A/N: Sorry guys. Technical difficulties yesterday, so the update is out today. Enjoy :)

In good news, I just asked my girlfriend to marry me and she said yes :D

Awesome stuff: I have just started a collaborative project called The Targaryen Dynasty with BlackRose999. It is an interesting take on post-The Bells Targ restoration.

Ran into some awesome stories recently: A Jade Dragon by bykim0120 is awesome, while the new story The Reign of the Wolves and the Regency of the Dragons by KingOfIreland777 is a unique take on the post-Robert's Rebellion if Ned was bold. Both have my recommendation.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 46: Let it be Done Quickly

"Would you like some wine, your Grace," Lady Olenna Tyrell offered.

Nursing a sprained wrist, Rhaegar politely declined. "That sounds lovely, Lady Tyrell, but I have a feeling that I will need all of my wits about me."

Hobbling towards her seat, Olenna laughed. "I can see why most like you, Prince Rhaegar… or is it King Rhaegar?" She didn't wait for his answer. "Most men would guzzle down my family's stores until ready to void their stomachs, all primed to underestimate a woman."

"Considering the origins of my House, it would be unwise to underestimate women," Rhaegar replied. "Now, the biggest problem I face is that most underestimate me."

"Ah yes." Olenna sat, frowning darkly… though not at him. "Please know that whatever happened down there was done without my knowledge. My gooddaughter will be disciplined."

"I don't think it was her fault, Lady Olenna. She seemed to want me to triumph. Your daughter's intended on the other hand…"

Olenna waved him off. "Fossoway? I've been looking for a means to break that betrothal for years. You did me a damn favor." Folding her hands together, Olenna leaned forward. "I'll be blunt, your Grace, I think you're going to win."

He raised an eyebrow. "Quite a statement for a Tyrell."

"Well, my son and I don't often see eye to eye." That dolt would sell the Reach for a gold doublet if I wasn't here. "I've come to different conclusions than he."

"So let me guess, my Lady. In exchange for letting me go, keeping Garlan as my squire, and allowing the forces from Starfall transit through the Reach, you wish me to guarantee House Tyrell's position?"

She laughed. "Am I that transparent, your Grace?"

Rhaegar laughed too. "No, you have many decades of sharpness left - I just know how bent over a barrel your family is."

"Quite… unfortunate, isn't it?" Without delay, Olenna pulled out a document. "Here, with my signature and seal."

Looking over the signed and sealed sheet of parchment, Rhaegar folded it and placed it in his breast pocket. "You know, Lady Olenna, I won't think that this piece of paper grants me an alliance with you. Paper… it can be so easily…"

"Forged?" Olenna finished for him. The Queen of Thorns smiled, skin crinkling into deeper wrinkles. "You are smarter than I give Targaryens credit for. I wouldn't begrudge you if you did want further assurance." She frowned. "My grandson as your hostage?"

"Garlan is my squire. Hostages are different."

Her brows rose. "Loras? He's but a child" Olenna sighed though. "Gods know that my son and elder grandson are hostages of the Mad King. Loras is safer with you."

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Do you take me for a brute that threatens children? No, I was thinking more like a betrothal."

This attracted Olenna's interest. "If you agreed to betroth Aegon and Margaery, then I believe even my idiot son would declare for you."

"I need assurance, not brownnosing." Seeing that she was receptive though, Rhaegar continued. "Lord Titus Peake declared for me at Starfall, the only Lord of the Reach to do so."

"Hmmmm… didn't think any of that family had what it took."

"He does. An honorable man, but with the spirit of the Marcher Lords." He smiled softly. "Your daughter is currently without an intended, and I may not swing that way but Lord Titus is far comlier than Ser Jon."

Olenna slapped her knee, letting out a rare laugh. "You have the boldness of your ancestors, Rhaegar Targaryen. When would…"

"Immediately when the column arrives at Highgarden. They are to marry and Janna moves north with the baggage claim. I suppose you could say she is my hostage, for her conduct towards me didn't endear her any favors."

A sigh. "Yes, she was always a besotted idiot to that twat." Mace made the betrothal while she was away, so she was stuck with it. "Now, one last matter…"

"Your son won't be spared, Lady Olenna." Rhaegar was adamant about this. "I may be inclined to offer him exile if he doesn't engage in any atrocities, but his flagrant courting of my father's madness for a royal betrothal is unacceptable." This had been a long conversation with his brides. He would have to be merciful, but not naive.

