A/N: Hi all. Hope y'all are doing well. Glad everyone took the trio formation well :)
One comment attacked my portrayal of Rhaegar as weak, so allow me to address it: Rhaegar wants to be a dutiful son, but as of now his goal is to avoid bloodshed. The Blackfyre Rebellions nearly destroyed the Realm, and no one wants that. I can't believe people don't understand this.
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 40: Jon Targaryen
For a Lord of the North, the fragrance of incense smoke wafting into his nostrils irritated Rickard. Forcing him to stifle a sneeze on more than one occasion. "Damn you southerners."
Looking up from his ignominious perch, Tyrion smirked. "What is it this time, Lord Stark. We just witnessed you finally ceasing your complaints on having a Royal Executioner."
The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. House Stark's adherence to the Old Way was likely why they never fared well south of the Neck… not without ruthlessness bordering on brutality. But he was too stubborn to give it up. "It just galls me why any man would want their body gawked over like that."
Tyrion shrugged. "To each their own, I suppose."
Below, the ceremony for Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie continued unabated. His aged body had been cleaned up of the bloodstains, clothes in a knight's armor and finery as would befit him. The King's Landing chapter of the Order of the Silent Sisters attended to his body in the customary ritual prior to tomorrow's departure for the Eyrie, head pointing towards the Stranger as two colored stones rested atop his eyes - shut forever.
"Gods, how Brandon can tolerate this with such ease is beyond me." All northerners had to put up with the Faith of the Seven, but most did so only grudgingly. His eldest, however, was nonplussed.
"He's an adventurer, like my uncle Gerion. The new and the exotic… however mundane excites him I bet."
An adventurer. For Rickard, it seemed as if Brandon had taken Olenna's words to heart even without hearing them. Spending more time sparring with the Kingsguards than learning the ways of the court - almost as if he didn't wish to become Lord of Winterfell? Rickard put it out of his mind. "It irritates me greatly that these fools wield so much power. The Reach, Westerlands, and Stormlands survived Andal attack just as the North did. Why didn they cave?"
"The numerous don't win. The loudest and fiercest conquer them. They fought for so long that even the Targaryens were brought to heel."
Rickard glances down at the Imp. "They weren't brought to heel. The Conciliator made compromises to obtain peace."
"Exactly, brought to heel. Even Jaehaerys' daughter had to become a Septa… that must have made Maegor and Visenya roll in their graves," Tyrion laughed. "Face facts, my Lord. Only a dragon can challenge the Faith, and even then it's a close run thing."
Blinking, even Rickard had to accede to that. Rhaegar would murder anyone that suggested giving Rhaenys to the Faith. Ironic, their mutual dislike of the Andal traditions were what bonded him and his goodson in the first place. "A dragon or a direwolf." The sounds of boots against the smooth marble of the Sept of Baelor drew his attention left. "The place is crawling with Lannisters, I see."
Tyrion turned to see his brother arriving in the full armor of a kingsguard - minus the helm. "Brother, this is unexpected. Where is your… I mean the Queen?" he asked with a knowing twinkle.
Jaime rolled his eyes at his brother. "Lord Stark."
"Ser Jaime. I didn't realize you were off duty," Rickard said sternly.
"I'm not, Lord Stark. Her Grace wished for me to deliver her respects to Lord Arryn since she's… indisposed." He winced at the last.
Rickard felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach. "Indisposed?" Did the King… From his perturbed expression, Tyrion worried along the same lines.
"Officially, she has fallen ill with a cough. Unofficially… Prince Viserys is in a bad mental state."
While both felt relieved that Rhaella wasn't hurt, the matter was rather concerning. "He hasn't been in a good way since the incident, either," Rickard mused.
"A euphemism for the mood a brothel patron holds when he finds a stick and stones underneath the dress he paid for."
Jaime quirked an eyebrow at Tyrion. "Speak from experience, little brother?"
Of all those that could legitimately make dwarf jokes to him, Jaime was one. "I'd rather not say," he smirked. "But yes, I can hear the poor boy's tantrums and fits from rooms away." Granted, many of those were sobbing rather than shouting. "He hasn't been the same since seeing Lya attacked by his Grace."
