A/N: So... Hurricane Laura is headed right for where I am, so I could use everyone's moral support. Luckily, I'm on high ground and away from any flood risk. Wish me luck, guys.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 45: Trial by Seven

Grimacing, Lyanna's stomach roiled once more. What meagre lunch she ate spewed out into the chamber pot, throat burning from the acidic taste. "Jon hates me…"

"He doesn't hate you, Lya," comforted Elia, holding Lyanna's hair back. "I think he's just upset cause his kepa's gone."

"Don't remind me," Lyanna groaned. It didn't help that Elia's gestures were all the little things that Rhaegar usually did. She loved Elia dearly for doing them, but it was a reminder of their husband's absence. "I think…" A soft but heavy belch left her stomach. "Fuck… I think I'm done."

Belly far larger, Dacey nevertheless took the soiled chamber pot to dump out the window. "She's right, Lyanna." Her Lady in Waiting rubbed her swelling stomach, wincing slightly as she walked on swollen feet. "The first weeks, I was shattered. Unable to keep even a slice of bread down… when Arthur and I reconciled, much better."

Lyanna rested against Elia's shoulder. "Just my luck that I won't be able to count on Rhaegar to come back, then." Wordlessly, Elia held her tighter. What would I do without her?

"He'll come back… or more accurately you'll go to him when he captures King's Landing," Ashara noted, the most confident out of all of them. Not once did her purple eyes show any doubt that Rhaegar would win the coming war. "My father wouldn't have pledged his banners with him otherwise."

"I hope so, Ash… I hope so…"

The four ladies shifted their eyes to the door when Benjen entered. His grey eyes unavoidably raking Ashara up and down - not that she discouraged him, tilting her body in just the right way. Benjen cleared his throat. "Lord Dayne requests your presence in his solar. A raven from the capitol." Eyebrows rose. "And… Winterfell."

Ten minutes later, all five had arrived in the solar. Lord Althos resting in his plush chair while Arthur stood behind the seat that he insisted Dacey sit upon. The three other women refused seats - even Lyanna. As a Queen, she would be strong. "Your Grace," Lord Althos said to Elia, handing Lord Varys' dispatch to the Dornish Queen.

Her brows knit together at the words. "Lord Adrian Celtigar's brother was burned alive," she hissed. "Treason… after Adrian declared for Rhaegar. Willam Darry's orders."

"I thought he was only appointed Master-at-Arms to irk Tywin?" Ashara asked.

"That position is one where power tempts you," Arthur said to his sister. "Quentyn Ball fell to hubris and greed… and so too does Darry it seems." There was no wonder why House Darry was one of few in the Riverlands to back Aerys openly.

"Continue, Elia," Lyanna said, voice affectionate. Making Elia smile inwardly… only to frown. "What?"

Her eyes went back to the letter. "The King is surrounding himself with new blood of knights, trying to craft a new Kingsguard or loyal sworn swords. Quality varies between Silveraxe Fell and Boros Blount, only favored because he faced Queen Lyanna in the tourney." She rolled her eyes at that. Boros the Belly. Gods save the Realm from fools like him. At the next tidbit her blood boiled. "Robert's called his banners for Aerys."

If Elia was enraged, Lyanna looked ready to murder someone. "I should have slit his throat when he advanced on me at the tourney." Lips pressing tightly, it was only when Elia squeezed her hand did she calm down. "It will take a while for the Stormlands to muster. By then Ned and Lord Elbert will fully muster." Varys' letter - instinct told both Queens not to trust him, but the information didn't seem deceptive - contained more information, but it was a bit inane. Minior gossip to be addressed later. Ned's letter arrived now. Trembling, Lyanna broke the seal and tried to open it… but she couldn't. "Ben… please…"

He gladly did the honors for Lyanna. By the end he let out a deep sigh. "Oh, brother. You poor, great bastard."

"What?" Ashara asked before either of the Queens.

"Ned's married… to Catelyn Tully."

Returned to their chambers after the quiet dinner in the main hall, the two beauties immediately embraced. Holding each other close as they let the masks and tensions of their duty release from their bodies and souls. Ladies no more, Princesses no more, Elia and Lyanna were both Queens now as Rhaegar was King-claimant. Duties different, what they did mattered far more now, and weighed on them greatly.

"Oh, Elia," murmured Lyanna, squeezing her slender waist once more before breaking the embrace. Walking to the closet and removing a dark red robe. One of Rhaegar's dressing gowns. It still smelled like him, to which Lyanna accepted with relish.

A hand fell on her shoulder. "Come here," Elia said softly, guiding her sister-wife to the commode - not after taking a whiff herself of Rhaegar's spicy scent. Bringing her closer to Lyanna as she sat in front of her. Hands moving to ease the braids out of her chestnut hair. "This alright?"

"Please do." With Ashara also having duties in the keep and Dacey assisting, being accepted into the house of her paramour, Lyanna and Elia were often forced to attend to each other. Not that it bothered them - they both loved it. "I worry for our godmother."

