A/N: Hi all. Weekly update out. Hope y'all are doing well.
As promised, I can say that after months of deliberation I have decided that the MFS version of Sansa will be Jon's second bride alongside Dany for when the story gets to that point. I know, I know, after season 8 she isn't a favorite among the Jonerys fandom, but partly because this story was initiated to get out of my comfort zone and the zone of normal archetypes was in the reason of my decision. Plus... I've always liked Sansa's organic character and the potential arc she had to be a devoted member of the Targaryen-Stark family rather than letting Dan Weiss write himself in her skin. I suppose this is my attempt to detoxify season 8 further.
Plus like Jon and Dany, the altered circumstances will change Sansa too in directions that fans of both Jonerys and Jonsa (ie, those who don't hate Dany or the Sansa not contaminated with Dan weiss' personality, cause let's face it, season 8 fucked all of the characters) will adore. Trust me, you'll love what's coming :)
Be sure to let me know what you think. Civil comments please, and I'll be happy to discuss my reasoning further in the comments.
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 38: Water Gardens
What Elia Martell loved most about the Water Gardens was how egalitarian it was. Constructed by Maron Martell in an effort to woo the affections of his Targaryen bride - it didn't work as Princess Daenerys never ceased loving Daemon Blackfyre - subsequent Martells opened up much of it to noble and smallfolk alike. As such, the pools, gardens, and shops were always quite busy. Ellaria and most of her personal servants had all started out as childhood friendships born in the Water Gardens.
While Elia wouldn't trade such memories for the world, she did appreciate the private sanctum. One only allowed for the Dornish nobility… quite deserted at the moment. This she thanked the gods for. There was no circumstance where she would want any other wandering eye gazing at what she watched with barely repressed want.
Water rolling down her perfect, athletic curves, Lyanna emerged from the pool. "Gods, this place is amazing." She flipped her wet hair over her shoulder, looking back at her sister-wife with a grin. "We need a pool built on Dragonstone." Without waiting for an answer, she raced off towards the deeper end.
Eyes unable to leave Lyanna's nubile body, Elia didn't notice the other woman swimming up behind her. "That is the reason I love this place." Swimming in the Water Gardens was in the nude - Elia and Ellaria were both bare to the world, and so was Lyanna.
Climbing up an outcropping of rocks, the she-wolf stretched out. Exposing her entire body to the two Dornishwomen and several female servants - all of whom gazed hungrily. Elia wanted to wring their eyes out. "Stop gawking at her. You aren't a starving dog."
"But you seem to be." Laughing, Ellaria whistled as Lyanna took a dive. A… rather perfect one into the crystal clear water. "I still can't believe you fucked Rhaegar in front of her."
"You told me to."
"I never thought you'd do it… but good for you, Princess." Under the surface, the bastard Lady smacked Elia's ass playfully. "I can tell you love her. Claim her… before it's too late." Before Elia could respond, Ellaria breaststroked away. I wonder how we ever became friends…
"Wonder how who could be friends?"
Blinking, Elia saw Lyanna's beautiful face right across from her. "I really have to improve my senses. You're the second person to sneak up on me, Lya."
The wolf of Winterfell smirked. One that Elia almost thought was carnal... "I wouldn't beat yourself up about it. Wolves know how to stalk their prey."
"I've been meaning to ask, how can someone raised in the middle of the North know how to swim with such grace?" Gods, she wanted to kiss those lips - but was unable to.
Teasing her further, Lyanna motioned for Elia to follow her out of the pool. "There are lakes and pools in the North, as well as a pretty large river. One day I will show you the beauty of it all, sister."
Servants handing them bath towels to rub themselves dry, Elia smiled warmly. "Minus the cold, I truly would love to see the land that raised you." Returning the smile, Lyanna leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Elia was glad she was ahead of her, given the blush. "I believe it's time to meet our husband."
"Why do you think I only left the pool now?" Lyanna called out over her shoulder. Smirking at her cheery laugh, Elia jogged after her sister-wife. Overjoyed at seeing her so carefree again.
Unlike the pools, the hallways were filled with courtiers. Men and women, often chatting together lively - or engaged in simple acts of passion. All stilled as the royals passed. Smiles given to Elia and… in general dark scowls at the Stark princess. Most withered away at the almost dragon-like glare Elia gave them. You fucking bastards… I should take your heads.
Their arrival at Sunspear only a week ago had been… tense. It was clear that the Dornish court hadn't warmed up to them as Oberyn had, but no one said anything overt. Not that either of the royals let it get to them. Rhaegar was a Targaryen and Elia had grown in this world, but Lyanna took it with a particular grace. Fierce, determined… confident.
Elia knew it had to do with their… glorious nights. Every spare moment on the ship was spent in their cabin, Rhaegar fucking both of them into oblivion. What should have exhausted any mere man only awakened the dragon, and both Princesses loved it. Watching Lyanna's ass underneath her thin silk robe, Elia only wished that they could make that final step. Put aside whatever awkwardness and tension remained and simply love each other as… well, Targaryens. It's up to her. I won't push… But when Lyanna looked like that, seven hells it was hard.