That only brought Rickard pain at the memories, but he pushed them back. "I fear he's only getting closer and closer to his father's way of thinking." He turned to Jaime. "The Queen, is she taking it well?"
It was Jaime's turn to feel pain for his loved ones. "Since Rhaegar left… she hasn't left Viserys' side. I fear she blames herself." The Queen put on a brave face, but Jaime knew every single one of the tells on her beautiful face. "The tension only grows in the Red Keep."
"I'm glad you bring that up, Ser Jaime." Clearing his throat, Rickard looked at Tyrion. "I've been conversing with your father, and we've both agreed you should be sent back to Casterly Rock."
This was surprising. "I…" The Imp gaped. "I doubt my father would say that."
"He's still your father, Tyrion," Jaime interjected. "While he thinks little of you, you are still his blood."
"Oh, I am moved by his level of concern," he replied sarcastically. "But why must I leave? I've been learning so much under your tutelage."
"You have, and I do not doubt you will be a powerful administrator in your own right years in the future, but I have to think of your safety."
"What about my safety?"
Rickard sighed. "If a falcon isn't safe here, what chance does a lion have?"
Witty. Tyrion pointed at Jaime. "You're a lion."
"The King enjoys tormenting me too much to kill me," Jaime reluctantly admitted. "I'm a piece of furniture to rub his feet on. You… are more Lannister than most care to admit. That threatens your life, especially with the King's… new pastime."
"What?"
Jaime gulped. "Wildfire. He's taken to burning prisoners in the black cells alive."
Gulping, that… wasn't a proper image to fill his mind. "Still…"
His brother interrupted, shushing him. "Tyrion, I love you, you know that. Aunt Genna is right when she says that you have our father's wit, but the fact is you talk too much, and that might cost you a hand - or those vicious cunts the gods are, your life."
Opening his mouth to retort, Tyrion nevertheless deflated. "I suppose you're right. I mean, I haven't made the eight yet"
Rickard raised a brow. "Made the eight?"
"It's when you make love to a woman in all the Kingdoms in the span of one year," Tyrion laughed.
Running a hand through his aging face, the Lord of Winterfell suppressed a groan "Gods, I hate the southerners." That even managed to get a smirk from the Lion of Lannister.
"Aaah… my loves…"
Gods be good, there was a headboard to their bed in the royal cabin. Sturdy ironwood, it barely budged as Lyanna gripped it - steadying herself as the man she married lavished her cunt with his tongue. The tall northerner rode his face with relish. "Please… need…" Whatever words wanted to come out morphed into unintelligible moans.
Behind her, two soft hands gripped her waist. "Yes… fuck…" Hand moving to flip her hair to the side, Lyanna looked over her shoulder and the sight took her breath away for the dozenth time that night. Elia was frantically bouncing on Rhaegar's cock, raven hair fallen haphazardly over her face in a sheen - most likely tangled after she was in the same position Lyanna was over her own mouth. Thinking of her taste only fueled Lyanna's lust further, bucking harder on Rhaegar's face. Knowing he could take it.
They were both savage in bed and she was hopelessly lost.
Seeing Lyanna lose control made Elia growl. "Yes, husband… defile her cunt." She mewled, rising so that the dragon cock almost left her sheath... only to piston downward. Biting her lip to keep the screams down. Rhaegar was splitting her open and she adored it - just as he had split Lyanna open only half an hour before. Elia still tasted his seed from lapping it out of her she-wolf's cunt before they took this position. "Oh, I love you both," she gasped out.
Rhaegar grunted something, almost an 'I love you too,' as he speared into Lyanna's cunt. Hands reaching up to cup the heaving breasts… only to find Elia's tanned fingers there already. His wife greedily taking his other wife's luscious globes for her own. Thumbing the nipples and making Lyanna further wet his tongue. Bucking his hips harder into her, Rhaegar followed Elia's arms to grab her breasts. Making her moan. He felt like the Conqueror, inner dragon roaring.
One hand holding up her hair in tangled clumps, the other held the headboard tight so she could give Elia more access. Craving her touch… and later her tongue as the Dornishwoman leaned forward to lick her neck. "Eli...a!" she moaned until she screamed, Rhaegar swiping at her nub with his fingers while he stabbed into her clenching walls. Triggering her climax, frantically grabbing at the woman behind her for a hungry kiss. Neck straining but worth it.