"Stuck in that hellscape where Boros the Belly and Rossart have actual clout with Aerys? I'd be suspicious of anyone not worried for her." She reached for a brush and comb, trying to decide where she should start. "But I can't help but feel that Varys isn't telling us the whole truth."

Lyanna looked back at her through the looking glass. "Why do you think that?"

Elia sighed. "Growing up in Sunspear, we have a special relationship with the Free Cities in a closer-shared culture than with the… North for example." She heard Lyanna chuckle at that - Elia could blend in on the streets of Volantis or Tyrosh, but she'd stand out like a sore thumb in Winterfell. "Varys was raised by Lysene mummers… and I can see little traits of his that show an insincerity where others are fooled."

Eyes cast downward, Lyanna's face fell. "Gods, I wasn't at all prepared to be Rhaegar's Princess."

A cross look came from Elia. "Please, I wasn't prepared when I arrived in King's Landing. With Rhaegar at my side, I learned quickly and you are as well."

Meeting Elia's gaze through the looking glass, Lya smiled softly. "Aye, it does feel like we can take on the whole world when we're with Rhaegar."

"You miss him."

Sighing at the feel of the Dornishwoman's hands starting to work through her locks, Lyanna nodded. "Our bed feels empty without him."

"Do I not warm our bed, my love?" Elia giggled at her cross glare through the looking glass. "I miss him too. It isn't the same without him." Lyanna's locks tumbled about Lyanna's creamy shoulders - bare in her sleeveless Dornish dress. Elia felt a fire in her loins whenever she wore them. "In the beginning I'd oft wake up homesick. Wishing to be in my bed in the Water Gardens."

Lyanna hummed as Elia began to brush her hair. Enjoying it greatly. "I felt the same… when I thought I'd be married to Robert. After… Rhaegar simply made me happy enough to forget I was away from home." Such was her love for her dragon - a mix of him and her now growing in her womb.

Smiling, Elia kept brushing. "Eventually I realized Rhaegar was my home. As long as I was with him… I would never feel alone or unloved." It is the same with you, my wolf. Looking back at her, Elia was surprised to see her beloved tearing up. "Lya… why are there tears?"

She reached up to wipe her eyes. "I'm sorry. I love Jon, but he's putting my emotions into a gale." Taking a deep breath, Lyanna met Elia's gaze. "Just look at how lucky we are, even in the midst of this shit. How we have a man that adores us." It wasn't hard to notice - how Rhaegar always kept a hand on the both of them. How his eyes would watch them with love and hunger. "My brother will never know that."

Oh… "Ned and Catelyn," Elia breathed, receiving a confirming nod from her love. "Lady Tul… I mean Lady Stark now, she loved Brandon."

"Like Florian and Jonquil, and now Ned will be forced to live with a wife that always holds a torch for a man dead." Thinking about Bran dead made it worse. "I know why he did it, but my heart breaks for him to not know what we have."

"My goodbrother is predictable. Always choosing duty over self." Her own brother was the opposite, but circumstance always lined up for Oberyn. "But what I lament for Ned… his alliance with House Tully is the proper political move in the moment, but when Rhaegar wins it becomes… useless."

Lyanna wanted to weep for her brother… for all they lost and what they would endure, but she was tired of the tears. Tired of being weak. I just want peace… With Rhaegar gone and the children asleep, there was only one she could turn to for that - someone she found herself turning to more regardless of the situation. "Elia?" she murmured.

Setting down the brush, Elia almost didn't hear her sister-wife. "Yes, Lya?"

Moons ago, she would never have thought she could feel this way, but in the face of reality Lyanna couldn't resist that the winds of fate drew her towards. "I miss him dearly, but…" She bit her lip. "You are my home too."

Eyes blinking, for a moment Elia wasn't sure she heard right. Lyanna hadn't yet come out to say such words of love openly to her… until now. "Do you mean that?"

Gulping, Lyanna nodded. Rising from her chair and wrapping her arms around the other woman's waist. "Don't ask me to explain it, Elia. But when I was grieving for Ned not having what I had… I was referring to both you and Rhaegar."

Her heart was pounding out of her chest. "So… does that mean you want Ned to have two wives?" The quip was unavoidable… perhaps her husband or Ellaria had rubbed off on her.

"If he wants," Lyanna giggled. Cupping Elia's cheek, she simply gazed in her eyes. Rhaegar was right… we truly are favorites of fate. Without another word, she crossed the distance and took the Dornishwoman's lips in a sweet kiss.

Taking her breath away, the kiss ended for but a second - her honey-brown eyes meeting Lya's greys - before Elia resumed it. Deeper, but languid. Tongues caressing slowly, pouring every bit of love and comfort into it. Rhaegar could not be here, but at least they had each other until he returned to light their lives again. We are luckier than most…

Nimble hands tugged at the ties to their dresses, Dornish gowns falling to the floor rather quickly - Lyanna marveling at the ease, knowing now why Rhaegar adored them as she ran her hands along Elia's body. Feeling a desire for the slender curves and soft flesh that seemed almost like her first time again. Their first night together, only now without Rhaegar's taut muscles to ground her. With the Dornishwoman sucking on her tongue, Lyanna's lust-filled mind didn't care. Her sopping core hot with desire.

