsting for Lyanna instead?"
Such a comment brought Elia to the other contestant. Not as refined or experienced as Rhaegar, Lyanna nevertheless possessed an innate skill with a blade - in the two moons she had been training, she improved considerably. She danced around Rhaegar, quickly darting in a slash before forced to parry. Such moves deflected by letting the brute attacks slide off her angled blade.
"I mean, who wouldn't thirst for her?" Ellaria continued in spite of Elia only half listening. Entranced with Lyanna's movements. The little strands of chestnut hair escaping her messy bun. How her buxom breasts bounced. Her pretty mouth pursing tightly. Her tunic and breeches clinging from sweat to her gorgeous figure… "She definitely has that air of someone who both swallows swords and licks rugs…"
Imagining Melisandre… pleasuring Lyanna, Elia felt a surge of… something in her. "Fucking shut it!" she hissed, honey-brown eyes narrowed in anger.
Taken aback for a moment, Ellaria raised an eyebrow. "What got you in such a mood… unless… Well fuck me blind, prim and proper Elia Martell is thirsty for the she-wolf."
"Shut it," Elia repeated, though this time she reddened.
Ellaria bit her lip, swaying her hips in triumph. "I told myself I may have been wrong after nothing happened for a damn moon, but I should've stuck to my instincts. You definitely want some northern cunt."
Elia blushed crimson… though her core grew damp at the filthy words associated with Lyanna… "I do not!" Why am I lying? "I probably don't… I might…" As Lyanna swiped at Rhaegar, looking all the more striking, Elia buried her face in her hands. "I can't be sure."
Much as she liked to tease, Ellaria was a friend first. "Alright, what's going on? Spill."
Sighing, the Dornish Princess looked at her Lady in Waiting. "Well, I've been… having stirrings."
"Stirrings… Sure, I'll refer to it as such."
"I'm serious." Another sigh, this one deeper. Touching on her conflict. "Stirrings of Lyanna… impure images."
Ellaria pursed her lips. "I know you're not a damn Septa, so I think you are confused because you haven't had feelings for women before. Oh, Elia." Ellaria smiled softly. "I wouldn't worry. Not all of us grew up watching young maidens bathe with their hands up their skirts…"
"Please, Ellaria. Can you not do that." She began to imagine Lyanna doing that and it was distracting her.
"Fine… I'll be dour if you want." She looked back at the sparring royals. "I assume you still desire Rhaegar, correct?"
Elia nodded. "Absolutely."
"That simplifies things. And Rhaegar is another fine piece of flesh I'd like to wrap my lips…"
"Enough." Another glare.
"You're too easy," Ellaria laughed. "And don't worry. I think I have a way for you to determine if your feelings are real or not. All I need is your approval to set up part of our progress back home to Dorne. Namely the ship we use."
"Wait, why would you…" She was cut off as a blade clattered to the ground. A close to collapsing Rhaegar was holding a blade to Lyanna's throat.
"Yield," Rhaegar gasped out, body soaked in a sheen of sweat.
Lyanna was just as exhausted, though there was an added irritation. "I yield." Still glaring, she picked up her blade. "You cheated."
Rhaegar laughed in spite of his heavy breathing. "And how did I do that?"
"I don't know how you did, but you did." That earned another round of laughs.
Clapping, Elia looked down on both of them - the man she loved and the woman she… she could safely say she loved Lyanna too. The degree of which is what I don't know. "Don't be upset, Lya. You're getting better. This is the longest you've lasted against our husband."
She groaned. Downing a flagon of wine to quench her thirst. "When I defeat him legitimately, that's when I'll be happy…" She was silenced when Rhaegar pulled her in his arms, kissing her. It wasn't long till she kissed him back.
Shuddering at the sultry image, Elia turned back to her friend. "So tell me about this ship idea…"
"Gods, Rhaegar…" Lyanna hissed as she rolled her shoulder. Digesting the soreness from the several bruises upon it, stripped down to just her underclothes. "You just had to show off as a big tough dragon."