"My son is not a traitor, just a dolt." Olenna seemed to have no trouble echoing Ser Gerold's characterizations - she'd probably chuckle at them. "He's been that way since he was a boy, obsessed with pomp and title but too lazy and stupid to go about it right." She sighed. "But he's my son and doesn't know any better. Please spare him."

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "I am a parent too, so I understand, but I can't. None of my father's inner circle can continue with title after I take the Iron Throne."

Olenna sighed again. "What if I sweeten the pot?" Rhaegar said nothing, simply listening. Wordlessly she reached under her desk. Revealing a secret compartment, out of which she drew something round and heavy. "Here."

The King-claimant gaped incredulously - completely shocked. "That… that's a dragon egg…" It was ossified just like the ones his father had acquired, the color an almost emerald green with little swirls of gold upon the scales. It captivated him. "Where did you find a dragon egg?"

"Your uncle," she said simply. "Prince Duncan was supposed to marry me, and was actually fond of me rather than that ditzy tart Tessa Baratheon." Olenna snorted, as if reflecting on an old rivalry. "I wasn't as fond of him in that way, but that's not the point. Anyways… your grandfather wished to pick Tessa, but Duncan wanted Jenny the Woods Witch - he felt guilty about spurning me, so he gave me this as a gift."

Based on what he knew of his uncle, Rhaegar wasn't surprised - it seemed something like the gentle Prince Duncan would do, even with something this valuable. "And you kept it?"

"Who gives away a dragon egg? Knew it would come in handy some day." She waited, letting it hang. "I think your uncle knew that as well, at least that's what he told me."

Struggling to listen, Rhaegar had to wrench his gaze from the egg. Its scales almost pulsing with heat that he could feel even feet away. "What… what did he tell you?"

A low giggle came from the Queen of Thorns - an actual giggle. "Oh, I didn't want him as I wanted my late husband, but Dunk… he was a good man. Cared for him, and he me oddly enough. First person to truly respect me for my brain instead of my beauty." Olenna had been a famous beauty in her day, as everyone told Rhaegar over the years. "We'd talk, and right during the Tourney to celebrate his betrothal to Tessa, he came in my room with this in a sack." She tapped the dragon egg. "Jenny, she apparently told him that I needed this as a particular gift. That only I could protect house Targaryen when the time came… whatever balderdash that was, but Dunk believed it."

"...you shall find your destiny here." Feeling the call of the egg, Rhaegar's recollection of Melisandre's words seemed to ring tru.

"So, the egg is yours if you spare my son and his title as Lord Paramount of the Reach."

Rhaegar barely heard what the Queen of Thorns said. Honestly, the burning of Harrenhal could be commenced not ten feet from him and he wouldn't notice - too entranced was he by the emerald egg before him. Violet eyes glassy, yet also bright. As if glowing in the low light of the winter's afternoon.

Slowly, hesitantly, the King-claimant reached out to the precious sphere. Placing his palm on it, hand caressing the smooth scales. They were soothingly warm to the touch.

"Your Grace?" he heard Olenna ask.

He gently took it in his arms. Clutching it as one would a baby, skin tingling from the warmth. "Did you place this in the fire, recently?"

Olenna blinked. "Why would I bloody do that?"

"It's warm…"

"No it isn't. Do my hands look burned?" Rhaegar only furrowed his brows in confusion.

Rhaegar…

Rhaegar...

Blinking, Rhaegar glanced down at the egg. Hearing voices, but finding the only other person in the room with closed lips, eying him warily. What… what are you…?

There was a change in the sphere, almost activated as soon as he took it in his hold. Rhaegar… Rhaegar… Within the egg, he could swear that something moved inside. Electrified by his very touch…

"Do we have an agreement?"

Meeting Olenna's gaze, Rhaegar nodded.


"Please don't jape me, Dacey," Ashara said incredulously, gaping at the taller northerner - purple eyes glistening with mirth. "And you confess that all it took to gain Arthur's prurient attention was an emerald dress and a ponytail?"

