A/N: Hi all. Hope y'all are doing well.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 39: My Loves

For the third time that night, Lyanna Targaryen refilled the tiny brass bowl with the spiced oil concoction, decadently dipping the crusty bread within. "I see you're enjoying our fine baked goods, Lyanna," her goodbrother said warmly, shoulder length black hair pulled back into a bun. He looked years younger, almost boyish, although the woman seated next to him - her shoulders affectionately brushing against his - probably contributed to that.

Lyanna smiled at Oberyn. "Bread is bread, brother, but…"

"Oh, bread is most definitely not bread, Princess Lyanna," stated Lady Mellario Martell, having finally returned to Sunspear from the Free Cities. Impeccably dressed in the finest of Myrish fashion, she looked like a true exotic beauty. Far different from the more muted blacks, greys, and reds of Lyanna and Elia. "The sweetbreads of Norvos, simply the best."

"I have no doubt about that, sister," Elia replied, a bit icy as she sat across from Lyanna - Rhaegar at the guest of honor position across the length of the table, overlooking Doran at the head. Her goodsister was more respectful than most here, but still interrupted Lyanna. They know better. "I think what my sister-wife meant was the oil and spice mix."

Nodding, Lyanna delicately bit off a bit. Dacey would probably scarf this down in one bite. "It tastes heavenly."

"Father grows it in his personal gardens," boasted Arianne, seated across from her mother and next to her brother Quentyn. "Oh, some of the most wonderful fruits grow there. The blood oranges are amazing."

The princess was given a warm look from Lyanna. "I'll have to try them later."

Tonight was their last night in Sunspear - the culmination in their disastrous progress through the seventh Kingdom. Rhaegar was already praying Althos Dayne was of a better disposition towards him before he continued to the Reach. The insults and hate that were coming Lyanna's way simply reminded him of a classier version of what his father dished on Elia. They see her as an insult… or a threat. It didn't help that he was a Targaryen. Just one more day, one more day. They'd have even more grief if Doran sided with his father out of spite.

The dining room was smaller than the great hall, meant for more intimate dinners of the family or honored guests. Candles lit the sandstone walls while large windows let in the cool sea breeze, stars twinkling in the sky. It was beautiful, undoubtedly, added by the deliciousness of the meals as the servants brought in another course.

"Oh, Lyanna, you should try the fish." Arianne gestured to a plate that Elia was already scooping up steaming helpings of. "Cooked in butter and lemon, purely delicious." Doran glanced disapprovingly at his daughter, but she didn't notice. Quentyn did, though the seven-nameday old remained quiet.

"It is, Lya," Elia added. "My favorite."

"Since when?" Rhaegar japed. "You never eat fish."

She gave him a cross look. "Blackwater Bay's fish are disgusting. This is Dorne - we have more refined stomachs." Oberyn almost choked on his food as he laughed, Ellaria, Arianne, and Quentyn joining him. Even Doran cracked a smirk.

Lyanna giggled. "You walked into that one, husband." Just the recommendation of her sister-wife would have been enough, but when the smell came to her, her stomach rebelled. "I'll have to pass, though. The ham-wrapped shrimp look delicious though." Taking a bite, it truly was.

"Don't have fish in the north, do they?" Her eyes lifted from the plate to find her other goodbrother looking at her. "Oh, there are ports, but I take it that the fish would need to be salted to make it to Winterfell without spoiling. Such a shame - ruins the taste." He took a bit of his fish, saying nothing more.

Glancing at Elia, Oberyn knew his brother was insulting the North's backwardness in terms of roads. He decided to change the subject. "Oh, I heard something from my friend Quentyn Qorgyle. Seems his uncle the Lord Commander is putting the thousand brigands and cutthroats the King sent to Castle Black to good use."

"Really?" This was news to her. "How so?"

"The wildlings, they're uniting around a King, oddly enough. Half of them already pledged to him, though none bent the knee."

A snort from Mellario. "Of course they didn't. Those up there, savages all of them." She didn't even bother to differentiate.

Lyanna remained calm. "I think Dorne would appreciate a people that live unbowed, wouldn't they not?" Elia and Ellaria bit back giggles, while Rhaegar smirked openly. Enjoying the irritation on Doran's face.

Dinner continued in general silence until Oberyn cleared his throat. "There is something we wished to tell all of you." He tangled his hands with Ellaria. "As my reputation precedes me with, I am not as one would say a abstemious man."