At least they had Rhaegar… and Elia wasn't complaining. Heat close to unbearable even in the winter, both he and Oberyn - his sparring partner - were shirtless as they dueled. Actual blades, not training weapons. It added a proper flair… and danger. They both raked over Rhaegar's muscular body as did most women and men in proximity.
"Is it strange that I'm more hungry for him than usual?"
"In the Water Gardens? No, more bastards are quickened here than anywhere else in Westeros." At least that was what Oberyn once bragged to her.
Blackfyre glinted in the noonday sun. Rhaegar's wrists twisted quickly to block the determined counterstrikes from the Red Viper. Shirtless himself, Oberyn blocked the Targaryen Prince's hacks and thrusts as he himself thrust forth with his spear. Very nearly cutting skin. "Yield," he hissed.
Rhaegar answered with a smirk, parrying another thrust. "Baelor the Blessed I am not." He used Oberyn's twirl to charge, forcing the Dornish Prince on the defensive.
"He's all ours, Lya."
"Mmmmm… that he is."
Beside them, Ser Barristan watched with crossed arms. "They've been at this for twenty minutes, your Graces." Each had to be close to exhaustion.
Sure enough, another minute of strikes blocked or dodged… not an easy feat, both Princes simply withdrew from mutual consent. "Let's just call this a draw," mumbled Oberyn, panting.
Wiping a sheen of sweat from his face with a proffered towel, Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, draw. Good job, goodbrother."
"Couldn't let a Targaryen finally defeat a Martell, eh?" Wanting to shoot back another jape, Oberyn's eyes darted by chance on the balcony above. Finding a striking face framed by wet hair clinging to it.
"Care to try a game of cyvasse?" Rhaegar asked. "Pass the time till I meet with Doran?"
Normally up for it, Oberyn shook his head. "Another time, my Prince. I have something to attend to." With that, he bounded towards the palace itself.
Rhaegar watched him leave. "Will do." Shrugging, nothing now kept him from showering his brides with affection. "Enjoying yourselves?" he asked, lifting them both and kissing their noses and cheeks.
Lyanna giggled at the contact. "Very much so. The heat can go fuck itself, but I'm happy."
Their husband setting them down, Elia smiled. "Dorne is like that. Very free and liberating in a way." That doesn't make it less deadly. But she and Rhaegar wouldn't heap that on Lyanna - after the loss of the babe, she deserved the happiness. "Lya… I think you should skip our meeting with my brother."
Her happiness changed to a guarded confusion, brow rising. "I am the Princess too, no? I should be there."
"Lya…" Rhaegar began, pausing for a moment as her gaze shifted to him. "It's not that you can't hold your own, but your presence will be… antagonistic to Prince Doran." There was no better way to put it. "I…"
He was cut off as a giggling mass of black curls slammed into him. "Kepa! Muna! Muna!" Rhaenys was excited once more, the same carefree attitude of the place rubbing off on her. "Obara is showing me how to fight."
An overprotective trio of stares found the older child. "Just playing with staffs, nothing to worry about."
"Muna! Come watch us. Please please please!"
Seeing both her spouses' eyes directed at her, Lyanna sighed. "Alright, come on." She took Rhaenys' hand. "Perhaps I'll even teach you some moves, Obara." Unlike most in the Dornish court, Obara looked genuinely thrilled at such attention from Princess Lyanna.
"Ellaria!" the Prince called through the halls. "Ellaria, wait!"
Groaning, she turned. "What?" she spat out, irritated.
"Why are you avoiding me?"
"You know very well why."
"I don't, please enlighten me."
She sighed. "We had a good time together in King's Landing, but it's ended."
He shook his head. "It was more than that and you know it."
"I'm not a person capable of settling down."
"Neither am I, yet here we are."
The argument continued through the halls. Ellaria tried to push him away and Oberyn refused to give up too easily. It brought them towards the guest quarters, voices loud until one silenced the other with a kiss. The kiss deepened, clothes already ripped off as they both groped their way inside. Anger turned to joyous laughter, both falling onto Ellaria's bed without a care in the world.
"Get up, Stark. I don't have all fuckin' day!"
Rickard fought from flinching as the King shouted. "Forgive me, your Grace," he murmured.
"I can't hear you!" Aerys' eyes began to blaze a bright violet. "Speak louder or I'll make it that you can't speak again."
Without Rhaegar there to truly shield him, Rickard knew his family was at the mercy of the King's mercurial moods. After what he did to Lyanna… He struggled to put that in the back of his mind, at least until he could send Brandon back to Winterfell. "I wish to inform you of a perfidy upon the North, your Grace."
The King blinked. "What is it this time? Another bunch of wildlings got over the Wall? I already sent a bunch of cutthroats to the damn Night's Watch. No more from me, Stark."
"I was not speaking of the Wildlings, my King. I speak of the Ironborn. They have raided Flint's Finger in the North."
"Ironborn?" In this the King leaned in to listen. "My knowledge is that their craven Lord Paramount wished to develop trade and cease raids." It had been he and Tywin's first true project after his coronation, and while his mind blotted Tywin out of the historiography in his mind it still brought him pride.