And yet it wasn't her husband she spoke to, but her reflection in the looking glass. Eying all the bruises and scratches from her strenuous spar. One in which she unleashed all her fury upon her husband… Not that she was angry with him… not really anyway. Gods, Lyanna loved him, but all she truly wished was to feel him above her. His lips worshipping her lips and skin, filling her so deliciously that it would take precious seconds for her walls to even accommodate…
Thankfully, another twinge from a dark, purple bruise - this one from a spar with Ser Oswell that she managed to win - succeeded to stop the arousal before it grew too uncomfortable. This was truly getting out of hand… Pycelle said one more week before I could proceed into his bed. He may as well have said one year. Huffing like a spoiled child, it didn't strike her as fair that he and Elia were sating themselves on each other while she merely had her fingers. Perhaps that's why I've been sparring more and more. An outlet for her frustrations.
The sound of the door being thrown open outside the bathchamber nearly made her jump. Scrambling for a non-existent blade at her hips… and only finding skin. "Seven hells," she mumbled, slowly tip-toeing to the entrance to the bedchamber. What she found made her eyes widen, but not in fear or anger.
Lips fused together in a desperate kiss, her handsome man pushed her beautiful sister-wife towards the bed. Hands roving down her dress, hiking it up as he did his best to devour her. "Fuck…" Rhaegar murmured, feeling Elia's hands going straight for his crotch. "What's gotten into you?"
Growling like a shadowcat, Elia turned them around and pushed Rhaegar onto the bed with a surprising strength. "Want you now," she snarled, immediately yanking off her dress in one fluid move - leaving her naked as her nameday. Rhaegar's eyes darkened - as did Lyanna's from her hiding place in the bathchamber. Before she could even comprehend the bronzed beauty in front of her, Rhaegar was naked too and the lovers tumbled together on the bed. Giggles and moans leaving both of them.
The wetness she had been wishing to avoid was now soaking her undergarments… making them worthless now without a good washing. When Elia - pinned on her back in the soft sheets - screamed as Rhaegar entered her in a powerful mating rut, Lyanna's fingers slipped inside to her nub. Rubbing to ease the ache.
Gasping, Elia bit down on Rhaegar's powerful shoulder. Almost breaking the skin as she grounded herself against his animalistic thrusts. Waking the dragon, he would always say, and by Mother Rhoyne she loved it all. Needed him splitting her hips open and assaulting the entrance to her womb - lamenting that his seed couldn't quicken again inside her. Elia's nails dug into is back, drawing blood.
Yet why with this virile man pounding into her with his dragon cock did Elia envision Lyanna with her - the statuesque Northern goddess straddling her face, wet cunt open for Elia's tongue to lash at it? Oh… I'm hopeless… I love them both. She could only have one though, and after their spar Elia simply cornered Rhaegar in the halls and dragged him to their chambers at the smirks of Benjen and Barristan. "More!"
"Take it, Dornish whore," he grunted.
When he was in this mood, each woman both swooned and moaned. "Yes! I'm your Dornish whore!" The way she mewled, the filthy things whispered into Rhaegar's ear, she was closer to that than any highborn should have been. Elia couldn't give two fucks.
Lyanna found herself unable to stop, to resist. Northern modesty in sexual situations were pushed aside in her torrid marital life with Rhaegar… now they simply evaporated at the scene before her. Rhaegar's muscular back and ass as he fucked Elia. Her beautiful face thrown back, open in a silent scream from the frantic assault on her cunt. Their shared climaxes joined a split-second later by Lyanna, her juices running down her bare legs. Oh Elia… Lyanna blinked, wondering why it was her that came into her mental sigh. Looking back, only being transfixed by both their beautiful bodies.
The two of them passed out exhausted, Lyanna managed to creep by them and slip out. Her head falling against the wall once she was out. Oh fuck… At this point, her mind was done trying to realize which one of them aroused her more. One week can't come soon enough.
Castle Darry was rather… drab for the Riverlands. Not that Jon Connington really cared. There was more to life than opulence, but at this point he could have accepted opulence as a distraction. The stewards in Dornish castles could have a gorgeous pleasure servant in your chambers at the drop of a hat - of both sexes. He truly didn't mind the Dornish. It was the Martells that he hated.