Dacey giggled, running both hands down her belly as she gazed up at the sky. Enjoying the seas breeze wafting into the Starfall gardens. "Oh yes. His mouth dropped like a trout and he could barely speak."

Laughing hard - almost bawling over at the thought - Ashara wiped a tear from her eye. "It's shocking, given that over the years Arthur has been exposed to utterly gorgeous maidens either practically nude or literally nude, and yet he seemed as chaste as a Silent Sister. One would think that repeated exposure to the affections of those that make our mutual friend Ellaria look a…"

"Silent Sister?" Dacey finished.

"I wouldn't go that far," Ash smirked. "Perhaps a cloistered maiden. I would say Elia, but given what you tell me of the boat ride from Sunspear, I can't consider her inexperienced in the arts of romantic pleasure." The two of them blushed - their monarchs hadn't been… discreet about their carnal pleasures. "Nor can I say the same of you, mother of my nephew."

Grinning, Dacey thought of how amazing a lover her paramour was. "Was he really a… I suppose I could use the term maid?"

Ashara shrugged. "I wouldn't refer to him as that in public - male ego and all that - but yes. Never broke his vow of chastity once, until you."

She looked guilty. "It still weighs on him sometimes, I see him tense… but if anything, Arthur is more devoted a knight than before."

"There's a reason he… if not by the canons, broke the spirit of the Kingsguard oath with you, Dacey. All those other maidens, he was used to their schemings and seductions. A man like him, earnest and dour, yet also fierce - he met his match in a northerner." Ash reached around Dacey's waist and pulled her in for a light hug. "Besides, you are equally devoted to their Graces. I am certain that his mind knew deep down that you were the one to both provide love and enhance his canonical duties."

Looking at Ashara, Dacey beamed. "My children will have the best aunt."

Ash raised an eyebrow. "Children?"

"Aye, children. When all of this is over and Rhaegar rules, I would seek a daughter from Arthur… hopefully her aunt would help her look glamorous. I'm afraid I don't know much, and Ellaria's taste is more suited to…"

"Selecting a brothel's wares?" Ash finished. The two women shared a smile. "Seems I'm the only maiden left in this keep…"

"I'm sure there is a young knight that catches your fancy?"

Biting her lip, Ashara angled her head downward. "There is one… but in that I encounter a quandry."

Dacey furrowed her brows. "What kind of quandary." Arriving at the edge of the gardens, battlements ahead, Ashara stopped. Eyes trained on a particular figure alone against the parapet. Following the gaze, Dacey's eyes widened. Understanding… "Ah, same quandary as me." What is it about that white cloak?

Ser Benjen Stark leaned against the stone parapet, idly watching the lazy course of the Torrentine into the Summer Sea. Such a beautiful land, of which Benjen had seen more of in the last two moons than his entire life aside for one journey to White Harbor and Last Hearth respectively with his father.

My father…

So proud he was of his white cloak, he hadn't truly enjoyed the last days with his father… or Bran for that matter. Some son or knight I turned out to be. Neglecting his father and brother while allowing Lyanna to be attacked and brutalized by the King.

Your loyalty is to the King and no other. The oath was ironclad.

Rhaegar is my King. His resolve was also ironclad.

"If I didn't know better, I would think it's his Grace you share blood with, not her Grace."

Startled, Benjen turned on his heels only to relax… then tense up again at the sight of Ashara Dayne - truly the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms. "My Lady," he said, bowing. "Forgive me, but I did not notice you."

It had taken several minutes for Dacey to build enough courage in Ashara to approach. "Not a proper attitude for a Kingsguard, is it?"

"I have a lot on my mind… and I'm not protecting anyone at this moment."

"My brother would say that it's the duty of a Kingsguard to always be on alert for threats to their charges."

Benjen sighed. "Perhaps it's all still growing on me."

"You'll get there." She took place beside him, purposefully getting close. "You're brooding. Why?"

"Same reason as my sister weeps, or that my brother married a stuck-up priss."

His rough bluntness only made him more attractive to her. Arthur, Rhaegar, and Elia are onto something with northerners. But his words saddened her. "I'm sorry."