Clearing his throat, Lord Varys stepped forward. "Apparently Lord Quellon Greyjoy is bedridden with rheumatism. Your Grace."
Aerys stared. "What? Why wasn't I told about this?"
"It didn't seem important until now, since he was still dictating policy of his domains. But now that he is ill his sons are far more immersed in reestablishing the Iron Way."
Damn Tywin, he must be causing this. He was always jealous of my greatest triumph! "And what would you have me do, Lord Stark?"
Almost taken aback, Rickard didn't expect Aerys to be so… tractable to his requests. "I wished to get your approval to call the remaining banners of the North to ward off this threat."
Rubbing his chin, Aerys pondered the request. "I see. Where would you concentrate this?"
Rickard's head hurt. "At Flint's Finger and Deepwood Motte, with a few thousand at Moat Cailin in case the Ironborn try an inland raid." If he could wrangle that amount out of Aerys, then he could conceal the entire Northern army there.
"Inland raid? The Greyjoys?!" Aerys barked laughter, clutching his side. "I've never known the Ironborn to leave their ships except to pillage and fuck." His eyes turned, surprisingly, to the Imp right beside Rickard. "You, little man. I wonder if you think that Lord Stark's excuse to fritter away his men at a ruined keep comes up as short as you." He giggled at his own jape.
Tyrion, forcing a smile, laughed with Aerys. "Another good one, your Grace." Leo Lefford made that jape when I was eight, and I doubt he hadn't heard it first. "Personally, I think Lord Stark is correct. The Ironborn are as unpredictable as they are erratic. Being from the Westerlands, I know that quite well."
That ended up making the King laugh some more. "Oh, this one is perfect. I should make you my court fool, Lannister half-man."
Silent for a moment, Tyrion's lips pursed as he thought. "Are you sure you would want that, your Grace?" He fought a smirk at Aerys' confusion. "Because my father considers me a blight on House Lannister. Having me as a fool would be a good way to get rid of me, while advancing under Lord Stark's tutelage would bring me into court and make sure I am around to further embarrass him." He smiled, chuckling. "Like the time I put goat shit into my uncle Kevan's boots."
Aerys burst out with a chortling laugh. "Kevan was always a prissy idiot, brilliant! What happened?"
"I blamed it on a squire. The poor boy was flogged."
"Tee-hee!" Aerys fell back in the Iron Throne, grinning madly. "Alright Imp, continue humiliating your piece of shit father." He rose to leave, still snickering.
Rickard almost shouted as he tried to get the King's attention. "Your Grace… the Ironborn?"
Aerys waved Rickard off. "Do what you will, just don't bother me."
"That was good thinking back there, Tyrion," Rickard said outside the Throne Room. "We were almost in a bad situation there."
"No, bad situations are when the King is truly in a rotten mood. But it all required knowing what he enjoys… apparently it's making my father look like a fool."
"Aye, there is an enmity there."
They passed by a rather intricate mosaic of the Fields of Fire before Tyrion looked back at the Lord of Winterfell. "Tell me, my Lord. Why do you want some men at Moat Cailin?"
Peering, Rickard narrowed his eyes. "Let's just say they aren't the only enemies I worry about. The Red Keep is full of vipers." He sighed. "Winterfell is the same, and I don't think my sons know that yet - Ned could learn, though I suspect Bran knows he couldn't." Watching him blink, Rickard gestured towards Tyrion's quarters. "You've earned the afternoon off. Until tomorrow, Tyrion."
Still pondering what Rickard could have meant by that, Tyrion accidently took the wrong turn. "Fuck," he muttered, irritated at being so careless… when he heard voices. Naturally his curiosity got the better of him.
Tyrion crept silently towards the corner. His size actually giving an advantage for once, short stature more easily hid. "... Can you provide it for me?"
"I don't know… you're asking something of me that cannot be taken lightly."
Making it to the corner, Tyrion peeked around the corner, finding two men walking away. One in a gaudy doublet and trousers with fire-red hair, and the other a man in maester's robes. Connington and Pycelle. "What are you two talking about?" he murmured inaudibly.
Connington seemed insistent. "I can give you a lordship, when this is all over with." A lordship for the Grand Maester? "Lands from the traitors."
"But the concoction you want…"
"The Realm needs you to do the right thing, Pycelle. Don't get in my way and do as I ask." The last thing Tyrion heard was the Grand Maester sigh as they walked out of range.
Flanking the door, the two guards swaddled in spotted mustard tunics stepped apart, spears clanging on the stone. Disciplined to the core, but even more so that their beloved Princess had returned to her childhood home. "Princess Elia, Crown Prince Rhaegar."
To her right, Rhaegar raised an eyebrow, scowling except for a twinkling glint in his eye that betrayed his mirth. Elia smirked. "Querys, Lueral. It's good to see you too."
The aged guards smiled warmly, wanting to hug the little girl they had watched over for her entire childhood. "You look… radiant… your Grace."
"I am happy, dearest Sers. My husband makes me very happy." Elia patted Rhaegar's arm.