"That's putting it mildly." Elia preened at Oberyn's mock glare. All that was missing was an olive being thrown across the table and it would have been their childhood.

"Anyway, I didn't think this day would happen, but I finally found a woman who stole my heart." Smiling softly, he kissed Ellaria's cheek - the woman grinning like an idiot. "I am glad to say that the beautiful Ellaria Sand has agreed to be my paramour."

The reaction was instantaneous from Elia, who very unregally squealed and enveloped her friend in a hug. "Finally! I'm so happy for you, sister!" she couldn't help but add at the end.

Laughing, Ellaria returned the hug. "I wouldn't go that far, but thank you. I am quite happy."

Grin on his face, Rhaegar looked over at his goodbrother. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd settle down, Oberyn. The same woman waking beside you for the rest of your life…" he teased.

"Oh, that would have unsettled me only a week ago, but Ellaria…" He kissed her cheek again. "For her I don't seem to mind."

Drawn into the happiness of the moment, Lyanna smiled as well. "I have a feeling that you two are perfect for each other, in that the adventures won't end anytime soon."

Lascivious look sent her way, Ellaria nodded. "You know me so well, your Grace."

"I'm delighted, uncle. Most blessings to you," Arianne offered, as did Mellario and a quiet croak of thanks from Quentyn.

One person, however, was silent. Waiting for the excitement to die down before he finally spoke. "Brother," Doran said quietly. "Have you thought about this? I mean really thought about this?"

The first crack in Oberyn's joy happened then. Eyebrow quirking up. "What do you mean, brother?"

"What I am saying is that is this woman the one you truly want the world to see you with? I can understand her being a mistress, but your paramour?"

"What's wrong with Ellaria?" challenged Elia, locking eyes with her brother. Around the table, Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Arianne seemed to shrink in their seats. Knowing a storm was coming. "She's my devoted lady in waiting and of high birth."

A sickly smile spread on Doran's face. "I know this, sister, but she isn't of a true high birth. Nor does she act as one would."

The table was silent, tense at this. "Watch yourself, Doran," Oberyn glowered, still holding his love's hand. "Do you dare taint even your nieces of the conditions of their birth to spite me?"

"Not at all. I love my nieces, but just because you've fathered bastards doesn't mean you should marry one. Especially one that is such a…" He stopped, taking a deep breath even as both his siblings reddened in anger. "I've tolerated your… indiscretions for years because you were young, unattached, and a loyal son of Dorne, plus I already have my heirs. But there was always an assumption you'd marry someone respectable for the gain of our House."

"I'm sitting right here," Ellaria hissed. "If you have something to say, you can say it to my face… my Prince."

"What my husband means to say is that she is a trollop." The Prince of Sunspear was a diplomatic man, but Lady Mellario was as uncompromising as the religious laws she grew up under. "No better than a common prostitute."

"Mother!" Arianne yelled, face reddening.

Though knowing better, Lyanna interjected. "Perhaps we should just move on…"

Her comment only led Doran sigh. "I didn't say those words, but my lady wife holds a slight kernel of truth. Tell your brother that he is making a dreadful mistake - it's bad enough that through you House Martell is associated with another…"

While catching himself, Doran had already said enough to mire him in an even worse conflict. One that challenged not just his family, but his future King as well. Elia's eyes darkened. "What?"

Lyanna looked down at her plate, while Rhaegar looked up. "I would like to know what as well, goodbrother."

Even Doran knew that he had blundered into something he wasn't comfortable discussing here, but there was no doubt he meant what he was trying to say. Thus, for his equally precocious but insecure son, the desire to please his father led him to blurt it out. "My father says you insult my aunt by taking a whore into your bed… oww!" A sudden punch under the table from Arianne shut him up.

Elia blazed with anger, but at Doran. "You called Lyanna a whore?"

"I wouldn't use those words," Doran countered. "But you know my views on the subject."

"How dare you…"

"For what?" Lady Mellario said, interjecting for her husband. "You condone this… living in sin even though it would spell doom for House Targaryen."

Elia had never liked her goodsister - Norvos was a city ruled by insane priests, and it led them to chaos. "The affairs of House Targaryen are none of your concern."

A snort came from Doran. "They became my concern when you became the Crown Princess, sister. They became my concern when my nephew became second in line to the throne." He didn't want to say anything more, but now he didn't care. "No one envies the position that I am in, worried that his nephew and niece will be usurped by the other woman at this table."