Pacing about, he continued to digest what Lysa Tully had given him. Why did she give it to him. Who put her up to it… because she isn't smart enough to plot something on her own…
The more he thought about it, if Lysa Tully of all people had done the deed, then there wasn't much plotting behind it. "Who the fuck would use her?" he said to an empty room. No, the question was instead what to do with the information given to him. Because there was no earthly way that he wouldn't use this fact.
As soon as Aerys found out, the Starks were as good as gone. Executed behind the more likely avenue… While Connington would enjoy Rickard and his brood killed at order of the King, he'd be better seen by Rhaegar at his love spared. Perhaps exile, or he could pawn Lyanna off to Robert Baratheon and earn that oaf's loyalty. So many possibilities…
But I can't go after the Starks immediately. Regardless of the veracity of Lyanna Stark being the Knight of the Laughing Tree, he couldn't bring it to Aerys until Rhaegar was gone. Until the Starks had no one defending them in the capitol. That meant heads would have to roll, secretly. Ones that Connington could not trust in any circumstances.
At that moment the door to his room opened abruptly - not even a knock. Connington was about to scream at his bannermen not to disturb him when instead he saw Willam Darry emerge. One of the few men Connington trusted at this point, the older knight having been the one that trained him and Rhaegar in the Red Keep in the carefree days of their youth. "You found it?"
Darry smirked, motioning to one of his men to bring the a large bundle covered in a tarp forward. Placing it on the oaken table in the middle of the chamber. "Good idea to come here, no one would find it odd that I'm in my family's castle… or that I went out for a ride on this fine day. Wasn't too hard to find this." He pulled back the tarp, revealing a shield. Emblazoned with a laughing weirwood.
Connington had been there that day. He recognized it. "Where was this found?"
"In an abandoned cottage. With this." Smirking, Darry fished it out of his pocket. A slip of cloth… torn from a dress or something. Handing it to Connington.
Stitched into it was a small direwolf head… the symbol of House Stark of Winterfell. Connington couldn't help but smile. "I love it when I win."
"How do you wish to proceed, Lord Hand.?"
"We mustn't rush this. Some might have to… depart us before our opportunity comes." He fiddled with the cloth, picturing Rickard's face when he was stripped of his title as Warden of the North. "Then it's only the Martells we have to worry about." One bitch down, one to go.
The winds were powerful that day. Strong against the shoreline while failing to churn the waves of the northern Sunset Sea into the churning cauldron often seen on the frigid waters on the other side of the continent. Perfect for the sail, for the oceangoer for the reavers and raiders that felt more at home in the salt-spray gales than any pile of dirt the greenlanders called home.
For those that lived on the seas, there was no fear of them. For that was where their god and protector dwelled… of this the commander of the flotilla of ships understood the most of all. "My Lord, trails of smoke just beyond that point." Eyes narrowed in the direction his captain was pointing. "Shall we prepare for battle?"
Fully armored with plate stolen from a Westerman knight that now slept with the Drowned God, Victarion Greyjoy - second son of Lord Quellon Greyjoy and Commodore of the Iron Fleet - nodded grimly. His face pressed in a bitter scowl, his trademark for most instances after losing the melee at Harrenhal to that golden cunt Jaime Lannister, he smacked his armored palm on the railing of the ship. "Full ahead. We reave, burn, and leave."
"My Lord?"
"You fuckin' heard me." Victarion wanted something far more powerful to sate his bloodlust - nothing but the Iron Price for him, not like his torpid older brother or… rather frightening ameteur necromancer of a younger brother - but orders were still orders. Greenlanders better pay big for this. "In and out, before the castle guard can respond." In all fairness, it was the Ironborn's best tactic following Black Harren getting his ass handed to him by Aegon Targaryen.
The captain shrugged and gestured to his signaller. Pressing a horn to his lips, it wasn't long before it boomed across the waters off Flint's Finger. Calling the rest of the ships into battle formation. Nestled on a small outcrop jutting into Blazewater Bay, Flinttown rested on the tip of the… finger while the keep itself guarded the landward side. Perfect to withstand the land sieges of House Stark back during the time of the petty Kings, but not enough to stop a determined ironborn attack.