Her lips were softer than Rhaegar's, but Lyanna liked that. Gods… I love it… It was so overwhelming.
Tasting everything she gave him, Rhaegar fucked up into Elia like a man possessed. Hitting her wombhead until the Dornish Princess became too much for him. He could feel her walls tightening, almost squeezing him out. The sound of their skin colliding filled their cabin, Elia abandoning all restraint, howling as she shattered. Riding him without control, triggering his sudden burst of seed.
One by one the two ladies collapsed bonelessly. Half atop their husband, sweat and saliva coated cheeks mashed against Rhaegar's chest. Quickly grasping out for whatever part of the two others they could hold. "This was worth the wait," Rhaegar ended up saying, chuckling.
Lyanna loved how his chest moved as he laughed. "It was. I… I can't get enough."
Wits starting to come back to her, Elia pulled the furs to cover their trembling bodies. "Me neither. I love you both." It wasn't long before their exhaustion took all of them.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Lyanna woke. Thankfully she had drifted to the edge of the bed - unlike most nights at sea, where her loves would envelop her in the middle with tight embraces. Yes, Elia's hand as wrapped tightly around her stomach while Rhaegar's draped over the Dornishwoman's slender form to grip her hip, but it didn't take much effort to slip out. Creep on the wooden deck till she could grab a nightshirt and cloak to quickly don.
The join between her legs ached from the constant attention of her two lovers - not that Lyanna truly minded. The northern beauty's gaze drifted back to the bed. Covers mostly kicked off in the southern heat, Elia had turned to cuddle against their husband. Bodies exposed to the moonlight. Lyanna bit back a moan at how delectable they were, Rhaegar's hard muscles and Elia's lithe curves both threatening to reignite a fire within her. Perhaps I should just crawl back and wake them…
She shook her head. Almost dashing out of the cabin and closing the door behind her. Leaning against the wall to calm the heat that was overcoming her. I need air… I need to think… And yet Lyanna had almost given into her lust for both delectable bodies. It surprised her… how little it bothered her. How little it bothered her every night since leaving Sunspear. I could make love to Elia forever…
"Focus, Lyanna Targaryen," she murmured to herself, taking in a deep breath and heading for the deck.
What few sailors were still manning the ship were clustered towards the stern, so Lyanna took a perch at the bow. Alone except for the moon and the stars, she placed her hands on the railing. Wishing that the smooth wood were of the Heart Tree at Winterfell. Connected to the old gods as she was in her childhood. To seek clarity, to seek answers on the tempest that had become her life.
"Do I love her?" she asked the emptiness… perhaps of the gods. "Does she love me?'
"She loves you not…" came a reply. One seductive… yet eerie at the same time. Like a sweet nothing whispered in her ear. "She's using you… betraying you… protecting her brood…"
A cold sweat forming on her skin, Lyanna suddenly felt a calming wave. "No," whispered another voice, innocent and firm. "She loves you… they both do. And you love them."
And as quickly as they both came, they stopped. Silence. "What?" Lyanna called out. "What are you saying?" The wind answered not, merely sending her loose chestnut hair billowing towards the front of the ship.
Hearing feet upon the deck, Lyanna knew who it was before she looked. "Following me, Ben?
Her brother and kingsguard huffed. "That cursed wolf hearing of yours."
"Don't be angry at me that Ned and I got the wolfsblood while you and Brandon didn't."
"Alright, alright. I know the two of you could sneak on a hare in a field of dry leaves while Bran and I can't go five seconds without stepping on a stick." It truly was a joy. After lives of assuming he would go to the Wall and she would marry some southern lordling, the two of them practically were fated in the same place for their lives. Two winter wolves against the whole of the Andal Court. Like one of those ballads Old Nan would always read them."But, there's something to do when you're as loud as a bear."
Her eyebrow rose a moment before Lyanna caught on. Cheeks ripening and eyes widening. "Oh gods…" She buried her head in her hands. "Fuck, you heard us?"
"Even the fishes heard you, Lya." Unlike Ned, who'd probably scorch his ears, Benjen found it hilarious. "I have to be honest, I've always wondered what two women do to… you know… find pleasure…"
"I don't want to discuss this with my little brother!"