"You are so beautiful," Elia husked, leaning down to take a nipple in her mouth. Licks turning ravenous as she devoured two things she loved very much.

"So are you," moaned the northern Queen, pushing out her chest. Grabbing her hair to keep the tingling pleasure even as they fell on the bed.

They were stretched out on the soft sheets, skin to skin. Elia hovering in between Lyanna's legs. "Lya…" Her gaze raked over her sister-wife, captivated by her beauty.

Lyanna felt herself blush under Elia's gaze. No less intense than Rhaegar's, and it lit a fire inside her. "Please… just… please…" Make me forget, Elia.

Her own legs quivered, cunt hot and begging for relief… especially after hearing the need in Lyanna's voice. "With me, Lya."

"I've never done that before," the she-wolf murmured softly, hands ghosting down the bronzed skin of her back.

"Me neither." She kissed her wolf with love. "But I'm willing to try if you are." But Lyanna surprised her, eyes darkening with lust and fingers suddenly searching. Find wet heat as two slipped easily inside. "Oh gods…"

Lyanna watched her with awe. "Good?"

Elia felt the pleasure rippling through her body. "The best…" She savagely kissed her sister-wife, quickly reciprocating the marvelous touches. Feeling Lyanna moan into her mouth as she speared through the northerner's channel.

They were inexperienced in this, but made up for it in a desperate enthusiasm. Quick to find the bounds of their desire. A wince slowed things down, but when Elia screamed into Lyanna's mouth when she added a third finger while her thumb brushed against the little nub both of them copied it. With wonderful results.

"Oh gods…" Lyanna threw her head back, immediately assaulted by Elia's lips on her neck. "Gah… don't… stop…" A slight curling movement made her see stars. "Do that again."

In her lust-addled mind, Elia almost didn't hear her. "This?" Curling her fingers again, she was rewarded with another scream, followed by her own when Lyanna did it too. Driving them to the same pleasure that Rhaegar did. Different from him but no less wonderful. "Lya… Lya… oooooh…"

Lyanna gasped as she climaxed, feeling a rush of wetness against her fingers from Elia shattering above."Yesss…" It could have been only five minutes, or three hours - their passion dazed them. Almost making them forget the pain of their reality.

Their breathing evening out, both women shimmied into a more comfortable position. Lyanna turned on her side, smiling at an arm wrapping around her waist. With a tiny grin she wriggled her ass into the Dornishwoman's front. A position that she loved doing with Rhaegar… and while different it felt no less delicious and comforting.

Peppering Lyanna's neck and shoulder with tiny kisses, Elia heard a sweet sigh when her hand settled on her sister-wife's stomach. Gingerly cupping the small swell of their child. "We'll be alright, my love," she murmured lovingly. This was something Elia wouldn't give up for the world, only wishing Rhaegar was here. Their handsome dragon, it wasn't the same without him "He will return to us," she said, firmer. Fighting for Lya to believe it… to believe it herself.

Close to the sweet shroud of slumber, Lyanna smiled at the words nonetheless. "Love you, Elia…" They barely passed her lips before she fell asleep.

Elia's eyes widened, beaming against Lya's skin. Even in these hells, joy could be found. Kissing a bare shoulder and stroking the swell "Love you too."


The halls of Highgarden echoed with the scuffing of boots on the white marble, the noble inhabitants of House Tyrell's argument plain for the ears of eavesdropping servants. "Mother, you can't let this happen…"

"Watch it, Gar, before you bruise the ego of your precious Prince Rhaegar." Janna Tyrell was never this biting, normally a sweet young woman - a late birth by Lady Olenna. Garlan figured it was a mood picked up to please her intended. "He will be judged by…"

"Shut it, Aunt Janna," he shouted back.

Already with much on her mind, Alerie Tyrell turned, glaring at her son. "You will not speak to your elders that way, young man." Her tearful embrace upon his return belied the former Hightower's normally sunny nature, but the tall, blonde Lady of Highgarden could be fierce if she wanted to be.

What tension formed was dissipated when a little bundle of brown curls ran right into Garlan. "Brother, brother," chirped the three nameday Loras. "Come see the horse granmomma gave to me. A little foal, all mine." The fair features of what promised to be a handsome knight, Loras and their youngest sibling Margaery were often thought to be the roses of House Tyrell.

Garlan kept his patience. "A little later, brother, I promise." Making sure his nursemaid collected him, Garlan ran back after his mother and aunt. "Rhaegar is the rightful King. You must let him go."

"You're lucky he's getting a trial, son," Alerie shot back, not liking it any more than he did. "Your father and brother are marching the banners to King's Landing and I pretty much should send Rhaegar to him." Ignoring Janna's scoff at even making Ser Fossoway prove his case, Alerie smiled at her middle son. "Perhaps he'll say something to sway us."

He ran a hand through his curly mop. That was the best he'd ever get. Damn father for siding with that monster.