And that was what Victarion planned to do. Allowing himself a tiny grin, he raised his massive battle axe, clutched tightly in his lobster-plated gauntlet. The entire ship of reavers and sailors quieting down at the sight of him. "Men! Are you ready for the Iron Way!"
"YAAAAHOOO!" they chanted, smacking their short swords and axes against their shields. Beards and hair wet with sea spray as the great carrack Iron Victory pitched in the waves off the northern coastline.
"Ready to make these northern cunts pay the Iron Price?!"
"YAAAAHOOO!"
He laughed, a baying more suited to the hyenas of Rhoyne rather than a proper kraken, but he didn't care. "What is dead may never die!"
"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!" As the men cheered, Iron Victory angled directly for the unsuspecting northerners, each of the other carracks, caravels, and longships following. This will be just too easy.
Letting the scroll fall from his hands, Eddard Stark felt sick. "How bad was the damage?"
"Half of Flinttown destroyed, my Lord," winced Jorah Mormont, equally as grim and angry. "Bout fifty dead before the castle guard drove the Ironborn away. Double that injured by either blade or flame." Another wince. "A score taken as salt wives."
"Salt wives," Ned wanted to bang his head on the table. "Fucking salt wives." Effectively kidnapped and raped breeding animals, bringing new blood to the Iron Islands since few were willing to actually go to those shit-stained rocks.
Roose Bolton crossed his arms, the only other person of Ned's war council that knew of the coming plans - Howland having been sent to oversee the restoration of Moat Cailin as a keep that could hold their bannermen for a long wait. "We need to call the full banners now. Not just yours, Lord Stark."
"Such a move would be spotted easily."
"Not if we make a public announcement that we are marching to our shores," Jorah countered. "Our lands are massive. Movements of our forces to Moat Cailin can be easily concealed."
Looking at Roose - much as he didn't trust the man, Ned had to admit that the milky-eyed stare concealed a sharp mind for battle - Ned waited for his answer. "The King's eyes and ears are Lord Varys. He fights for the Prince, no?" came the droll, emotionless reply.
That was a decisive point. "Alright, my Lords. Give the orders and call the banners. I'll send note to my father to inform the King of this - no one likes the Ironborn so he might just congratulate us for taking care of that festering sore." There was a knock at the door. "Enter."
Lady Catelyn made her way into the solar. Curtseying. "My Lords." Her tone was guarded, cold. "You sent for me, Lord Stark?"
Ned sighed. "Aye. My Lords, a moment with my future goodsister." Jorah and Roose Bolton both bowed and left, though Ned didn't notice the small smile the latter gave Catelyn. "Aye, I did send for you."
"How may I be of service?" Ever since the confrontation a moon before, the two had lost whatever warmth or friendliness had been between them. Catelyn had stopped trying to enforce the rules of the Seven, but the tension still remained between her cohort of Riverlanders and the Northern guards and servants - even stooping to several fights between the guardsmen that Ned cracked down on hard, which earned more disapproval from Catelyn. Gods help you, Bran. Not once did he imagine Cersei here with him, actually standing united as they planned the boldest move by House Stark since the Dance.
Matters of duty came before personal feelings. "Yes, as you may know the Ironborn have attacked Flint's Finger."
"I am aware, my Lord."
"Good. I believe it would be wise of you to write your father, Lord Hoster, to call the banners of the western Riverlands houses, just in case the Ironborn attack there." And to be ready to support Rhaegar. He wouldn't tell Catelyn that, though.
A thought made him wish to write Lord Tywin as well, but he was sure the Lion was smart enough to pay attention. That and he was craven in that regard.
Lips flat, Catelyn merely curtseyed. "I will have that done before nightfall, my Lord." And she merely left, nary another word.
Not willing to let her give him more grief, Ned opened the last letter on his desk. Eyes widening as he noticed Rickard Stark's personal seal. "Idiot," he chastised himself for not seeing it earlier.
The ravenscroll was classically his father, namely short, curt, and without the splashes of humor that Lyanna or Bran would place within - much like Ned himself. He didn't even bother asking how Ned was or divulged his constitution, which was an assurance that he both trusted Ned and was alright. What didn't need to be said wasn't said.