A shrug from Benjen "I'm sure whatever you do do works, cause I sometimes hear feminine squeals without a corresponding princely grunt…"
Lyanna was totally and completely mortified - especially since she knew exactly what he was referring to. A moment the night before where Elia laid on top of her and they both pleasured each other simultaneously while Rhaegar watched… "Please stop." It was both humiliating and arousing to speak of it.
Laughing, Benjen smacked her on the back. "Forgive me, my Princess, but japing you is just impossible to resist." His chuckles died down. "But seriously. Arthur and Dacey aren't wasting time practicing for their next babe. As someone who doesn't have a beautiful maiden in his bed, why aren't you taking advantage?"
Beyond the adolescent japes, Benjen's question was actually a pertinent one. "I… I don't know." Her emotions just hadn't been able to take root anywhere. "I never felt this way about a woman… well, not even for a man before Rhaegar, but at least I expected it to happen."
Benjen took a moment to process the question. "I know less than you do, but I see it as this - you didn't lust after Robert, did you?"
"Not in the slightest." She didn't need to think about it.
"Aye, and he's supposedly irresistible to maidens or matrons." Lyanna cast him a quizzical look, but he continued. "It had to be fate that you saw Rhaegar in that clearing moons ago. I mean, gods, what a coincidence could it have been? If the gods wanted that to happen, then falling for Elia may be what they want too. Just go with it."
"You sound like Bran… but you may have a point." Staring at the half moon high in the sky, soft light glittering over the waves gently rocking the ship, Lyanna sighed. Feeling a cool breeze against her skin - eminently bearable for a northerner to handle. "Winter is non-existent here" she murmured.
"Aye," Benjen chuckled, leaning against the railing. "Fuckin' surreal 'in it? Feels more like a balmy summer to me."
"We wolves aren't meant to be here."
Head turning, the kingsguard's eyebrow rose. "I wouldn't go that far, sister. Ned probably belongs in the North. Father too, when it comes down to it." The two of them were just like the snowy landscape of their home. Ice to the core - dutiful and brooding, able to handle the unforgiving climate. "Brandon probably belongs on the seas going wherever he wishes. Me… I'm fine everywhere. But you… you're basically as much a dragon as a wolf. Flying, fierce, and free."
She shook her head. "I believed that, Ben. Gods, I believed that… only for it all to be torn away from me the moment I let my guard down."
Oh no… "I thought you were healing from that?" he asked hesitantly. Seeing her happy in the Water Gardens - or the weeks before they left - it gave the assumption that Lyanna Targaryen had recovered from her trauma. Were we all wrong?
"The wounds have healed, but there are still scars." She closed her eyes. "I fear I can't be as cunning as Elia. As strong as Rhaegar."
"You're the strongest person I know," Benjen replied firmly. He snorted. "You sound like Ned right now, brooding after a night of passion few are able to enjoy without forking out coin." She sent a tiny glare his way, but Ben shrugged it off. "What brought all of this on? Brooding doesn't suit you."
Biting her lip, Lyanna's hand drifted to her abdomen. Cupping it gingerly. Reverently touching as if the most precious of treasures nestled within.
It took a moment for Benjen to comprehend - his eyes widened. "A babe…"
She nodded. "Yes." Lyanna didn't meet his eyes. "You're the first to know, Ben." Even cocooned by the loving embraces of Rhaegar and Elia, both adoring her more than what Lyanna had once thought possible, she couldn't find the strength to tell them. Hells, she barely was able to process the fact she made love to both of them every night since leaving Sunspear.
"How do you know?" The signs of before… the fatigue and stomach malady, they weren't present.
"A mother knows," Lyanna chuckled mirthlessly. "It's a boy in there, too. A darling little Prince, every inch his father no matter whom among us he takes his coloring after." But she knew. There was no doubt the powerful young man in the dream long seared in her memory was the babe growing inside her now. Jon...
Wordlessly, Benjen drew his sister into an embrace. "I'm gonna be an uncle."
Pain seized her. "If he survives…"
"Don't say that. He will, if I have to lay down my life to do it." He watched her quirk a tiny smile. "You should tell Rhaegar and Elia. They will be thrilled."