"Rhaegar will kill him… Just thinking that for the first two moons of my oath I was bound to protect that slug…"

"Oaths are valuable, I believe," Ash offered, almost shuddering when his grey eyes found her. "Arthur believes them pacts with the gods - our gods, mind you. But the gods know when one must act in a manner… not all honorable."

"Is that what he says to rationalize having a child with Dacey?" There was a slight hostility in her beautiful face, so Benjen backtracked. "Not suggesting there's anything wrong with it, but is the oath bendable on that alone?"

Her gaze softened. "No… I think Dacey enhances Arthur's oath. For the former… From how he speaks, those oaths that bind a person to the greatest atrocities represent an oath abandoned by the gods."

He looked at her quizzically. "And who is to decide when such an oath is abandoned?" She didn't reply immediately. "Maegor Targaryen engaged in brutality to defeat the Faith Militant. Would that break an oath simply because he was ruthless?"

Benjen Stark was deeper than he seemed - Ashara found herself further in lust for this man. "I believe a truly honorable person can tell the difference."

"Perhaps you're right." Benjen rubbed the back of his neck. "Arthur believes that his love of Dacey enhances his oath?"

"Aye. She is as loyal to their Graces as he."

"Would you say you share the same loyalty, my Lady?"

Blinking, Ashara looked at Benjen… finding a restrained desire in his eyes. "Yes." Feeling bold, she turned to look at him. "And I think I know why you ask."

"You do, huh?" Benjen smirked.

"I do." Without hesitation, she reached up and pulled him into a sweet kiss.


"Lord Walter Whent." Master of War Qarlton Chelsted's eyes settled on the tall yet frail Lord of Harrenhal. Age had not been kind to the Lord of the largest castle in all of Westeros, and fate would match it in wrath. "You have been found guilty of treason against his Grace, Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name. Do you wish any final words?"

"Mercy!" cried young Mina Whent, yelling her desperation at the small councilor. Behind, Lady Shella Whent watched with barely disguised hate. "Our father is innocent, I beg mercy, my Lord!" Without delay, Boros Blount smacked her on the cheek, sending her sprawling. A red handprint marring her pretty face.

"Bastard!" Shella slapped him back for hurting her daughter, leading the burly knight to rock his fist into her gut. Felling her as well, laughing as he did it.

"Stay down, cunt."

Eyes narrowing, Lord Whent glared at Chelsted. "Is this what your King has come to? Hurting innocent women and girls? Slaughtering keeps on dishonorable tricks?"

Chelsted frowned - Harrenhal could hold out against a besieging army for years with enough supplies, but not against a bribe to a sworn sword that opened a back gate. Ser Boros leading - well, leading from behind - hundreds of men that swarmed in, slaughtering everything they saw and opening all gates. After, it was now thousands that slaughtered everything they saw. Including Walter Whent's four sons.

Even now, the pyres of the murdered men still reached higher than even the Kingspyre Tower. Undoubtedly hundreds of bastard Rivers' would be born in nine moons from the number of rapes the King's forces committed against the defenseless women and girls. He could care less. "This is your punishment for your treason, Lord Walter. Is that all?"

"Rhaegar will kill you all… that's if your King doesn't do the deed first."

Rolling his eyes, Chelsted motioned to the executioner. With a single swing of his sword, the Curse of Harrenhal would claim its latest victim - Black Harren undoubtedly smiling from wherever pit he slunk to after his immolation.

Half an hour later, Chelsted was gazing at the piles of corpses. Bannermen and conscripted locals hauling them to the pyres. Already the flies were congregating on them in spite of the cold, making the whole air quite unpleasant. Hopefully Lord Tully will get the message. From this and the attack on Maidenpool, though the Mooton forces managed to largely escape. The King's favor will smile upon me.

"Lord Qarlton." Looking up from the carnage, Chelsted found the stolid Ser Willis Wode, master-at-arms of Harrenhal. Nominally loyal to House Whent - emphasis on the nominal. "Seems like the castle is yours."

Nodding, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Aye, it is." Wordlessly, he took a coinpurse from his belt and dropped it in the knight's hand. Paying the turncoat what he was owed for his services. "The rest is in a wagon in my baggage train. Plenty to buy more lands for yourself."