My son,
The Ironborn have attacked us as Lord Flint has sent me notification. However, the tendrils of the kraken are merely puppet strings at this point. I know not who the puppetmaster is, though I have theories.
You must be vigilant. The Ironborn will act in the interest of this puppetmaster, and I believe that they will do damage to the North. Therefore, construct a northern fleet on the Sunset Sea out of reach of their tentacles.
Lord Rickard Stark.
Master of Laws.
Rickard's trust in Ned would be validated, he assured himself. "Jory," he said to his squire, a gangly boy of about ten and two namedays. "Bring back Lord Mormont and Lord Bolton to my solar. I have something to discuss with them." Lyanna being the Princess painted a target on their backs. Even as the coup prepared itself, House Stark would have to look long term if it were to survive.
"Brandon Stark… I'd recognize that face anywhere."
Hearing his name called, the heir to Winterfell looked to his left to see a dashing knight with a mane of golden hair cascading down his shoulders. "Now, I can't place that face, but I can guess you are a Lannister."
Laughing, the knight pounded Brandon's back. "That's not hard to figure out, but I like the way you put it. I can tell you're a fun lad." He stuck out his hand for Bran to shake. "Gerion Lannister. The youngest and most handsome of the Lannister brothers. When they talk about how striking my nephew is… he got it from me."
Brandon chuckled. "I can see that." Inwardly, he groaned a bit. Here he was to get a drink far from the Red Keep and away from those who recognized him - drown his sorrows - and he just had to run into a lion of Casterly Rock. Just my luck. At least this one wasn't a tightass.
Tapping the counter, he waved over the barmaid. "I'll have what he's having, and then bring another round. This man looks like he needs to drink himself dead." A grin formed, eying the attractive barmaid. "I, on the other hand, will be very much alive at the end of the night." The girl, rather slender and cute, giggled at the attention before dashing off. "Gods, it's good to be unattached, no?"
"I…" He barely spoke before the barmaid returned, clinking the wooden mugs on the countertop.
Gerion grabbed his and gestured for Bran to do the same. "To the world!" He tipped back, guzzling half the ale. "Ah…" the youngest of Tytos Lannister's brood belched. "Northern ale is better."
A smile stretched on Brandon's face. "I know, fuck. The capitol can't find a good ale." He was liking this man better and better. "So, Gerion, what rung do you have in the Lannister ranks?"
"Nothing close to being a Kingsguard like your youngest brother, that belongs to Jaime… I'm just the black sheep. A dashing adventurer in a family of tightasses." His emerald eyes twinkled. "You know, I'm the one that started the rumor of my brother shitting gold."
"No."
"Aye. A nugget plopped in his chamber pot for the servants to find, and the next day it reaches the ear of the King. Gods, my best prank." The two of them shared a guffaw. "I'm telling you cause I can tell you appreciate a good jape, Brandon."
One round became two that became four. "Now… I envy you, Gerion." Brandon swayed tipsily on his stool. "You, Oberyn Martell. You travel the world with nothing but grit and pluck - me, I have to take over Winterfell for my father."
"Me, I could never do what my brother does. Too much gloom and backstabbing for me - only backstabbing I can see myself doing is on a battlefield against Lysene pirates." Gerion smacked his chest. "That's why I'm going to Valyria, to find Brightroar."
Brandon looked at him with glassy shock. "You'll die in the smoking sea."
He shrugged. "Probably, but what's a life for an adventurer if you don't try for the big prize? My brother wouldn't understand, which is why he told me that if I wanted to go on this quest, I wouldn't be doing it on House Lannister's stag. Hence me being here."
"My brother wouldn't understand that kind of thing at all…" Brandon looked at the counter. "He'd make a better Lord than me, that's for sure."
There was a silence. "Oh, Bran." Gerion patted his shoulder. Any man that can tame my niece deserves to be Lord Paramount. "You've only known me for a bit, but let me give you some advice. You can want something and do it. You can not want something and still do it. But if you have to force yourself to want something, then it's not for you."
Brandon nodded. "That's apt… really… apt…" He slumped on the counter, passed out.