"I hope." Now was the worst time for her to be with child… but Lyanna knew Rhaegar would be happy. Elia as well, for it was clear as day that the Dornish Princess loved her with every fiber of her being. She would love this babe too… concieved on the night Elia… So he has a little bit of all of us, I suppose. Such brought her a tender warmth, the thought of Elia being as much a mother to her son as she was. "Ben…"
His greys found hers. "Yes, Lya?"
"Tell no one about this. Not until I'm ready. Please?"
Benjen couldn't refuse her. "As you wish, your Grace." He tightened his embrace, letting his fierce older sister take a filial comfort in his arms. "My sword and shield are yours to command."
Normally irritated by the formalities, Lyanna smiled into his shoulder. She smelled the same salty pine of the North on his tunic. Without a heart tree to take solace in, the caring arms of her brother would be enough for now.
And from the stern of the ship, the Red Witch turned away from the brother and sister. Vindication written on her face as she walked away. The Promised was here, the Promised anointed. Two remained, the ones who would fly alongside, but it did not matter.
The great Rhaegar and his brides proved they were who the Lord meant for her to serve. They only must survive the trials ahead.
R'hllor… bless them...
Nimble and toned, eight and ten-year old Stannis Baratheon was quick on his feet. Forms fluid as his blade glided through the air. More than a match for whomever unlucky sod came at him in battle or on the training ground.
But even he couldn't face the raw animal fury of his older brother. Even weilding a wooden training hammer, Robert Baratheon engaged anyone that faced him like a demon charging at its prey. Powerful swings almost knocking his opponents' weapons out of their hands. Impressive bulk swung around like a battering ram - not that he didn't hold another impressive organ well-used in such a maneuver. It didn't take long for Robert to crash into Stannis, sending him sprawling with a mighty swing clattering the blade to the ground.
Stannis held up his hands. "Yield."
Tossing his training hammer to Meryn Trant, Robert bellowed out a laugh. "Fuck, brother. If I wanted to fight a pansy, I'd have invited Renly to spar with me." He gestured to the scrawny younger brother, leaning against a column with a dreamy look on his face. That had been his norm ever since returning from the crossroads inn, not that Robert gave a fuck. The Lord of Storm's End snapped over a servant. "Bring me wine, and be quick about it!"
Easing himself to his feet, Stannis struggled not to cup his bruised stomach. Not wanting to show weakness in front of his brothers. "Serves me right for challenging you to a spar after that letter from Casterly Rock."
Downing his cups, Robert tossed the goblet to the floor in anger. "Tywin fucking Lannister. He'd be lucky for me to marry his daughter, Bitch of the West." He spread his arms out. "He may shit gold, but I'm more priceless than the nugget that rips his asshole to shreds."
"Did you want to marry Cersei Lannister, brother?" Renly asked.
"That's not the fuckin' point." Luckily, another servant arrived with more wine. Not much better than a drink after a fight. The juicy deer he bagged two days ago would be, while something else he ordered procured was better than both. "She'll probably have tits that sag like a cow's udder in a few years - it's the principle involved. No one rejects Robert of House Baratheon."
"Someone did," muttered Stannis under his breath.
Retiring to his chambers, Robert immediately stripped off his sweat-stained clothes. Enjoying the cool breeze hitting his nude body. Teeth clenching from the stress of it all, he walked to the far wall across from his bed. There - mounted on several hooks in the stone and flanked by two black and yellow stag banners of House Baratheon and House Durrandon before it - was the family's ancestral warhammer. Stormbreaker, it was called, a treasured heirloom born by Durrandon conquerors as Arlan I and III who subjugated half of Westeros and Argilac the Arrogant. Taken by Orys Baratheon and wielded by Baratheon lords ever since. An august history now passed to him.
Picking it up in his burly hands, Robert drifted to the looking glass his bodyservants used to dress him for the day. Admiring his nude figure. Trim legs, v-shaped waist, bulging abs and chest that proclaimed him the finest specimen of man. Thick arms larger than some men's legs - a sturdy, handsome face sheathed by thick brown hair and close-cropped beard. And a monstrous cock, veteran of much plunder of the most beautiful women in Westeros, both high and low born.