"If you think Lyanna would hurt them then you are as addled as your idiot of a son." Quentyn opened his mouth to defend himself only for Arianne to silence him with a pinch.

Doran chuckled. "No? I worry every day at how your husband sees the world. Of whether he is actually the strong Prince we hope he is or if he channels the personalities of Aenys the Weak and Viserys the Clueless. Enjoying his pleasures while his family schemes behind his back to stab him when he least expects it... and you're content to let them do it."

Elia looked at him incredulously, while Rhaegar and Lyanna were silent. Both unsure of how to respond, while the latter felt her very soul being attacked.

"At least they were devoted men, from my knowledge of the early years of House Targaryen, not that they were welcome times for Dorne." Doran supped from his glass, shunning the spiced watered wine that all others drank for a finer vintage. "I suppose such humility and faithfulness would have done Aegon the Unworthy well." He laughed softly, meeting Mellario's eyes before continuing, gaze focused intently on Rhaegar. "Now Aegon the Conqueror and Daeron the Young Dragon nearly wiped Dorne out, so it is ironic that I find him the most unpalatable of all the Targaryen Kings." I mean, his flagrant parading of his First Man mistress all over the Red Keep was just embarrassing..."

A sharp metallic clang rang out, silencing the dining hall. Lyanna stood, eyes training to her as she trembled slightly. She drew a steely, emotionless mask on her face - it didn't fool anyone that truly knew her. Melissa Blackwood, Aegon IV's mistress, from the family that famously kept to the Old Gods below the Neck. Lyanna's gods, Doran essentially used Melissa Blackwood to call her a mere mistress of court rather than Rhaegar's wife. Not as obvious as Quentyn, but everyone understood.

Especially Lyanna. Without a word, she simply pushed in her chair and walked out of the room. Servant barely able to open the door before she pushed her way through it with her head held high. "Lya," Elia called out, springing upright. "Wait!" Beside her, Rhaegar seethed silently, jaw clenched.

"Sit back down, sister, before you embarrass yourself," Doran scolded. Using the same tone as he did whenever she held a romantic notion of marriage to Prince Rhaegar before the actual wedding.

Sensing an even further darkening in the mood, Oberyn interjected. "Please, sister, our brother was too deep in his cups. Doran… please apologize for insulting our guests."

"Apologize?" Quentyn huffed. "You are addled, uncle." He felt his sister thump him from under the table.

Oberyn would have done much worse. "Shut your mouth, boy, before I teach you some manners."

"Don't speak to my son in defense of her." Oberyn's conduct seemed to greatly ire Doran. All because of that Uller bastard. "It was only because of you that I let that… woman enter our castle as our guest. Claiming she's a future Queen in the same vein as the other dragons that burned Dorne to the ground." He missed how Rhaegar bent a fork right down the middle out of repressed rage - Doran was lucky the Crown Prince inherited his mother's calm. "That whore dishonors our House by being here."

Seeing red, Elia spat at her brother. "You dishonor yourself, Prince Doran." She picked up her cup only to slam it down again. "It appears my true home is Dragonstone now." The Princess stormed off, the only one on her mind being Lyanna.

All remaining at the table - especially Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold - glanced at Rhaegar, wondering how the mighty dragon would explode. His own heat starting to cool, even Doran regarded him with a slight apprehension. But all was for naught. Rhaegar simply stood, pushing his chair in. "Thank you for the meal, but it appears I've lost my appetite." He bowed his head. "Good evening, my Prince. We will sail for Starfall on the morrow, so I thank you for your hospitality." It wasn't long before he disappeared.

A dark chuckle left Ellaria's lips, staring right at Doran. "And you say I'm the unworthy bastard."

Underneath the table, Arianne thumped her brother again. This time harder. "This is all your fault, fucking toad." The Targaryens wouldn't be able to count on Dorne as an ally in the wars to come after all.


"I can't believe that was my family!" In her years at the Red Keep, Rhaegar had seen Elia in many moods, from the most unbelievable joy to abject melancholy. Until recently the latter had been closer to the norm, leading many in court to dub her 'the Dreary Queen,' given her stature. But only once did Rhaegar find her ever this enraged. "It's almost like I was seeded in a different womb from my cunt if a brother!"

"Please, my love. Calm down," Rhaegar said without relish. His expression was dark, but instead of the natural Targaryen temper he brooded in a chair. Cheek leaning against his arm as slouched there.