Waving over the Stark guards, Gerion covered his bar tab as the two of them hauled their unconscious heir out of the tavern. Finding the barmaid batting her eyelashes at him from the back door, Gerion grinned and followed. It would probably be his last roll in the hay till he reached Volantis - best enjoy it.
"Come on, Lya, it's nothing to be scared about."
"You've been on boats before. Stop with the dramatics."
Glaring for a moment at her husband and sister-wife, Lyanna huffed. "Yes, but those were both small voyages to Dragonstone and back." She reluctantly climbed aboard the gangplank that would bring her aboard the large carrack proudly bearing the Targaryen Three-Headed Dragon - the only thing that gave her any comfort. "I didn't get a sea malady those times and you know it."
Rhaegar bit his lip to hold back his chuckles. His bride was in a mood and even the mighty dragon knew not to piss off a moody she-wolf. "The waters of Blackwater Bay are quite choppy, my love. It stands to reason you don't have a tendency to sea malady."
"Yes," she countered. "But the first time I was on Milk of the Poppy most of the way and the second time I was…" Lyanna blushed, mindful of her and Elia's retinue hustling the children ahead of her. "Wrapped up in activities."
Elia giggled. "Ah yes, Rhaegar's vaunted activities. He can easily make you forget you're even on a boat." She shook her head as her husband stood ever so taller, puffing out his chest in a very masculine pride. "And make you sleep like a babe afterwards." Even put off by his smugness, Elia leaned up to kiss his cheek once they stepped aboard the ship.
Lyanna could only agree, giggling herself. "Oh yes, my handsome husband." She kissed his cheek too, but moved to his ear. "And strong, caring lover." The she-wolf playfully nibbled his earlobe.
"Enough, there are children present," he scolded, nevertheless adoring the attention. If Lyanna Stark and Elia Martell are happily married to me, then I've done something fucking right.
Already their household guards and servants had loaded the baggage aboard ship, along with the currently restive Winter and Moondancer. Sailors clearly having a rough time trying to get them in the hold. Especially Winter, who was as stubborn as an irritated donkey for some reason. "Come on, ya' mangy bugger!" shouted one of the sailors. Moondancer neighed, knocking him away with a nudge of the snout.
"Looks like someone is gonna have to help them with that," Lyanna laughed, walking over to the horses.
Both Rhaegar and Elia watched her with interest as she soothed the agitated horses. "Gods, she's one of a kind," the Prince said, love in his voice.
"Yes," Elia murmured, biting her lip at how graceful and commanding Lyanna was. "There is no other like her." A fire in her loins, the Dornish Princess hoped Ellaria's plan would work.
The Captain was a jovial fellow with olive eyes and a dark complexion. Eager for the honor of bearing the Crown Prince's family, normally instead running trade and diplomatic errands to Braavos or Pentos. "Just a little further, your Graces." They squeezed past roustabouts moving provisions in large sacks. "Don't mind them."
Elia didn't, her stomach a churning cauldron as they stepped closer to their quarters. "I think I know why Winter is so difficult."
Thankfully, Lyanna's voice managed to distract her. "Oh, why is that?"
"She's carrying a foal."
Rhaegar clicked his tongue. "Three guesses who managed that." His sentiment was correct. Only one horse was allowed near Winter in the stables… and he made sure no other stallion approached him. "Moondancer was pretty protective of her."
"Aye, protecting the little one." Lyanna sighed, clearly melancholic about their lost babe. "A horse holds its foal for twelve moons, so I was thinking of giving it to Rhaenys, so she can learn to ride."
"An amazing idea, Lya," Elia beamed, only to lean into Rhaegar's ear. "Perhaps this is a sign."
"Of what?"
She kissed his ear gently. "To try again… with Lyanna." Her husband didn't reply, expression brooding again. This'll be harder than I thought.
Wooden deck groaning underneath them as the ship bobbed gently in the harbor's waters, the Captain suddenly made a stop. "Here we are, your Graces. Your cabin."
Lyanna furrowed her brows. "One cabin?"