It heartened her greatly to see some in Sunspear or the Water Gardens to regard her marriage as a positive… "Not to mention that stunning northern beauty you brought here," Lueral smirked. "We expected your brother to shack up with a muscular warrior and a fierce maiden, but you beat him to it." Both of them laughed at how both blushed bright red. Arthur Dayne simply looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.
"I think we embarrassed the future King, Lueral," said Querys, far more modest than his flamboyant comrade. "Plus it seems that our little Elia hasn't sampled her northerner."
Lerual's eyes widened. "Oh, Elia, say it isn't so. If I had both her and your husband in my bed…"
"Alright! Thank you for your kind words," she stammered, knocking them on their shoulders. "Is my brother inside?"
Biting back a smile, Querys nodded. "Go on in, he'll be there shortly."
Fancy Tyroshi columns and green-painted railings framed the three story balcony over the private courtyard of the Water Gardens. It was someplace Elia knew quite well - if it wasn't for the libertine Dornishmen and women that she called childhood friends scandalizing her every five minutes, the Princess adored the chance to show Rhaegar and Lyanna everything. Memories of kissing Rhaegar beneath the palm fronds came to mind… as did fantasies of doing the same with Lyanna.
Gods… one nude swim with her and my cunt is soaked.
"Those two seem like a fun pair to be around," she heard Rhaegar tell her, an arm snaking around her waist. "Sure I won't hear of them sneaking a young lad or maiden into the palace for you?"
She stuck her tongue out at him. "I don't appreciate that… and no. You were my only."
"Let's just say, I vastly prefer the Torrentine to here. Starfall, Wyl, and Yronwood have far more… sane people than you Rhoynish blood-addled prostitutes."
Elia raised an eyebrow. "Who blew sand up Arthur's ass?"
The kingsguard rolled his eyes. "I heard that."
Rhaegar grinned. "Unfortunately Arthur's been in a pissy mood because every knight and bastard knight is trying to lure Dacey into their bed." He gestured to Arthur's knuckles, which were rubbed raw. "All the ones he hasn't punched out, Dacey has. Barristan tells me she has quite the cross."
"Northerners… they're all as wild as their lands." Elia sighed dreamily. "That's why we… you love them." The glint in his eyes told her he didn't miss the slip. Or was it a slip?
Before any of the three could reply, the doors behind them opened once more revealing a rail thin man in robes of the finest Myrish silk. Muted black hair styled straight, Doran Martell held little of the firm musculature of Oberyn but was nonetheless every bit as regal. A tight yet genuine smile stretched across his face as he opened his arms. "Dearest sister." Behind him was his own trusted guard, Aero Hoteh.
No matter their… estrangement, be it from his being sixteen namedays older than her or from how… dispassionate he was in regards to using her as a political cyvasse piece, Elia loved him dearly. She returned the hug with enthusiasm. "Brother, it's been too long."
"Alas, travel doesn't sit too well with me these days," he said with an apologetic glance. Neither Rhaegar nor Ser Arthur missed his stiff legs. Gout or rheumatism… "My Prince." Abandoning the formal bow, he delivered the classing Dornish kiss on the cheeks… though it was anything but warm. "Thank you for bringing Aegon and Rhaenys. I delighted in meeting them."
"Yes, they are the light of my life, as is Elia."
It was obvious that Doran didn't believe him, but he kept quiet. Nodding to Rhaegar, Doran turned to Arthur. "I see King's Landing has treated you well. Brought a beautiful girl home to meet your father… I think he will be thrilled."
Whenever Dacey came up, Arthur's expression brightened. "I hope so too, Prince Doran." The then heir to Sunspear was a constant companion to Lord Althos Dayne and his brood of three children whenever they visited the Water Gardens… which was quite often. Arthur and Ashara didn't like libertine Sunspear, but they loved Oberyn and Elia like siblings. "I'm sure Ashara will love her."
"That makes two of us, now..." Doran motioned to several chairs. "I assume you didn't seek me out for a meeting such as this to catch up. What business do you wish to speak to me about?"
"I assume Oberyn told you some things," Rhaegar began as he sat.
Doran sighed. "My brother was… cryptic. Said you were plotting something in the capitol. I assume it has to do with your father, yes?"
They had discussed it at length on the ship to Sunspear. The three of them wrapped together under the furs, fingers caressing his chest as they went over what would be needed to inform the Doran about the plot. Clearing his throat, Rhaegar dived in. "I wish to overthrow my father and place myself on the Throne."
There was silence. "I was afraid of this," Doran finally exhaled.
"It's the right thing to do for the Realm, brother." She may have never connected truly with him due to the age difference, but Elia hoped that he would understand. "Aerys is a monster and is taking the Kingdoms down with his delusions."
"If you are referring to the loss of Lady Lyanna's babe, then I am aware of that rumor."
Lady Lyanna… His goodbrother's attempts to discomfort him wouldn't make Rhaegar react. But Elia did. "It's not… just that," she said slowly, trying not to let her ire rise for the woman she loved. "Aerys lets delusions of the Doom of Valyria and dragon eggs consume him. He wishes to go to war with the Westerlands because he feels Tywin Lannister wants to bring the Doom upon Westeros."