As he expected, Elia didn't listen. Wearing a rut in the floor from pacing back and forth in anger. "That… that… fucking cunt!" Yes, she and Doran had never been close, but his utter rudeness in front of everyone no less finally pushed her over the edge. "I will never forgive him for this! Never!"

Another scowl from Rhaegar - not at her, but at the situation. "We don't have the luxury to be unforgiving."

"You're really going to let him get away with insulting Lya like that?! By insinuating she and Ned and Benjen would harm Egg and Rhae?" By her orders, the Stark kingsguard was on duty protecting the children. A gesture to spite her brother.

"If I could I'd take off his head myself, but we're not hedge knights. I'm the Prince and you're the Princesses - we cannot afford to antagonize Dorne…" Aenys the Weak and Viserys the Clueless… Doran's words… unnerved him. Am I them? Aenys the fool that tried to please everyone while Viserys the fool that didn't see his own family destroying each other under his nose. "No more than we already have," he murmured.

Seated quietly upon bed, Lyanna looked blade-shocked. Staring unseeing into space with hands folded about her lap. Mind going through its own crisis. Doing nothing but listening to her beloveds argue with each other.

And oh did Elia argue. It was as if she had finally transformed into the dragon she had married. "More than we already have?! Us three have done nothing to antagonize my homeland aside from fucking existing and not plotting against each other! And if they truly wish to be angry then why don't they attack your damned father for being a jumped up, abusive cunt…"

"They're right, Elia."

Cut off mid-tirade, Elia turned to gape at Lyanna in shock. Unsure of how the fierce she-wolf could sound so meek now of all times. Frankly, their roles were reversed at the moment. "What in seven hells are you saying?" Just then, there was a knock on the door. "Go the fuck away!" she screamed.

But Benjen poked his head in, hesitant. "Your Graces… Egg… he won't sleep…"

Rhaegar stood. "I'll help put him to bed." Kissing Lyanna on the head, face contorting in pain as she barely responded, he leaned in to Elia. "Please, my love. Help her."

Elia matched his concern. "I will." Soon, it was just them again. Flashing back to just after the miscarriage, only this time there was no grief for Lyanna to truly feel. Without delay she was on the bed - pulling the woman she loved into her arms. "None of what he said is true, Lya. None of it."

"How can you be sure?" The Lyanna one moon before was broken, hurt and sobbing because of it, but this one was… hollow. As if she'd given up. "I can't even assist you or Rhaegar in securing allies."

"That has nothing to do with you, and you've done plenty."

Looking at her sister-wife, Lyanna hung her head with a sigh. "I heard everything they said… all their looks, their words. Calling me a whore. A savage, all of it."

Elia's heart broke. "Oh, Lya." She hugged her even tighter, chin falling in the crook of the northern beauty's neck. Was it wrong to think she smelled so heavenly with all that was going on. "They are jealous crones."

"No, I can't dismiss it." She buried her face in her hands - this wasn't a sudden-onset matter. It had been weighing on her for the longest time. Perhaps the last bit of chaos the loss of her babe had given her. "They have little reason to support House Targaryen as it is. Only the fact Daeron II was the legitimate King kept the Blackfyres from taking everything on anti-Dornish sentiment." The blood feud between the southernmost Kingdom and the rest of Westeros was as old as a united Westeros was. "You and Rhaegar had a delicate balancing act as it is… I'm the liability making it worse."

Reacting almost violently to that, Elia drew back, cupping Lyanna's chin gingerly. "Do not think like that. You are anything but… if I had to choose between Dorne and you, I'd choose you… and so would Rhaegar."

Lyanna blinked. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"It's the truth." Those grey eyes were almost hypnotic. At that moment Elia knew what her husband must have felt in that cottage during the tourney - she was powerless to resist Lyanna either. "I wish I could prove it to you."

Staring with her mouth open slightly, Lyanna regarded Elia. Lids hooded over dilated eyes, lip quivering, an almost glow to her honey skin… It was the same longing look she used to give Rhaegar before the wedding. Arianne's words frittered into her mind. '...when I see my aunt look at you with longing…' Was this what she spoke about?

And gods help her, she was liking it. I shouldn't like it… But it brought her an overwhelming sense of comfort, of joy.

The silence was getting to Elia. "Lya…"

"How would you prove it to me?"

Pulling back slightly, Elia gaped. "What?"