"Aye" He opened the door, showing off their accommodations for the journey to Dorne. "Roomiest one aboard ship, though can't compare to the Red Keep, your Graces." He was correct - it was generally cramped for land purposes, the size of Lyanna's childhood chambers rather than the massive chambers she had grown used to as a Princess. A bearskin rug and colorful curtains gave it a more lived-in feel, but in the middle…
"There's only one bed…" she murmured. Rhaegar looked confused behind her, while Elia stayed silent. Recognizing Ellaria's not so subtle plans.
The captain looked equally confused. "Aye, one bed. As your household ordered. The chambers could only hold more if I put in bunks, but the Prince and Princesses deserve better." He smiled. "Besides, I follow R'hillor, not the Faith. I don't hold any judgements." Wiggling his eyebrows with an obvious grin, he wandered off, leaving the three royals to deal with the aftermath.
Hours later, sun having descended underneath the horizon, Elia sat at the rather small vanity. Brushing her ink-black hair till it fell in lustrous waves down her neck and shoulders. Every now and again, she glanced back at her sister-wife resting on the bed. Lyanna was normally quite loud even cooped up in a bedchamber, but now she simply sat quietly. We haven't shared a bedchamber together since Rhaenys stopped having nightmares… The fact she was… disquieted about it either was a really good or really bad sign.
Through all of this, the woolen nightdress she had donned covered up her curves, but left sleeves bare and a tantalizing display of cleavage that almost made Elia's mouth water. Mayhaps Ellaria was right after all…
Her thoughts and Lyanna's silence were interrupted when Rhaegar reentered the room. Dressed down in tunic and sleeping trousers. "The children are sleeping… though Rhaenys could be up again." He smiled. "She wants to see dolphins on the prow of the ship."
That brought a smile to Elia's face, and a small one to Lyanna's. "Rhaenys is excited overall to see the land of her Muna… at least one of them for now. The North comes next," she added for Lya's benefit.
The northern beauty appreciated it. "I'm sure she'll adore both." Lyanna bit her lip. "So… the sleeping arrangements…"
Rhaegar rubber the back of his neck while Elia blushed. Right to it, then. "This shouldn't be too awkward." She tried to put on a cheery smile. "We've all shared a bed before."
"Yes," Rhaegar noted, "But that was with little Rhaenys, and I was hoping…" As he looked in between his brides, Elia wanted to giggle at how obvious he was being. "But it's fine. You can share the bed. I can… sleep on the floor."
Elia stood, heart beating. "That won't be necessary." Approaching him sultrily, she was nervous until she saw a bulge in his trousers. "You've been a wonderful husband to us - you deserve a reward." She delighted in his hiss when she cupped his cock over his trousers.
Jaw dropping slightly, Lyanna watched with wide eyes as Elia enveloped their husband in a hungry kiss. Dornish blood notwithstanding, Elia was never this brazen when she was in the room. She tried to say something, that she wasn't comfortable with this… but nothing came out.
It turned out to be Rhaegar who first spoke. "My love… what are you doing?" He wasn't accusatory, nor did he push her away. Rhaegar's voice was halting, filled with desire. The dragon begging to be awoken.
Pulling back, Elia's hesitance suddenly left. Was this how Oberyn felt? Ellaria? No inhibition, just a pure lust? "You think too much, my Prince." An urge to dominate filled her. While she normally liked to be dominated, Elia rather liked this feeling from time to time. Even if this wouldn't work, there would be plenty of pleasure involved for all three of them.
"Elia…"
"No, let's make the best of this." She pushed him onto the bed, climbing right after him. Straddling his hips and placing her hands on the hem of his tunic. "We're here, so we shouldn't deny ourselves… unless Lyanna has a problem?"
The seductress before her was now giving her completely innocent eyes. Brain mush as she tried to piece what was going on. Oh, Lyanna knew in the abstract - Ellaria's antics and the implication of the Aegon the Conqueror style marriage certainly said that this was possible… but for it to happen before her eyes...
Elia grew elated when Lyanna merely nodded. "Are you sure?"
"Don't stop on my account," Lyanna all but croaked, rubbing her legs together.
At her approval, things progressed quickly, especially for someone only watching an act she had only participated in before. The addictive sight of her husband stretched bare on the bed was quite pleasing… But Lyanna's mouth went dry at Elia's slim waist bare to her gaze. From the golden skin to the pert breasts capped with brown nipples - sultry smile framed by her black locks… she was a beautiful.