The great hall of Highgarden, built by one of the Gardener Kings five centuries ago could hold three thousand people, but packed inside were only about two hundred. Mostly nobles or landed knights eager to catch a glimpse of the Silver Prince. Rewarded by not only him, but the famous kingsguards as well. Had they not been in chains, many a knight would have pressed forward to shake the hand of the great Barristan Selmy or Gerold Hightower.

But the frown on their Lady's lips proved this was no welcoming feast, but a somber occasion. She sat down, poised as any lady of the Reach. "Ser Jon Fossoway, you come to the court of my husband with a prisoner… seeking our right of pit and gallows."

Knowing procedure, Fossoway merely nodded. "Aye, but not so far, my Lady. This… man, is wanted in King's Landing for treason. I ask the Lady's permission to carry out the King's decree and bring him to the capitol for his true trial."

"Burn him!" yelled someone in the crowd.

"Burn the green apple," shouted another. "Long may King Rhaegar reign!"

"Quiet!" yelled Lady Alerie, several guards smacking their speartips on the floor to drown out the noise. "Prince Rhaegar, do you have anything to say?"

Eyes dark, the King-claimant slowly raised his head. "Truly? All I'm guilty of trying to save the Realm from my mad father." There were gasps of shock. No one talked of King Aerys in that manner… at least in public.

Alerie agreed with Rhaegar, but merely watched him. "You speak bluntly, my Prince."

Rhaegar shrugged. "At this point, I don't give a fuck." He wasn't going to lie to himself anymore, not concerning his father. "Release me at once and I won't remember this slight against the rightful King."

"You make no demands against the Lady of Highgarden, traitor," Fossoway snarled back.

"Or what?" Rhaegar regarded him as the insect as he was. "Are you going to mount your tourney horses to enforce this against actual warriors, Ser?" There were chuckles as Fossoway reddened. "Don't bother. My ancestors were dragonlords of Valyria while yours were scooping up shit in your broken down keep." By now most of the Reach highborns were snickering at Fossoway being the butt of the joke.

"Do not speak of my intended that way!" yelled Janna Tyrell.

"I'm sorry, but you're intended is a dolt. You have that in common with your goodsister… oh, forgive me, my Lady." He bowed. "I did not mean to insult the Lord of Highgarden."

He was obviously not sorry, but Alerie almost wanted to giggle herself. "No, tell me what you were saying about my husband."

Before Rhaegar could respond, Ser Gerold stepped forward. "I am a son of the Reach and uncle to Lady Tyrell, so I have every right to say that her husband is a walking humiliation and dolt that is lucky being the Lord of Highgarden consists of only holding tourneys and sending wheat to Oldtown for maritime trade - and that if he had to manage any of those himself then the Reach would fall into chaos within a moon." He smirked. "Been waiting a long time to say that."

"My Lady," advised the septon of Highgarden. "This is most unusual. The Prince should be sent to your home to stand trial in the Starry Sept for polygamy…"

"That's against the laws of Jaehaerys I and you know it," replied Lomys, the maester of the keep. "He must stand trial here."

"He's not standing trial here," growled Fossoway. "He deserves the King's justice!" And me the King's reward.

Eyes narrowing, Rhaegar wasn't about to let some landed knight with delusions of grandeur destroy him. Leave his beloved Elia and Lyanna alone without protection for themselves or the children. Fight for them, Rhaegar. Fight… "Enough!"

The entire room quieted down as he bellowed like a dragon. "How dare you speak that way to the Lady Tyrell!" shouted Maester Lomys, others of the household equally incredulous.

"I am a Targaryen King, the blood of the mighty dragonlords in my veins. I will not allow you to destroy me and the ones I love. Therefore, I demand a trial by combat."

Fossoway rolled his eyes while some of the more devout knights laughed. "Prince Rhaegar," bumbled the septon, "You are not allowed such a trial except in the jurisdiction with right of pit and gallows on you…"

"You misunderstand me Septon," Rhaegar replied, smirking darkly. The smarter ones managed to realize it, while Lady Tyrell and Lord Fossoway didn't. "I demand a Trial by Seven." Gasps came from the hall… a Trial by Seven could be ordered even if there were no charges, one of the oldest traditions of the Andals. "And I will do it without spilling a drop of Tyrell blood."

A scoff. "You can't honestly think…" Fossoway was cut off by clapping hands.

Alerie Tyrell had found her way out. "You have your trial, Prince Rhaegar."


Having served in such a capacity for years, Ellaria Sand didn't wish to be pampered by a lady in waiting. Truth be told, her status as the bastard daughter of Harmen Uller and the lack of a marriage with her new man made any request for one seem presumptuous… not that she minded. Lightly primping her dark brown curls in a controlled wildness that emphasized her smoky eyes, Ellaria smacked her lips. Checking the evenness of the cherry red lip paint in the looking glass.

Seven bloody hells, you look ravishing. As a connoisseur of both sexes, had Ellaria seen herself walking along the halls of the Water Gardens she'd have jumped her right there. Dressed in a sheer robe that hid her naughty bits but left nothing else to the imagination, Oberyn wouldn't be able to resist absolutely defiling her with his magic cock.