"You… you heard me…" There was a hitch in Lyanna's voice, belying her nervousness. As if she would lose her will at the drop of the hat.

Moons of self-control snapped. Her body realizing that it was now or never, Elia surged forward, covering her sister-wife in a warm and loving kiss.

Lyanna didn't know what to think at the moment. This was not what she was expecting at all.

"Elia…" Lyanna, pushed with her arms, putting a gap between them. Taking a deep breath as her head spun. "What… what are you doing?" She knew, but it was overwhelming.

Breathing heavily herself, the Dornish Princess felt like if fire was coursing through her. Her fantasies, her dreams, none compared to the real thing. Not with Rhaegar and certainly not with Lyanna. "I can't stop…" Elia said. I'm forever addicted... "I've been wanting this for a while now."

"But.. but…"

She was cut off as Elia pressed a finger to her lips. "I didn't expect it either. It… you caught me by surprise, just you." The she-wolf's eyes widened - Elia telling her that the same attraction Ellaria held for women only applied in Elia's case for her. "Let me pleasure you." After an interminable length of time, she only nodded. Elia smirked and dove in again, tongue begging for entrance. Slowly and torturously given in by the dazed woman. I shouldn't be doing this… But oh did she want to...

Thankfully, little Egg just needed his father's attention. Rubbing his face tiredly, he nodded to both Oswell and Barristan at his door - Arthur and Gerold given the night off. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, your Grace."

Opening the door, Rhaegar yawned as he entered. Wanting to just fall on the bed and pray for death… until the mere glimpse out of the corner of his eye turned into a widened stare. Jaw dropping at the scene before him. Seven bloody hells… Both of his brides locked in a passionate embrace, something out of the life of Aegon I or Maegor. "My loves…" he breathed.

Too consumed in each other, their husband's arrival surprised the princesses. Almost groggy, Lyanna found him with a slightly surprised expression. "Rhaegar, I…"

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, no longer tired.

A bit perturbed at the interruption, Elia found a rather… excited part of her husband that turned her mood around. "Just happened, of which you have perfect timing." It was all as new to her as it was with Lyanna, but based on her certainty and the northerner's daze, she would have to take charge. "Come here, my Prince." Sultrily, she beckoned him over with a finger.

Mouth dry, Rhaegar looked at his other bride, who seemed to gain lucidity. Glancing at both, her hesitance was overcome by her lust. "Yes… come here." Lyanna wanted them both, and at least her husband would ground her. Could steady her emotions with the whirlwind of new feelings bound to come with her way.

Slowly, a smirk spread out on Rhaegar's face. "I always did want to be Aegon the Conqueror. I have the looks," he said as he began to untie the laces on his tunic. "I have Blackfyre." Off it came, dazzling his brides - Elia peeling off her own gown. "And now I have the brides. All I need is a dragon."

Elia stood, pressing her nude body against his as they kissed. "I have my dragon in front of me."

Almost falling apart on the spot at the two absolutely stunning creatures embracing passionately, Lyanna's hand absentmindedly drifted to between her legs. Rubbing the pooling wetness over her underclothes. An action noticed by the two of them. "Enjoying the view?"

"You're beautiful…" she murmured.

The prince chuckled. "I think she's referring to you, wife."

"Or both of us," Elia laughed. "You're overdressed, Lya."

"Do something about it." A blush formed on her cheek, embarrassed at the wanton tone of her words… All was forgotten as two sets of hands descended on her shaking body, removing her clothes and filling the icy beauty with warmth.

And this brought them to their current configuration, itself a series of fumbles and groping that their lust-addled minds glossed over. Lyanna laid on her back, head half-propped atop the down pillows as her tanned lover draped her skin on hers. Kissing her feverishly, hands tangled in her head while Lyanna's hesitantly touched her waist. "I've dreamed of this," Rhaegar husked from behind them both, teasing Elia's folds with his cock.

"So have I," Elia moaned at both their touches. "We're Targary… ooh yes…"

Lyanna tilted her head to the side to allow Elia more access to her neck. "Elia… oh…" she couldn't help but beg softly, moaning when Elia's lips travelled across a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. "Don't… don't… don't stop." There was no stopping. She had never craved a woman before… or anyone really before, but these two overwhelmed Lyanna's senses.

Elia's hands grabbed her breasts, running her thumbs across her nipples. "Oh gods…" Moons of visual appreciation couldn't compare with the real thing. "I know now how lucky you are, husband."