"Then why not just go around him? Daeron did that for his father."
"And yet only a storm stopped him from laying waste to Dorne," Rhaegar cut in. "Many follow my father, but only a bloodless abdication followed by my taking the Iron Throne can ease the tensions."
The Prince of Dorne stared at him, tired eyes a cold twin of Elia's. "Let us say you're right. Such was also said about another ruler. It resulted in massive wars and a series of pretenders that nearly destroyed House Targaryen." Leaving them unsettled with his Daemon Blackfyre reference, Doran sat back in his chair. "But you are my goodbrother. My sister is to be Queen, and my nephew the heir. I will offer you Dorne's full support."
A sigh of relief left Elia's lips, smiling brightly as she took in Arthur's surprise and Rhaegar's happy surprise. "Oh, brother." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I knew you'd see reason." No she didn't, but flattery was always good.
Such a good mood was stilled when Doran raised a finger. "However," he looked at his sister. "Our homeland has endured hells on earth from the very family you married into." The look shifted to Rhaegar, eyes darkening. "Therefore I will require two conditions of you."
Rhaegar - a quick flicker of the eye finding Elia confused at the direction Doran was taking - pursed his lips and leaned forward. "What are your conditions?"
"First, you are to cancel the betrothal of Prince Viserys to Lady Margaery Tyrell and instead betroth him to my daughter Arianne."
Blinking, the Crown Prince was slightly surprised, but only slightly. "That isn't… unreasonable. Margaery could always marry Aegon, yes, Elia?"
She agreed - it wasn't ideal to force Egg into a marriage negotiated while he was just a babe, but that was how things were done. "I agree, but why Viserys, brother?"
"Because I wish for Martell blood to stay on the throne if something happens to Prince Aegon."
Perturbed by his bloodless tone, Rhaegar noticed the crux of the statement. "Rhaenys is the heir after Egg, unless Lyanna sires more sons by me."
It was almost as if Doran recoiled at the mere mention of Lyanna. "Rhaenys would be fine for me but the Andals don't take kindly to women rulers… but I'm glad you brought up Lady Lyanna." There it was again - Lady Lyanna. "Dorne requests a decree that removes any children of Lyanna Stark's womb from succession."
"What?!" Elia shouted in disbelief.
Rhaegar was furious. "Out of the question."
"Ah, so what I am told is true." Doran smiled… more like grimaced really. "This wasn't foisted on you. You wanted to dishonor my sister."
"I have not been dishonored, brother!" If Rhaegar was furious, Elia was seeing red. "How dare you insult my-sister wife, your Princess and future Queen."
Doran regarded her as one would a child talking of riding on the back of a giant. "I fail to remember the marriage alliance House Martell ever made with House Stark, and as I recall the Doctrine of Exceptionalism forbade pologamy."
"Dragons answer to neither gods nor men," she countered.
"But there are no dragons, so here we are." When riding a dragon, no one cared if one took a hundred wives. Without though… "I do not care if you wish to copy Oberyn's proclivities, sister - while I do hope that this harlot's cunt tastes well enough to…"
"Speak one more word and you lose your tongue," Rhaegar seethed - quickly, Aero Hoteh's hand went to his scimitar, followed by Arthur's to Dawn. Tension ratcheting up, a fearful plea from Elia sent Rhaegar leaning back, defusing the crisis. "Do not do that again."
Doran rubbed his neck. Sister," he looked straight at Elia, ignoring Rhaegar. "The moment Lyanna births a son, Egg's crown is threatened."
"Lyanna loves Egg like her own!" Elia protested, only to get the same patronizing smile.
"Oh Elia, you were always idealistic like our brother. The Starks may be fools, but anyone may wish to use a child born of Lyanna's womb to take power, leaving Egg and Rhae as liabilities to be put down." Now, his gaze turned back to Rhaegar. "I would rather you set aside Lyanna and send her back to Winterfell or to Robert Baratheon - I don't care which - but either you accept my requirements or we…"
"Not accepted," Rhaegar answered simply. Daring Doran to do something about it.
The Prince of Dorne merely frowned. "Very well." He pushed out of his chair, legs shaking as Hoteh came to help steady him. "Dorne will not stand against Aegon's birthright, but we will not stand with you either. Good luck." He left as abruptly as he entered.
As soon as he was gone, Elia let out a frustrated scream as Rhaegar punched one of the columns.
"Muna! Watch me!" Twirling the stick in her arms, Rhaenys tried to copy her uncle's movements as best she could… what resulted was a ridiculous if adorable flurries of assaults that were closer to a twirling Lysene dancing girl than the mighty Red Viper.
Lyanna giggled at the sight, clapping her hands. "I love your enthusiasm, little dragon," she called out. Go easy on her, Obara…
The vivacious yet plain nine-nameday old smiled the entire time, easily beating back the blows while letting Rhaenys get a few hits in. "Oww, I'm being bested," Obara shouted rather dramatically - how she managed to fend her off one-handed while pushing a strand of rat-brown hair behind her ear belied the truth.