Her elation at his return disappeared as she turned to the opened door. Finding the Prince with a dark glower on his face. Slamming the door with a snarl as he kicked off his boots. Ellaria immediately grew concerned. "What is wrong, My Prince?" Ellaria went to him and embraced Oberyn lightly. Sighing in relief when he relaxed slightly. Leaning into her embrace. Gods, the feelings the once lecherous, free-wheeling Ellaria Sand had for Prince Oberyn were astonishing - not that the lecherous feelings ever went away, Oberyn's toleration and reciprocation of that being one reason she loved him so.

It was quickly clear she wasn't the target of his ire. "Apparently the reptile on the Iron Throne has seen fit to order the annulment of Elia's marriage."

She pulled back, eyes wide. "On what grounds?!" Now her ire was rising.

He chuckled darkly. "Apparently a septon in King's Landing said that the omens from the day of her wedding were… 'inauspicious upon further review,'" Oberyn hissed. "As if he could remember wiping his ass the day before."

Omens and the divine were usually elements of last resort. "Aerys must be scraping the bottom of the barrel, then." It was no secret that both of them recognized Rhaegar as the rightful King. "Can I suppose that your nephew and niece have…"

"Yes, both booted from the succession… I doubt Aerys recognizes them as legitimate anymore." He pulled out of the embrace and kicked at the large dresser. "And my illustrious, scheming brother asked me just an hour ago if we should offer a betrothal of my niece Arianne to the new 'Crown Prince' Viserys through back channels."

That truly shocked her. "He didn't." Ellaria fumed. "Elia would never forgive him for this."

"'Hedging our position,' he told me it was," Oberyn hissed. "And that was after he authorized this to be sent to every lordship in the Seven Kingdoms." Without delay he fished out a leaf of paper from his jacket and handed it to her.

By my authority as Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne, all bannermen and sworn house of House Martell shall remain neutral in the Targaryen succession dispute. We have no interest in such petty matters.

Whomever triumphs in this clash will receive our loyalty and allegiance in the coming peace.

Prince Doran Martell

Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken.

Ellaria wished she could have said she was surprised by this… she wasn't. Doran… much as the Dornish liked to separate themselves from the Andals of Westeros, Doran was exactly as many said Tywin Lannister was. Ambitious, ruthless, dispassionate. She remembered Tywin from the early years of Elia's marriage - always blunt and hard-charging even in his diplomacy. Doran wasn't like that, far more subtle but in that sense even more dangerous.

It could be said her treatment at his hands - and the hands of his household staff, apart from those either she or Oberyn had slept with amiably - clouded her judgement, but Ellaria knew that not to be the case. Elia confirmed it.

"He's planning for every contingency, and putting it on you to choose between your sister and Dorne."

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She guided him to the bed, sitting him down upon it. Taking his hands in hers as she stroked the palms. "Unless you want Dorne to fracture against its ruler, you can't tell Elia… or she'll tell Rhaegar and the secret is out. Even if you decline to go to negotiate a betrothal, you're bound to keep the secret." Such was the truly unforgivable part. Using love of realm to sunder the familial bond.

Sighing deeply, Oberyn fell into her arms. Holding her tight and pressing his head into the crook of her neck. "Gods, Ellaria. My family… it's tearing itself apart and I can't do anything to stop it."

"You'll find a way, my Prince. You'll find a way." Kissing his neck, Ellaria managed to pull back and smile softly. "I do have some information that could improve your demeanor."

He raised an eyebrow? "Did you find a Lysene whore to join our bed? While I'd love that… tonight I simply want you…"

She shushed him with a finger to his lips, beaming at how sweet the Red Viper really was "Perhaps later we can indulge your fantasy there." Ellaria took his hands and pressed them to her stomach. "Obara and Nymeria will have a sibling in several moons."

Watching his eyes widen, suddenly Ellaria was pressed flat on the bed. Her lover's lips upon hers as Oberyn roughly forced her robe up. Fingers brushing against her bare mound. Desperate, hungry, possessive. Copied by her frantic gestures to rid him of his trousers.

As she felt him thrust past her wet lips, Ellaria moaned. Biting his shoulder, urging him to rut inside her. Both of them eager to celebrate the small bit of joy in this time of troubles.


"Ominous day, Barristan."

It was a beautiful, sunny morning, but Barristan understood. "Aye. Looks like the entire Reach is here."

Rhaegar's gaze panned out at the crowd. "To watch me lose."

Barristan grinned. "To watch you win."

Gentle steps heard behind him, Rhaegar turned to see both Garlan and his mother. "Your Grace," Lady Alerie offered, smiling softly. "Thank you for acceding to a bloodless affair."

"I seek not blood, only the opportunity to protect my family and free the realm of my father's tyranny." While Alerie refused to answer that - understandable given her husband's position - she didn't seem to disagree. Rhaegar let up on her by approaching Garlan. "Be ready to clean my sword when this is done."

"You shall win, my King," Garlan proclaimed. "The gods will shine their light on the innocent."