Lips sucked on Elia's bronzed neck, coaxing a moan from her. "I am the luckiest man alive," he murmured. With these beauties in his life… Rhaegar could be a common pauper and it'd still be true.

"Fuck," Lyanna hissed, hands trailing down to touch Elia's, feeling how pert and soft they were in her hands.

Elia's hand travelled lower, hand going between her legs to feel the silkiness of her cunt, already wet with her arousal. "She's so wet," she gasped. Elia touched a finger to her mouth, getting the taste on her tongue. Lyanna tasted like sweet nectar and Elia was immediately hooked on the taste. "Delicious."

"My favorite," her husband said, enjoying sharing this with his Dornish bride. "One of my favorites." Leaning down, hand grasping his straining cock to relieve the pressure, he attacked Elia's cunt with his tongue. Swiping up and down.

Bucking her hips, Elia's tongue had been trailing along Lyanna's buxom breasts - beautiful and meant to be sucked - when the sensations made her nearly fall over. Screaming in pleasure. "Gods… yes, husband." She urged Lyanna to sit up, which she did. "Isn't he amazing?"

"The best," Lyanna groaned, entranced by the sight of her sister-wife near her flower. "You are too."

Love surged through Elia, eyes sparkling before she took her first proper taste of a woman… At the same time Rhaegar sheathed himself inside her. Screams muffled by Lyanna's heat.

He was a Valyrian god… she was a Rhoynish nymph. Head struggling to remain upright to see everything going on, Lyanna committed to memory each tiny detail of her new life. Her new relationship… because by the old gods and new there was little chance she could give this up now. Elia's tongue plundered her nearly as well as Rhaegar's. Less forceful but with an instinct on how to pleasure her. Her hair soft and silky as the northerner tangled her fingers in it. Cheeks smooth against her thighs instead of the rough stubble of her husband. Lyanna found herself loving both sensations equally. Certainly her body did from the tightness in her abdomen rapidly reaching its crest.

Skin slapped on skin. The wooden headboard smacked against the wall rhythmically. Rhaegar pushed down on Elia's back, grabbing her neck and almost forcing her into Lyanna's cunt to fuck her harder. Groaning himself as she pushed back against every thrust, trying to bury him as deep as possible within her cunt. Kissing her womb. Seven hells… I want to quicken her. He wanted to quicken both of them again. To have their bellies swell with their babes, watch them filled with light and life as they had been. The urge, heightened at seeing them together, made him ravenous, fucking them harder with the stamina of a young dragon.

Moaning again, Elia lashed her tongue against Lyanna's nub. Smiling at her frantic moans, one hand gripping her hair in a vice while the other fisted the covers. Almost hurting her arm to bend itself, she decided to try a trick Rhaegar often used on her - without warning she slid three fingers deep in Lyanna's cunt. A sharp scream left the she-wolf, almost a howl. Intensifying her need to make them shatter. She fucked herself harder on Rhaegar's cock, fingers pistoning and curling faster as she approached her edge. Thinking the most delightful sound in the world being Lyanna's climax, the taste of her gushing fluids sparking her own. Milking Rhaegar's in the process.

For them, it was just the beginning.

Blinking in wonder, covered in a sheen of sweat, Lyanna shuddered in aftershocks from Elia's mouth before noticing the aforementioned sister-wife sliding off her. Rolling onto her back. "Oh gods… what are you doing?" Lyanna suddenly yelped as Rhaegar grabbed her legs and flipped her over. Starting to harden again, scorching skin pressing against her butt.

"What does it look like, Lya?" His voice was a dragon growl, almost making her cream right there.

"You're horrible…" she didn't mean it.

"You're delicious," Elia retorted with a smirk. Leaning up to kiss her once before she grabbed her hair, guiding her down. "But I've been told I am… toooooo…" It was her turn to be surprised, the reluctant and timid Lyanna - at least here - attacking Elia's cunt like a woman possessed. "Fuck… so… good…" Words failed her as she just accepted the pleasure.

Lyanna screamed into Elia's cunt when Rhaegar took her, fingers gripping her ass. His familiar thrusts - pounding her with a force that could drill through marble - mixing with the unfamiliar taste of a woman's juices to cloud her mind with a swirling brew. It was a… unique taste. Earthy and savory, and there was no stopping her from swiping through it. Answering each forceful thrust against her inner walls by frantically licking, delighting in both the masculine grunts and feminine whimpers as Rhaegar tightened his grip and Elia pulled at her hair.