Elia was so wet from her imagination of this moment that Rhaegar's wonderful touch already had her humming. "Mmmm, husband." He seemed in a trance, taken by her beauty and by the situation. I know you fantasized about this too, Rhaegar. Moaning, she brought his hands from her waist to her breasts, gasping at the touch.
"You're perfect," he managed to husk, finding her cunt lined up for him. "Fuck…" his head fell on the pillow as he thrust into her.
Lyanna's glassing over and watching her husband be ridden by her sister-wife. This was easily the filthiest thing she had ever done, dark grey eyes waking over his tensing muscles, his thrusting cock… her breasts bouncing from the frantic fucking, Elia's mouth gaping open at the pleasure Lyanna knew Rhaegar must have been giving her. How the fuck is this so sexy… It took everything in her not to slide her fingers down and pleasure herself.
For the husband and wife locked in a tight lover's embrace, they knew they wouldn't last long - awkwardness transformed into a mind-blowing lust. Rhaegar angled his hips and rocketed upwards, meeting Elia's frantic impaling on his cock in a way that made her scream - the heavy breathing… hells, the presence of Lyanna watching them riveted only heightening their lust.
Lips quivering as she neared her finish, Elia doubled her movements. Legs aching to take him deeper and deeper. The tip of his cock hitting her wombhead. Fuck… fuck… fuck… Right at the edge, her eyes fluttered open and she found Lyanna's stormy gaze locked on her. Lower lip sucked in between her teeth as her hips and legs writhed in discomfort. A hand almost unknowingly playing with her breast underneath the nightgown…
At that moment, Elia knew. It all became clear as day - her reservations disintegrating. She felt something for Lyanna… she lusted for Lyanna… Hells, perhaps she even loved her the same way as she loved her husband… Revelation hitting her just as she met another one of Rhaegar's thrusts, his fingers pinching a nipple, she simply shattered. Screaming her climax as she fell upon Rhaegar, kissing him hungrily.
"My love…" Rhaegar looked at her expectantly. "I haven't…"
Some sense coming to her, Elia grinned. "I love you, husband, but you have another wife to fuck." She licked his ear, almost giggling throatily. "A wife to breed again."
She saw it in his eyes. Something snapping, the violet turning almost black. Elia suddenly felt wet again. I've woken the dragon… oh how lovely! A split second passed before a surprised yelp came from Lyanna, Rhaegar rolling right atop of her and ripping her gown off. "I liked that…"
Cutting her off with a kiss, Rhaegar wasted no time as he entered her roughly. He attacked her neck as his rock-hard cock threatened to split the she-wolf open.
Lyanna's fingers dug into his back. Struggling to meet him as Rhaegar pounded into her. She wrapped her legs around him, begging her dragon to take her deeper.
Elia plunged two fingers into her cunt, moaning as she cared not whether her husband or sister-wife saw. Wishing she could join in, but knowing not to overwhelm Lyanna. Gods… Ellaria was right… Why had she wasted the last two moons not worshipping the god and goddess she had wed before gods and men. Oh… I am a Targaryen now… fuck her Rhaegar. Fuck her hard. A moan left her lips as the Prince began slamming hard and deep.
Head thrown back, Lyanna screamed. The entire boat seemed to rock with Rhaegar's thrusts. Her husband's grunts told her he was close, and so was she.
Suddenly, she heard a muffled voice. "Llll… Lllli…." Tilting her head to the side, forcing her eyes open, Lyanna found Elia close to shattering again. It was supposed to be repulsive to her, but Lyanna couldn't tear herself away.
"Elia…"
"Lya…" Her fingers reached out, weaving with Lyanna's as the she-wolf gasped. The dragon erupting.
"Elia!"
"Lya!"
"Rhaegar!"
"Fuck!"
"My loves…" And bliss.
A/N: Well there you go. Still a little bit to go but the triad is forming :D
Lyanna and Elia really are thirsty, and is this the chapter where Jon is conceived? ;)
Until next time, where we see our trio in Dorne. Given my personal life, I may not be able to update for a while. If I get at least 35 reviews, I'll make sure to update by early next week :)