All except one… the only one he truly desired with every part of his heart and soul.
He was the very epitome of his House, strapping and powerful. Holding the warhammer in his hands, he felt the call of his ancestors. The strength of his blood. The power of their words.
Ours is the Fury…
Robert trembled with the demands of his house's words. Desiring to claim the ultimate prize cruelly denied to him. Wanting to deliver the fury on those that wronged him. Upon the King. Upon Lord Rickard. Upon Tywin Lannister. Perhaps even upon Ned… And most of all…
"RHAEGAR!" Bellowing at the top of his lungs, his trembling hands gripped Stormbreaker in an iron hold as he brought it down upon an expensive dresser. Splitting the imported wood in two, clothes and splinters shooting everywhere. "You stole my Lyanna from me!" Another swing decapitated a long candlestick, Valyrian steel slicing through bronze as if it were butter. "Face my fury like a man, dragonspawn!" Robert swung downward with such a force that it cracked the very floor beneath him.
He dreamed it was Rhaegar's chest.
"My Lord?"
So consumed by his bitter rage, Robert hadn't noticed his door opening. Nor the attractive young women stepping in. Leaning Stormbreaker against his shoulder with a casual flair, he regarded how she didn't seem to be fazed by his nudity as most servant girls did - that told him plenty. "Did my steward pay you yet?"
"Yes," the whore told him frankly. "Two gold dragons."
"Ah, the whole night. Good."
"I'll require moon tea for this."
Damn… It was less enjoyable when the woman refused to be bred - but gazing at her long legs, buxom breasts, and dark brown hair Robert knew he could power through it. The woman resembled his long-lost love in almost every detail. "Tis fine," he murmured, moving to a flagon of wine and guzzling down the sweet liquid. "But you better not care what I call you."
She smiled at him. "Not at all, my Lord." Aside from the smell of alcohol and general attitude, Robert Baratheon was good looking and reeked of a loose spender. A better client than the fat, stag-pinching merchants and lordlings she usually served. Wordlessly, she unlaced her loose dress, revealing her naked body in all her glory.
Setting his warhammer against the wall, Robert wasted no time in grabbing the whore in his arms. Lips sloppily taking hers as they fell upon the bed. "Lyanna…" he whispered harshly, assaulting her neck and breasts with his bites. Roughly shoving two fingers in her. "My Lyanna…"
"Yes, yours, my Lord," replied the whore, thankful she had pleasured herself before coming here. Had she not been wet, this would have hurt.
Barely half a minute of foreplay enough for him, Robert angled his cock and stabbed into her cunt. Gasping at how tight it was. "Gods, Lya…" He set a brutal pace. "Beg me - beg me to fuck the Dragonspawn out of you." Mind clouded with lust, he began to believe it was truly happening.
Does he mean Princess Lyanna? The whore didn't care, though. Coin was coin, even if she rather did like Targaryen rule. "Please fuck him out of me, Lord Baratheon."
Her words didn't have Lya's northern lilt, but he could conjure it in his fantasies. "My wife. My wife… Mine!" Erupting quickly, powerfully, the image that flashed before his eyes was of the dragonspawn dead at his feet, Lyanna herself begging for his cock beneath him. A black-haired babe born not long after… a worthy heir to his greatness. "Lyanna…"
Lacing her dress in what she thought was the perfect bow, Dacey studied it in the looking glass for several seconds before cursing. Pulling it out and starting all over again. She huffed in annoyance when two arms wrapped around her swelling waist. "You're breaking my concentration, Arthur."
Arthur chuckled against her neck, enjoying how her breath hitched. "If you 'concentrate' any harder, I think your head will rupture."
"Well it's your family I'll have to meet today," she shot back, irritation hiding an immense worry for what was to transpire. For moons she had heard stories about the wise and noble Althos Dayne, the charming Alaric Dayne, and the renowned beauty Ashara Dayne. A great Dornish family against the wild northerner bearing the Sword of the Morning's babe in her belly - a babe that would never hold the Dayne name. "I have to get dressed."
"We dock in an hour. I think you should get undressed." His hands moved to undo her laces…
Only to have them slapped away. "Oh no you don't, Arthur Dayne." Dacey shook her head, but was unable to stop a grin. "Last night and right before dawn wasn't enough to sate you?"