She wouldn't have given up her wedding night for the world, but somehow this seemed more intimate. Closer… more right… And it terrified her. Confused her. Led her to the most powerful climax of her young life when her two lovers erupted their fluids in each end of her.

"My loves…" Elia mewled.

"My Princesses…" Rhaegar grunted.

Lyanna had no words, just gasping for breath, heart beating out of her chest.

An hour later… many satisfying climaxes later, Elia laid in the middle of the bed curled against her sister-wife, Rhaegar spooning her from behind. A smile of contentment still hadn't died from her face - everything she had imagined had come true and more, the princess feeling a pure joy for the first time since she had held Rhaenys in her arms after childbirth. This was where she belonged, blessed by the blood of Mother Royne marriage to the dragon to soar above and beyond convention. Rhaegar and Lyanna are mine, and I'm not letting them go.

Behind her, Rhaegar slept soundly. The worry lines that constantly marred his face were gone, leaving something serene and youthful. Untouched by the stresses of duty and honor. Something innate in the spirit of the dragon had returned to the line of Aegon the Conqueror, lost long before when the Conciliator bowed to the Faith. A sense of wonder, of defying the world… for dragons answered to neither gods nor men. Both would deny him the loves of his life, and yet the mighty dragon roared defiantly at them. They were his, and he was theirs.

At the edge of her bed, Lyanna laid on her back. Utterly exhausted from the tremors of pleasure that rocked her, and yet nowhere close to sleep. It was a feeling that she was familiar with, she and Rhaegar no stranger to depraved acts of passion in their own bed… and yet the thin, soft form of the honey-toned Dornishwoman against her side - arms wrapped around her while Rhaegar's weaved into her hand - confessed the tempest in her heart.

I made love to both of them…

To Elia… my best friend…

How had this happened? Yet she knew the answer. Because I wanted to… because she is as irresistible as he is… They both enchanted Lyanna, Rhaegar from the moment she saw him and Elia gradually - more and more as she got to know how strong the seemingly frail princess was.

"I shouldn't do this…" It was wrong and defied all convention. But since when did the She-Wolf of Winterfell conform her carefree spirit to convention? Every longing look, every gentle caress, every soft pair of lips on her body. Gods… Lyanna just wanted more and more.

As if their touch could heal her pain. Looking at their sleeping forms, Lyanna squeezed Rhaegar's hand and kissed Elia's brow. "I love you," she murmured as she nodded off. Not knowing which she whispered to.


Maegor Targaryen had many enemies. Hells, all Targaryens at the time did as the freshness of the conquest faded from the new generation of zealous warriors of the Seven, but it was Maegor that took a stand. It was he that refused to bend and scrape for the Most Devout or Faith Militant. Many immolated under the dragon fire of Balerion the Dread, but for those needing interrogation and torture… his architects and masons designed the Black Cells.

As Aerys waited in the chambers carved deep into Aegon's High Hill, he couldn't help but realize how apt the name was. While enough air drifted through the various corridors leading to the bay, the only light was what the torches created. Leaving a pitch blackness for the condemned to endure.

Such made the stench and dampness all the more bearable. It was perfect for the plans Aerys had in his mind once the traitors revealed themselves.

"Are we sure this is a workable plan, your Grace?" asked Jon Connington. The immaculate knight of the Stormlands looked distinctly uncomfortable to be here, which amused the King. His favorite pastime was making people uncomfortable - it exposed their truths.

"Don't fuckin' ask me, Connington. Ask the drunk here. He said it would work."

Swaying from the three flagons of Dornish red he had consumed the hours before, Thoros of Myr managed to mask his discomfort. "It may work, your Grace. Legend has it that this was how Vhagar was birthed on Dragonstone…"

"You see!" The King poked Connington in the chest. "Told you."

"Aye, your Grace," the Hand replied. Thoros said nothing - with Melisandre gone he was the leader of the Red Temple delegation, much to his chagrin. She knew more about these rituals, and even she knew little of the blood magic. It had been centuries before anyone actually did the rituals lost to the doom of Valyria. "I would prefer the more… experienced Priestess conduct this." It was as if the ginger was reading his mind.