Rhaegar nodded, not wishing to insult his squire by expressing his growing skepticism in the Faith - merely clasping his arm in respect. Making the young lad beam. Blackfyre tied to his waist, the King-claimant descended the stairs. Watching the beautiful Janna Tyrell locking lips with the man accusing him, Jon Fossoway. While she had the propriety to avert her gaze as they passed on the stairs, Fossoway grinned, twirling his sword in his hands.

"He has no honor," Barristan murmured. "You'll see him do something."

"Those with no honor are predictable. They'll always try to go for the kill," Rhaegar replied.

Soon, Rhaegar and Fossoway were assembled in the middle of the courtyard, people watching the entire thing from the massive crowds. The septon walked between the accuser and the accused, clearing his throat. "We are gathered in the sight of the gods to determine the existence of cause to send Rhaegar Targaryen to the King in chains. Having chosen a Trial by the Seven, his Grace must allow his accuser to select his champions."

Fossoway was quite predictable, choosing some of the toughest and most intimidating knights and men-at-arms he could find. Humfrey Hightower and Aerys Oakheart, eager young knights. Ser Vortimer Crane and Ser Mark Mullendore, sworn swords to House Tyrell. Igon Vyrwel, not a knight but wiry and keen. And a massive red-haired, bull of a man named Arryk, one of the Tyrell personal guards that probably could split logs open with his bare hands.

But had any fought in anything but tourneys?

"Choose your champions, Rhaegar of House Targaryen," the septon announced, all seven of the Tyrell champions watching with curiosity and intrigue.

Unlike Maegor, Rhaegar needed no urging to find champions. "I shall fight for his Grace," announced Ser Barristan Selmy, taking the position of honor to Rhaegar's right.

"So shall I," came Gerold Hightower only moments later, eyes trained on his niece on the balcony.

Oswell soon joined. "My sword serves the true King." Three great knights facing them, some of the Tyrell champions looked nervous.

The next two slots were taken by Myles Mooton and Richard Lonmouth, but alas… "That's only six, dragonspawn," Fossoway sneered.

Rhaegar remained silent, but Gerold turned to the watching crowd. "Is anyone here willing to fight for their King?!" No response.

"See, no one will risk their honor for a traitor…"

"I'll give it a go." Interrupting Fossoway mid-sentence, a young, rough-looking man stepped forward. He had the look not of even a hedge knight, but a common man-at-arms in cheap armor. Even Rhaegar's men gazed at him suspiciously as he took a place among them. "Well what are you cunts starin' at? I'm standin' with the King. I pledge my sword to him, so that's seven."

The septon composed himself. "And who are you, Ser…?"

Snorting, the man spat on the ground. "Name's Bronn. Not Ser… just Bronn."

"Gonna trust a lowly sellsword to fight for you?" taunted Humfrey Hightower, jeering at the King and his seventh 'champion.'

Ignoring the jeers, Rhaegar made his way to where Bronn stood. "Are you a sellsword?"

Eying Rhaegar, Bronn shrugged. "Honestly… just startin' out and looking for somethin' worth doin'."

"He'll be killed within the first minute, your Grace," warned Ser Richard. Chuckling for a moment before gulping. A throwing dagger suddenly pressed to his throat.

"You were saying?" Bronn asked, smirking as he quickly put the dagger away before the Kingsguards or Ser Myles could react. "Satisfied?" he asked the King-claimant.

Motioning for Richard to leave it alone, Rhaegar didn't break eye contact with Bronn. "You realize I have no reason to trust you… Bronn."

Bronn's dark brown - almost black - eyes regarded him with something akin to… respect. "I'd think less of you if you did trust me… but seems to me like you have no choice in the matter now does it?"

He had a point. "I still don't trust you."

"If I were to kill ya', I'd have pulled the knife on you instead of Loudmouth here."

Such was another good point.

Horns blaring along with the ominous stucco of drums, each line of champions formed opposite each other. Ten yards separating them. "Remember men, no blood."

"Where's the fun in that?" Bronn shouted, but a glare from Ser Gerold Hightower shut him up. The Old Bull was intimidating even to him.

The wait was interminable. Seconds seemed to tick by, warriors studying each other with baited breaths. Some praying, some plotting their moves, others still simply allowing their minds to drain of all but the coming fight - all having their hands on their weapons, ready to draw them.

At the blow of the horn fourteen blades emerged from their scabbards. Fourteen men charging at each other. Onlookers involuntarily flinching as steel clashed against steel as the lines crashed together.

Much as he was maligned, Bronn made the first 'kill' of the day when Ser Humfrey lunged at him. Shield emblazoned with the Hightower of his house making him formidable but slow, Bronn easily leaping out of the way of the knight's strong slashes. Dance suddenly becoming a sprint as he rounded his opponent in a mad dash - flat of his sword crashing into Ser Humfrey's back. The knight fell to the ground, a kick to the head sending him limp.

"How's that for a fucking sellsword!" he bellowed with a laugh before having to jump out of the way of a scrambling Ser Oswell, the massive Arryk bearing upon them with a greatsword bigger than Bronn was. "Always a bigger cunt."