"What can I say?" he husked in her ear, licking the shell. "You are irresistible, especially in your condition." Her irritation dropped away, replaced with a moan - heat filling the join of her legs. But just then Arthur stood. Dacey watching through the glass as he grabbed Dawn and began tying it to his belt. "But as you said, we're going to dock soon and I think their Grace's want us there."
She found his eyes, a put out expression on her face. "You just know they're entangled together right now, Arthur." Luckily, he hadn't put on his armor - opting for a more casual padded leather cuirass now that he was returning home. Dacey rose, shimmying under the same forest green dress she used to tempt him all those moons ago and dropped her smallclothes "I don't have to undress for you to satisfy me."
Always so stern and chivalrous, the lecherous glint of Arthur Dayne's violet eyes never ceased to tintalate Dacey. Thus, when he pulled her to him, she gave no resistance - merely kissing him hungrily.
Half an hour later, the daughter of Bear Island quickly smoothed out some remaining wrinkles in her dress. "Trouble?" asked Lyanna, standing in front of her and looking over her shoulder. Dacey noticed a twinkle in her eye.
"No more than you," Dacey whispered back, grinning as the Princess blushed. A sigh followed, the she-bear hoping the mid-morning sun didn't scorch her fair skin. Ellaria had loaded her chest with several creams and salves bought at Planky Town, but the only thing that truly helped was shade. Dorne doesn't like me… The thought made her bite her lip. Never was the fearless Mormont this nervous, but this was her lover's family. Her babe's family. Their opinion of her truly mattered. Likely why the Martells upset Lya so much. She hoped the Daynes would be different.
The Torrentine was a fast river. Running through valleys and canyons in a series of rapids and steep banks from the mountain springs in the Dornish Marches all the way to the ocean. But at the end it opened up into a flat valley, widening as it approached the bay. Right in the middle of this estuary was the island on which Starfall rested. Traced back to the earliest Dayne tracking a falling star, the sandstone walls jutted from the rocky crevices of the island - a natural barrier that allowed the Daynes to add to its beauty over the centuries. Inlaid against the green mountains and clear waters, Dacey marveled at it's beauty.
"Home sweet home," Arthur whispered in her ear.
For you, at least… Dacey hoped it would be for her and the babe.
Noticing how the royals in front of her were ever so tense, it helped to know that she wasn't alone in worry. Yet hers was personal, theirs was even greater. If the Daynes don't lend their support, then all of Dorne will be lost in the coming chaos. A lot rested on their shoulders.
The docks were thankfully in the shade of the keep. River gentle so their mooring quite uneventful - passing by quickly. Dacey blinked when the Prince and Princesses parted to allow her a path. "They're your family, Arthur," remarked Rhaegar. "You should greet them first."
Arthur nodded. "Thank you, your Grace." Placing an arm around the small of Dacey's back, he guided her to the gangplank and escorted her down. "I can see them already," he said, joy in his voice. "They'll love you, I promise."
Dacey didn't have time to reply when a raven-haired woman dove into her lover's arms. "Arthur!" Far from his normal standoffishness to public displays of affection, the Sword of the Morning laughed merrily and twirled the girl around. "My heart can rest easy."
Setting her down, Arthur kissed her brow. "I have longed for the day I'd see you again, Ash." Ash… Ashara Dayne… Dacey could only stare. "Brother," she heard Arthur say.
The handsome form of Alaric Dayne punched his older brother on the shoulder. "Doesn't a Kingsguard have to wear armor?"
"Not when he's meeting his idiot brother for the first time in years," Arthur retorted before the two burst out into laughter. It reminded Dacey of her and Jorah growing up, and it was heartening. "Who is this?" Attention shifted to a rather demure blonde lady, petite and quiet."
"Ah, this is Ynys, formerly of House Yronwood and my wife." Alaric threw an arm around her with a smile.
"You married? Without telling me?"
"Thought it'd be a good surprise… you certainly gave us one." Alaric gestured to Dacey. "This her?"