"Bow before the mighty dragon!" Rhaenys shrieked, giggling. But a stumble over a loose stone found her 'guard' down. An eventuality that Obara 'exploited' by gently knocking her to the ground. Falling on her ass, Lyanna gasped and quickly dashed to her.
"Rhae, are you alright?" Above, Obara looked with concern - hoping she didn't hurt her little cousin.
But Rhaenys was made of stern stuff. Instead of pout or cry, she frowned and smacked the ground. "Seven hells!'
Chuckling at the girl's stubbornness, Lyanna kissed her brow. "Rhaenys, you're still young. Watch your language."
"Sorry, muna. But I thought I was good." Now the tears formed in her eyes. "I wanna be as good as you."
I love this child so much. "Oh, little dragon…" Lyanna hugged her close, pulling them both up. "I didn't just become like this overnight. It took me moons just to face your father."
"Kepa said you fought like a Silent Sister."
Frowning, Lyanna muttered something not ladylike. "I'll have to have a word with kepa then." Taking in the girl's returned smile, she ruffled her raven curls. "Let's start from the beginning. Try working on your stance. Staying firm in battle is the key to winning, like this." Lyanna formed a rather simple root stance, showing a simple right slash maneuver adapted to spears.
"Like this?" Rhaenys tried the same. While she was too sloppy, it was pretty good for a first timer.
"Keep practicing. Don't move your feet from where you plant them, but you're on your way, Rhaenys." The girl looked happier than she'd ever been. "And for you Obara…"
Watching with a smile herself, the bastard girl bowed her head. "Your Grace."
"Enough of that now. You're essentially my niece now, and I can tell you that you fight very well." It was as if she told Obara that she was going to marry the Yi Ti Emperor. "Keep working on your one handed parries. If you can wield that and a dagger in battle, you will not have many foes." She pulled back, watching Oberyn's eldest continue her exercises.
"Well, seems like my cousins have taken to you."
Turning, Lyanna found a short, beautiful young girl approaching, older governess trailing behind. It was clear the girl had been pudgy in her younger years, but now was slender as a reed, olive skin and large eyes promising great beauty upon her flowering. Lyanna had met her before, and genuinely smiled. "Princess Arianne."
Arianne Martell returned the smile, curtseying. "Princess Lyanna." Behind, her governess curtseyed as well, though the expression was far less friendly. "I see you've gotten the love of my martial cousins, though I'm glad to find the chance to speak to you myself."
"Well, you are a lovely, well-read young maiden. I'm glad to." She meant it.
"Good. Lady Allyrion, you may leave us." Delonne Allyrion, Lyanna remembered - the heir to Godsgrace.
The governess frowned. "But, princess…"
"I said, it was alright," Arianne repeated, only firmer this time. "You may leave us."
Scowling, Lady Delonne began to walk away. As she did, Lyanna heard 'Northern whore,' muttered under her breath. Sighing, she put on a proper facade. "I really am glad to see you, Princess Arianne. Your company was delightful at the feast last week." Turns out she was the only one not named Oberyn that truly wished to converse with her, and Lyanna appreciated it.
"Oh that, it was nothing. I was intrigued by the northern warrior Lady that so captivated my aunt," she replied with a significant maturity about her.
Nodding, the northern beauty noticed a rather tired Rhaenys starting to fall over. "Rhaenys, sweetling. I think it's time to stop." Gingerly kissing the crown of her head, she guided her to where the training weapons were stacked. "Elia is my best friend in the capitol - I'm better for knowing her."
"Do you take her to bed as you do the Prince?"
Helping Rhaenys stack the staff back, Lyanna stiffened. Arianne's rather inappropriate question freezing her in place, staff clattering to the ground. "Silly muna," Rhaenys giggled.
Gulping, Lyanna turned. "Um… what?"
Arianne smirked. "You heard me."
"I'm not sure what you mean…"
"Don't jape me, your Grace. I'm nine namedays, not addled. Besides, there's plenty of that going on in the Water Gardens… so tell me. Do you take Aunt Elia to bed?"
"Gods…" Lyanna blushed red. "No, I don't."
Cocking her head, Arianne regarded her curiously. "Why? Is she not pretty to you?"
The blush grew hotter. "What… she's very beautiful, but I'm…"
"Not into women?" This time it was Obara. "Doesn't stop most of the ladies here. They seem pretty happy together."
What was it about Dornish girls and their precociousness? I'll need to make sure Rhaenys doesn't lose her maidenhead once she's flowered. "I… northerners don't do stuff like that. It's…"
"An abomination? Relax, I've heard it from septas before." Arianne sighed. "I don't want to judge you, your Grace, but when I see my aunt look at you with longing I don't want to see her heart broken."
This floored Lyanna. "No, Elia doesn't feel that way about me."