It didn't take long for whatever formation there was to fracture. Every knight descended into one-on-one or two-on-one combat, the Tyrell champions seeking glory while those of the King-Claimant were battling for survival. The former bold and frenzied while the latter defensive and ruthless. After Ser Humfrey, three others 'fell' in quick succession. A sword swipe knocked the helm off Ser Myles Mooton, opening him up to the hilt of Ser Mark Mullendore to crash into his face. "Stay down," he growled, not about to take the life of someone who was not out to take his. The King's side gained a victory when Ser Vortimer Crane was tripped up by a kick from Ser Barristan, sword tip to the chest sending him to the sides. But a wide punch from Arryk felled Oswell, leaving Bronn to fight the massive beast of a man by himself.

Fossoway grinned under his visor, shield blocking a strike from the mighty Blackfyre. Sallying forth and nearly running Rhaegar over had the King-claimant not sprung back. "Give up, dragonspawn. You will lose."

"I don't plan to." Again, Rhaegar gave ground, wanting his much more heavily armored opponent to tire. Around him, Ser Richard was being outmaneuvered while Gerold and Barristan were backed up into each other, each swinging and parrying flurries of attacks headed their way. Bronn had the worst of it - somehow getting Arryk to drop his blade, the giant merely picked up a wooden bench and used that as an impromptu club. The sellsword only just managed to leap out of the way.

Emboldened, Fossoway hacked in a frenzy, eyes turning red with bloodlust. Just tasting the victory, the triumph as he rode into King's Landing with Rhaegar's head… how the King would reward him… The flat of Blackfyre smashed into his helmet, denting it before redoubling and chopping his shield in half. Forcing Fossoway back.

Little Loras, peeking above the stone railing, was enthralled by it all. The brave Kingsguards fighting together as one - and his great-uncle was one of them! "Mama… I wanna be a kingsguard," he begged with wide brown eyes.

Alerie ruffled his hair. "I know you do, my son." He'd have to hope for Rhaegar to win. My son wouldn't survive a year in Aerys' court...

"When King Rhaegar wins, I'll make sure you get on, little brother," Garlan promised.

Their aunt scoffed. "Come on, Ser Jon!" screamed Janna, supporting her dashing intended. "Finish him!" More pious members of the crowd hollered in favor, while most others secretly rooted for the handsome Prince. Rhaegar winning them over with both his fury and his honor.

He had been right. The blades of his men hadn't spilled a drop of blood.

Dropping his visor back down, Fossoway snarled and charged - shield abandoned on the ground. But the disadvantage remained. The thick plate still slowed him down, took the speed and power out of his strikes. Rhaegar nimbly fell back. Giving ground in a wide arc - his silver hair flying free from the bun that made many maidens swoon. Wishing they were in Queen Elia and Lyanna's place. Fearing for him when Blackfyre only just blocked a furious hack from Fossoway's greatsword.

"Go Rhaegar!" Eyes were drawn to Loras, now held in his elder brother's arms. Both of them cheering for the Dragon Prince. With their little lords on their side, the new majority behind Rhaegar joined in. Openly cheering as he pushed Fossoway back.

It seemed as things shifted quickly. Gerold and Barristan broke out of their defensive stance and charged their exhausted enemy. Twirling his blade, the Bold smashed the hilt into Ser Arys' face and sent him reeling with the flat smacking into his shoulder. The White Bull was less fancy, merely running headlong into the tired Ser Mark. Two powerful left hooks felling him. Ser Richard fell on his back, almost out of the fight before he leapt to his feet with the agility of a much smaller man. It caused Vrywel to trip up, himself collapsing and finding a sword at the back of his head.

Alone in facing the redheaded giant, Bronn dodged the swing of the bench. He dodged it again, then leapt just out of range, agility keeping him one step from his brains splattering on the grass. Anticipating this, the brute charged… only for Bronn to unexpectedly charge back, getting within Arryk's swing and kneeing him with full force in the groin. Crying out in agony, the giant collapsed, clutching his stones gingerly. Theatrical as always, Bronn laughed. "Bigger they are, the harder they fall." For a sellsword, from the cheers he seemed to become a favorite of the crowd.

All that was left were the King-claimant and the accuser, battling it out. Rhaegar watched as his opponent grew tired and stood his ground. Engaging finally, Blackfyre slicing through the air in furious strikes. Each blow swung across, redoubling in a twirl to attack again. Oftentimes smacking against plate rather than Fossoway's own blade. Even snarling and charging again, the desperate counterattack was beaten back… Rhaegar roaring, knocking the sword out of Fossoway's hand with a left swing, uppercutting him to the jaw, and one last thrust...

The onlookers and fellow combatants watched as the tip of Blackfyre rested just an inch away from Jon Fossoway's throat. His own sword was raised, but nowhere near being able to hack down before Rhaegar ran the Valyrian steel through his neck. A clean kill by the rule of the trial - if done without blood, it was an automatic disqualification.