Aerys rolled his eyes. "Well I would too, but that bitch is with my son in half-breed land. My Lord Paramount of the Vale died under suspicious circumstances, so we're not taking any chances." Pycelle dubbed Jon Arryn's death from an acute inflammation of the bowels, but the King suspected foul play. Some kind of magic by the hands of Tywin and Jenny. When the door opened, he grinned. "Ah, the show begins."

Alliser Thorne and several other guards muscled in a hooded figure. Squirming and writhing as he begged for mercy. "Please! I haven't done anything! I'm loyal!" At the King's direction, Thorne removed the hood to reveal a disheveled, worked over hedge knight. "Your Grace !" he wailed. "I am loyal! Show mercy!"

Behind the guards was Varys, distinctly emotionless as he rattled off the man's crime. "This hedge knight in the service of Lord Loren Payne," everyone knew the name of Tywin Lannister's closest friend… the man had few friends. "Had been found guilty of speaking out against the divine right of His Grace to rule."

"Please! No! They're all lies!"

"By the order of King Aerys, Second of His Name, he has been sentenced to death."

Everyone knew what the knight was guilty of. Prince Viserys overheard him spreading a jape about the King having betrothed his son to Lyanna Stark so he could have Joanna Lannister's daughter for himself - the truth told by Varys did not match the tale Viserys spun for Connington about Lannister plots. Nevertheless, what better way to conceal the truth about Lord Arryn's death than to feed it into the King's delusions. "Be done with it," Connington ordered, gesturing to the impromptu stake.

If the Hedge Knight didn't realize how fucked he was before, he certainly did now. Screams were quickly followed by the fresh odor of warm piss… though it wasn't much worse than the natural stink. The pleas drew no reaction from the King, who watched with a scowl as the knight was tied. As the servants brought the black egg. As he regarded the cold surface, desperate to feel the life inside. Unable to, he waved them to place it among the fetters.

"So what now?" he snapped at Thoros.

Even close to blindness, the drunk priest wish he had another goblet. "Um… you… hic… light the pyre with the… hic… flames of the Lord of Light."

"Your Grace! Mercy!"

Aerys ignored the knight. "I'll do you better. Rossart!" The spindly Pyromancer darted forward, beady eyes flicking across the room as he brought the jar of wildfire forth. Emptying it gently over the fetters, the egg, and the feet of the knight. Already the noxious smell permeated the room, making many gag - and Thoros ache. The smell was unholy, the flames equally unholy. This would never work with such blasphemous fire.

But he didn't tell the King that. "Go ahead," he croaked, resolved to pass out for at least a half-day after this. At a nod from the King, Rossart grinned and took a flint to a short fuse. Darting back once it caught, soon engulfing the poor knight in the wild green fire.

There was a… force deep in his soul that drew Aerys to the flames. To any flame, a sort of desperate longing present since his childhood. Much as his uncle - Brightflame - but not mad. Never mad, for fire wasn't something to take lightly. It was his birthright. His very blood. My blood. House Targaryen had once bent the eternal hellsfires to its will, and Aerys yearned to be the one to once more harness the great power.

But as the green flames licked up from the fetters, scorching the poor hedge knight's legs to blackened husks as his screams echoed through the dungeons, Aerys felt something else. A different sort of power. One that had been taken away by the Lady of Duskendale. Her black magic polluting and desecreating his very being - for years Aerys had escaped it. Fought it. Isolated himself from all he had once cared about to banish the helplessness and pain… only for the fires the give himself control. To rescue him, as it had before.

Lady Serala of Myr, tongue torn out as well as her womb, all burned alive as the entire Targaryen army watched. He would never forget the woman that tortured him, the parts that brought him such misery, purified in the fires. Destroyed by the fires.

His weakness was destroyed by the power of House Targaryen.

Thorne was aghast.

Connington wished he were elsewhere.

Varys tucked his lips in a hard to read expression.

Rossart seemed bored.

Thoros was glad he was drunk.

Aerys, his eyes glistened. Sitting straighter, each new scream bringing new life to the King. His cock hard as rock for the first time in years.

When it was over, and the corpse was nothing but a pile of ashes, the servants poked through the fetters for the egg. Finding it unhatched - the ritual a failure.

Yet, Aerys didn't care. For once, the smile on his face was unavoidable even in failure.

A/N: Oh Lyanna... you've fallen hard and will never get up.

I hope y'all like how Doran was portrayed (like as in felt was an accurate portrayal).

Next time, Lyanna reflects on someone very new in her life :D

If I get 35 comments, I'll update on monday :)