Arianne regarded her with a smirk. "Sure, keep telling yourself that." Laughing, she began walking away. "Come on, Obara. I think we've lit the fuse in my newest aunt." They left hand in hand, a gaping Lyanna in their wake. Her mind whirring, mixed with imaged of her sister-wife. Scrutinizing her looks… shifting to her face… and then her body… She really is gorgeous…
"Muna! Walk with me in the gardens!" She nodded absentmindedly as Rhaenys led her towards the beautiful trees and flowers.
As he expected, Rickard Stark found Jon Arryn at his desk, scribbling notes all over stacks of paper that cluttered the wood. "Interrupting?" he asked.
Jumping slightly, Arryn's shock melted into a friendly smile across his wrinkled face. "Lord Rickard… no, not at all. Come, sit." The northerner took the chair across from him offered. "What brings you here?"
"Ned has confirmed the Mormonts have begun building the extra ships."
"Oh? Good." Arryn winced. "I don't wish to believe Connington is behind the Ironborn attacks, but I can't say he isn't. Best to preempt him and see what happens… when he makes his move."
Noticing the heavily scribbled over sheafs of parchment on the Lord's table, Rickard clicked his tongue. "Trying to calculate the height of every peak in the Vale again? I remember Ned saying you spent a year trying to prove Archmaester Artys wrong," he chuckled.
Jon Arryn gave him an exhausted smile. "Oh, I wish it were so delightfully mundane as that." Ten namedays younger with a lungful of fresh mountain air… it sounded divine to him. "No, something far more irritating. Marriage alliances."
Rickard winced, bile in his mouth. "I may not be the best to seek advice on that from. My attempts to find Lyanna a suitable husband did not end well." Had the King not relieved me of that… Lyanna wouldn't have the happiness she did have, though much the same pain most likely.
"Very true, old friend, though I'm glad to have someone to discuss this with. It's high time I find Elbert a proper bride rather than that string of bannermen maidens and wives he's siring bastards up and down with."
"How many is it this time?"
"Three that I know of, all girls thank the Seven. I don't want mini-Blackfyre rebellions all over the Vale." His dashing, martial nephew was everything Jon Arryn wished for in an heir, much like his brother had been - but not the first time he had found himself praying that the lad would be more modest as he was. Like Ned. "Not as many as Robert is rumored of siring already, but I digress. He needs a bride."
House Arryn - due to a string of bad luck - was on the brink. With the death of all of Jon's children, all that was left were a cousin, his sister's brood not bearing the Arryn name, and Elbert. "Have you considered taking a wife of your own?"
"What? Me? Oh, by the Seven no. I'm far too old. Twice was enough to tell me that I just don't have luck in that guild."
"Walder Frey still sires children even though he is as old as you."
"Comparing me with Walder Frey? If that would convince me?" The two of them both ended up laughing. "No, Elbert is my heir. I love him as a son, if not as much as Ned… would you be so kind as to let me have him?" Jon asked with a teasing tone.
Smirking himself, Rickard shook his head. "No, I'm too partial to my pups, especially Ned." He picked up a finished list. "Most of these names are crossed out... Lyanna?" He raised an eyebrow suspiciously.
The Lord Paramount of the Vale chuckled. "A man is never too old to dream, is he? Don't get offended, I crossed her off immediately after."
"Mmmm-hmmm. I'll make sure the Crown Prince doesn't catch wind of this." Pursing his lips, Rickard continued to scan the list. "There are no ladies of the Vale here?"
"Best serve Rhaegar's objectives. Get some alliances set up."
"Good thinking." Laena Velaryon, Lucerys' daughter. A good choice, very rich indeed. Ashara Dayne, a beautiful lass. More crossed out names, mostly from Dorne or the Reach. Lynesse Hightower. Lysa Tully. It seemed as if Arryn had nearly pierced the paper so hard he crossed her off. Dacey Mormont… There was no hiding why that was crossed out. Her being in a delicate condition by Ser Arthur was the gossip of the Red Keep after interest in Lyanna's miscarriage started to wane. "You crossed out Cersei Lannister."
Snorting, Arryn snatched the parchment from Rickard. "And good thing. I'd rather not have Ned hate me for the rest of my life."
Confusion clouded Rickard's expression. "What does Ned have to do with this?"
"He didn't tell you?" The Lord of the Eyrie chuckled. "Apparently he danced with Cersei Lannister at the royal wedding and then disappeared for a walk in the gardens. Both quite besotted."
Rickard's eyes bugged out of their sockets. "Cersei Lannister?!" How in seven hells had this not come to his attention? "Gods, Ned. First Lya and now you setting your sights on the unattainable."
"And yet Lyanna's sights weren't unattainable, were they?" grinned Jon Arryn, chuckling… only for him to cough. As if he was hacking out a lung. "Fucking body, don't fail me now." He gulped down some wine. "Cersei is a good choice for him. Reach out to Tywin and make it happen."
"Tywin would want Brandon, not Ned."
"Then make Ned your heir."
"I couldn't do that to my eldest son." Olenna Tyrell's words kept repeating in his head. Gods, everything had seemed so simple before the Tourney at Harrenhal. "Regardless, who do you think would be best for Elbert?"
Leaning back, Arryn smirked. "Changing the subject are we? Alright, I've settled on Olenna's remaining unmarried child. Janna Tyrell."