Before Arthur could reply, Ashara stepped between her brothers. "Not five minutes and you're already acting like fools in front of your ladies. Shame on you." Dacey grinned slightly - she liked Arthur's sister already. Reminded her of Lyanna. Ashara stepped forward, rather informal as she reached out and grabbed Dacey's shoulders. "You must be Dacey Mormont. I'm Ashara, and I've heard a lot about you."
Looking her over, Dacey studied the infamous beauty of House Dayne. The whispers didn't deceive - Ashara was striking. Raven hair tumbling over her shoulders, she was as tall as Dacey with haunting violet eyes. So violet that they rivaled even Rhaegar. Few could compare with her. "I'm glad to meet you as well… and I hope Arthur only said nice things in his letters." She cast her lover a wry glance.
"Oh, this one I like," Ashara immediately said, grinning madly. "I cannot wait to see my little nephew." Without another word, the beauty of Starfall threw her arms around Dacey, hugging her like a sister. A hug that Dacey returned.
"I thought the Kingsguards couldn't take lovers?" Alaric asked. The family had all come to terms that Arthur would be unattached and childless for the rest of his days, only for this to happen.
A sigh. "They can, only not marry or father legitimate children."
Alaric patted him on the back. "Well… good thing we're Dornish then. Father will likely dress you down, but that babe is our blood and we stick together."
Not long after, the Prince and Princesses made their way to the docks after the family reunion. Each of House Dayne knelt for Rhaegar before Ashara embraced Elia in an equally fierce hug. To be expected, for the two were like sisters growing up. "Marriage and royalty agree with you, my dear Elia… I mean, your Grace."
"As Lya would say, cut that horseshit out," Elia chuckled, drawing a smirk and a raised eyebrow from Ash.
"That sort of talk is refreshing from a highborn, though I would likely hold it against Dacey if it isn't a shared trait of the North."
Having heard nothing but wonderful things about Ashara Dayne, seeing her interact freely and happily with Dacey only reinforced what Elia spoke about her. Instinctively Lyanna knew that this was the kind of woman she would want for her brothers, a compliment that could be matched by no other. "It most certainly is a shared trait of the North."
Taking their customary positions - never trusting any household guards even though House Dayne was loyal - Ser Oswell found his newest brother utterly captivated. "Told you about Arthur's sister, didn't I?"
"No one could do her justice," Benjen murmured.
"She's your age I think, Ben," the white bull suggested. "And I think she's smiling at you."
"What…" Looking back at the Dornish beauty, sure enough those violet eyes were sparkling as they studied him. Benjen quickly looked away, trying to pass off his blush as heatstroke. "Fuck…" Both Gerold and Oswell chuckled at his expense.
Eventually, the group of theirs began its trek to the keep. "Any other Dornish houses answer the call?" Rhaegar asked Alaric, Arthur walking by his side.
Alaric shook his head, visibly deflating the Prince. "Not Dornish, but we did get someone interesting." Two sets of brows rose in question. "Titus Peake."
"Lord Titus Peake, of Starpike?" Rhaegar glanced back at Elia, finding her beaming - her plan worked.
"Didn't I say it was interesting? He learned you were coming here and rode from Starpike to seek guest right from my father. I've never seen a man so desperate to seek audience."
"I'll have to talk to Lord Althos before seeing him. Best figure out what in seven hells is going on." Rhaegar grinned softly as his brides grabbed his hands. Perhaps after Sunspear things were finally turning his way again.
Arthur looked at his brother. "Where is father anyway?"
It was Ashara who answered. "Praying in the Godswood."
Lyanna and Dacey reacted as if hit by lightning. "Godswood? Here?" Confusion tinged their expressions.
"Yes, House Dayne is like the Blackwoods. Alone among the other Dornish in keeping to the Old Gods and the Old Way." Ashara furrowed her brows. "Didn't Elia tell you?"
Glancing at her wife with a sidelong look, Lyanna was not amused. "No… Elia didn't tell me."
"Thought it would be a surprise," Elia replied, bumping Lyanna's hips with hers.
The beauty of Starfall giggled. "You're welcome to pray there if you like."
Already, Starfall held more hospitality for Lyanna Targaryen than their entire stay at Sunspear combined.
A/N: Yes, little Jon has finally come!
So now we've met the Daynes, especially Ashara.
Robert is still an a-hole.
Next time, Tyrion finds Cersei in a delicate condition :D