Rhaegar looked upon the surprised knight with a fiery gaze in his violet eyes. The man was actually arrogant enough to think he could defeat him. For the smallest moment, Rhaegar desires to push ahead and end this useless excuse for a knight. It only lasted a moment. "Yield," he commanded brusquely.

Watching Rhaegar with thinly veiled hate - and not a little humiliation at being outfoxed - it morphed into a crestfallen fatigue. Fossoway's arms fell to their sides, as obvious a yield as if he said the words.

"The gods have declared Rhaegar Targaryen innocent of all accusations against him," breathed the septon, shocked himself. In an instant, the Trial of Seven was over.

It wasn't a split second before Bronn whistled. Barristan laughed, while Myles Morion clasped Aerys Oakheart on the back across from Gerold hugging his nephew. Arryk offered a flagon of wine at Oswell, who grinned and chugged it down greedily. "Well done, my Prince," stated Vyrwel, who approached Rhaegar with an outstretched hand. "It was an honor to last more than five minutes against Rhaegar Targaryen wielding fuckin' Blackfyre."

Taking the proffered hand, Rhaegar offered a small smile. "Gonna tell your grandkids all about it?"

"Fuck that, gonna go to the tavern and get every maiden to eat out of the palm of me hand… and then swallow something else." Vyrwel winked.

Rhaegar chuckled. "Priorities, priorities."

As the tension in Highgarden slowly began to dissipate after having shrouded the ancient keep for so long, one didn't find himself swept up in relief. Looking at his intended, chatting amiably with Lady Alerie about whatever gibberish women liked to blather about, Jon Fossoway wrenched his gaze away. He thought that his fortunes would finally improve after marrying into House Tyrell, only for his dolt of a Liege Lord to neglect his home in favor of higher ambitions. Ignoring him to cozy up to the dragons… And now, my moment of triumph…. vaporized.

No! He hadn't brownnosed himself for half a decade to back down now. The Starry Sept may now not reward a kill, but Arys would - if the wrath of the gods came upon him, so be it.

Ser Barristan approached his King. "Well, your Grace. I would say nothing good ever happens in Highgarden… but at least nothing tragic happened today."

"Well said, my friend…"

At a scream from one of the servants, everything after seemed to happen in slow motion:

Rhaegar turning…

Janna and Alerie's conversation ceasing…

Fossoway raising his sword to lop off Rhaegar's head…

Ser Barristan going for his sword… far too late…

Rhaegar's eyes widening as his brain processed the sudden attack…

The simple combat dagger smacking into Fossoway's chest just as he moved to strike. Staggering the knight, sword falling out of his hands as he felt the blade embedded into his heart… and then he fell. Blackness overcoming him.

"Nooo!" screamed Janna Tyrell, almost leaping off the balcony in a frantic attempt to get to him if not for her goodsister holding her back.

Standing there, uncaring of the stares directed his way or the cries of the never-to-be Lady Janna Fossoway, Bronn glanced down at the corpse of the once proud knight. Without fuss, he turned to look at Rhaegar. "Well that's got it done." Bronn snorted, finally eyeing the rest of his audience. "Come on, 'ave a look!"

"You have no honor, lowborn!" raged Janna between her sobs, holding her goodsister tightly.

"And this fucker was a knight." He lightly kicked Fossoway's corpse again, making emphasis on the chivalrous highborn that committed the most egregious sin to the Faith. "And apparently I'm the dishonorable one."

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar opened them and met Bronn's gaze. "Thank you."

The sellsword shrugged. "Just when this is all over, remember the sour cunt that saved your ass, my King." He said the last sarcastically.

"No need, you can remind me yourself." He smirked as Bronn looked confused. "By accepting my call for seven, you swore your sword to me. Seems you'll be accompanying your King in the wars to come."

Bronn groaned. "Ah fuck."

Frowning, Gerold rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and walked to where Alerie could see him. "Niece, the intended for your goodsister nearly committed the blackest of sins. I'd advise you to make sure your husband has better tact in choosing whom next is intended for her." Alerie could only watch him with guilt and grief, still comforting the sobbing Janna.

"Open the gates!" attention for those that hadn't filtered out of the courtyard once the fighting was done turned to see an ornate wheelhouse roll through the gatehouse. A footman quickly opened the door… revealing a cane that gingerly assisted its wielder as she exited the wheelhouse.

Sensing that he was the last person Olenna Tyrell expected here, Rhaegar bowed respectfully. "My Lady."

For once genuinely shocked, her aged yet still sharp eyes flickered about the courtyard. Finding the milling knights, her crying daughter, and the body of Ser Jon Fossoway in a puddle of his own blood still left upon the ground. The Queen of Thorns gathered her wits quickly. "Seven bloody Hells! What happened here?!"

A/N: Hell yes! Bronn is now on Team Rhaegar!

Right here, Rhaegar denied the Faith any chance to side with Aerys as the gods showed him favor in their eyes. Who knows what Olenna will do.

Elia and Lya are in love and isn't it wonderful? :D

What is Doran's angle here?

Next time, Olenna has a gift for Rhaegar.

If I get 40 comments, I'll review on Saturday.