This was intriguing. "A Tyrell? Quite the beauty. Elbert would be pleased enough."
"I should hope so. The Reach has money, food, and power. Allying with Olenna may swing Mace away from supporting His Grace." Another cough, this one rather painful. "He… he is quite fond of… both... " Cough. "His sisters…" More coughs.
Out of his seat, Rickard moved to the Old Lord. "Jon, are you well?" This did not seem a normal malady of the lungs.
Not a man of vibrant color even before, it seemed as if Jon Arryn's face was rubbed with chalk. "Seems… my gut…" Suddenly he bent forward, retching his stomach onto the entire table. Only instead of the greenish acid of bile… it was blood. Bright red with the stench death vapors.
"GET THE MAESTER!"
Having emerged from the palace kitchens with a flagon of spring water, Benjen's eyes followed her quizzically. "Do you have a question, Ser Benjen?"
"It is not my place to ask, your Grace."
"Just ask, brother."
"Alright, why are you carrying a flagon yourself?"
"Am I too snobbish to even bring water to my room?"
"Not at all. Just hopin' you didn't become a perfumed, swooning lady like in the capitol." As a young, dashing knight, many of those sought to invite him into their beds - it made Benjen all too familiar with such species.
Lyanna smacked his shoulder. "You believing me capable of that is insulting."
"At least Dacey or Ellaria…"
"Dacey is spending time with Arthur. Horrible pregnancy sickness." He was a natural father and lover already, caring for Dacey's every need. "And Ellaria…" A grin. "A certain Prince hasn't left her room all day."
He quirked an eyebrow. "Can't be Rhaegar, and Doran looks like he couldn't fuck a goblet… no, not Oberyn."
"Seems the two biggest whoremongers in the Realm have finally settled down." It really was sweet if she thought about it. "Now all that's left is finding you a woman… or a man," Lyanna giggled.
Benjen was not amused. "Shut it."
The grin widened. "I mean, this is Dorne. If you want either then you can find it."
"You're lucky you're my sister, Princess or no." Thankfully reaching the chambers, Benjen took guard next to Ser Gerold. "Sleep well, Lya." Nodding, Lyanna kissed her younger brother's cheek and darted inside.
Feeling happy and content, such died at seeing the grim frowns on her husband and sister-wife. "What's wrong?" Rhaegar held a dispatch. "Did something happen to the Queen? My father?"
Rhaegar sighed. "No, not them." He was dressed for sleep, chest bare and hair let down over his shoulders - Elia rested atop the bed in a sheer nightdress with her hair down as well. Both looked absolutely beautiful. "Jon Arryn, dead of acute failure of the bowel."
"Oh no…" She may not have been the closest to Ned's faster father, but he was a good man and a loyal ally. "Will the Vale stand with us, now?"
Elia answered her. "Lord Elbert is a close friend of both Ned and Brandon, so I should hope so."
"I'll write a condolence letter to the Eyrie in the morning." Yawking, Rhaegar sat upon the bed, motioning for Lyanna to slide in beside him. "Right now I need my brides." Smiling, Lyanna began untying her skimpy Dornish gown to join her now kissing spouses.
An hour later, the now exhausted Rhaegar was dozing in the center of the bed. Milked dry of his precious seed by both panting beauties - each clutching his chest as they tried to calm their heartbeats. "Lya," Elia called softly to her, gradually moving her fingertips closer to hers.
"Aye?" replied Lyanna, peering over Rhaegar's chest at her sister-wife.
"Doran won't help us." She bit her lip. "Not unless we exclude your line from the succession."
An anger hit Lyanna for a split second, morphing soon after into simple fatigue. "Any chance that happens?"
Elia's eyes darkened. "Not in a thousand lifetimes."
While she should be flattered, Lyanna was nonetheless fearful. "We need Dorne's support."
Looking at the woman she loved, Elia wrapped her fingers around Lya's. "Not as much as you… we need you more." I need you more… "I'm so sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
"My House, my brother, my fault." Elia suddenly felt a squeeze, Lyanna's grey eyes boring on her.
In the low moonlight, the Dornish Princess looked radiant. Just as beautiful as Rhaegar, just in a different way. Dark and sultry rather than an almost winter flame that was her husband. "It is not your fault."
Lyanna looked away. "Sometimes it feels like it is." She heard everything they said, saw every look they gave. There wasn't much doubt in her mind that the Northerners would treat Elia with respect. Am I truly the mistress that dishonored my sister-wife? A woman she cared about, who was practically her best friend…
Perhaps someone even closer than that.
Elia squeezed her hand back, drawing Lyanna to the beautiful honey-brown eyes that made her heart hitch, almost like Rhaegar's violets. A look that made Lyanna doubt her denials to Arianne's question if but a moment. "I don't blame you, Lya. I could never." They smiled at each other, falling to sleep not long after.
A/N: Lyanna's getting closer, but Doran isn't budging.
Jon Arryn dies... that's gonna cause some shit.
Next time, Doran's insults lead to a beautiful moment for our Prince and Princesses :D