Wode furrowed his brows. "But, my Lord. I was promised Harrenhal. You said…"

"I said that your assistance in taking the castle without bloodshed of the King's armies would result in a reward." He gestured to the purse. "And you have. But Harrenhal will go to Boros Blount for his bravery in leading the attack."

"Boros the Belly?! That little shit?!" An incredulous look formed on Wode's face - to which the Master of War didn't begrudge him for. Blount was a little shit, but apparently his attempt to 'valiantly slay the demon knight at the King's Tourney' had won the King's favor. "I turned on my liege, Chelsted," Wode hissed, his already stiff neck growing even tenser. "I deserve this keep as my reward, or an equally prestigious keep. I heard Riverrun is nice this time of year," he said smugly.

Chelsted scowled. "Are you refusing a direct decree of his Grace?" Wode's face fell. "I would hate for this to reach King's Landing before that of your cooperation and continued fortification of the keep against House Tully." Dumbly nodding, Wode raced away, Chelsted chuckling under his breath. It was only too easy.


As soon as the spoonful reached her tongue, Cersei moaned something far more apt in a brothel. "Oh, gods." The squash and bacon soup steaming in front of her had a taste she could only describe as springtime - especially combined with the honey-braised pork belly and fresh, crusty bread. This is better than coupling… unless it's Ned. "More cider, please."

"Yes, my Lady," the servant girl chirped, curtsying before farting out of the private dining chamber - used by Cersei's father for family dinners… those were rare since Joanna died.

Melara Hetherspoon raised a brow across from her, which Cersei noted. "What?" she asked gruffly.

"'Please'?" She laughed. "Seven Hells, you're in a good mood."

She blinked. "Why do you say it that way?"

A scoff from Jeyne Farman on the other side of her. "You never treat the servants so well. I mean, you're better than as a child, but still…" It wasn't odd for the Light of the West to blow up at the maids or the stableboys.

Pushing her golden locks behind her shoulder, Cersei moved her hand to her growing belly. Patting the swell hidden by her gowns. "I suppose I am glad my stomach has calmed," she smiled. "A piece of my beloved growing inside me, accepted by my father…" Such was a bit of a euphemism. Tywin Lannister hadn't spoken to her since the confrontation in the audience hall. "And I think the circumstances will bring us together soon."

It took a moment for Melara to decipher that. "You mean the death of his father and brother?" She frowned. "I never thought you to be that cold."

Her mod turned from sunny to scowling in an instant. "Gods, Mel, are you that thick-headed. Of course I hate that Ned lost his family." Her poor direwolf, having to endure all that chaos and grief alone? I should be there, holding him close and taking his pain away. Tears clouded her vision at the mere thought. "Fuck… damn these mood swings."

To her credit, Melara looked apologetic. "I'm sorry… I should have realized…"

"No, it's fine." Cersei wiped her eyes. "Just now, him being a Lord and little Robb or Ellyn growing inside me should finally sway father. Convince him to finally let me be with Ned in his time of need."

"I understand." She placed her hand over Cersei's. "If it helps, Jeyne and I would be more than happy to come North with you… If all northern lovers are as good as you say Eddard Stark is, then I probably would go by myself." The frown on Cersei's face was worth the jape.

The door opened but instead of the servant girl returning, it was Tyrion - his face grim. "Sister… Lady Farman… Lady Hetherspoon."

"Brother."

"Imp." Taking cues from Cersei, her friends saved a passing contempt for the dwarf. Especially as he grew older and his looks grew exceedingly prurient in nature. "Why are you interrupting your sister's meal?"

Tyrion gave a pained look. "I wouldn't if I didn't have reason." Ignoring Melara from then on, he turned to Cersei. "May we talk in your chambers?"

"What is this about?" While she didn't actively try to torture him as had been the case before, Cersei still didn't wish to be around Tyrion in more than small doses. Old habits died hard, she supposed. "If this is some prank…"

"I wouldn't jape about this. Please, let's go to your chambers." Catching how serious he was, Cersei nodded - rising and offering Melara a look of apology for the intrusion.

The dining chambers were only a short walk down the corridor to hers. "Alright, Tyrion. What could be so important to interrupt my lunch. Little Robb or Ellyn needs their sustenance."

My little niece or nephew… Honestly, Tyrion didn't know who would be a bigger victim from this news, Cersei or the babe she carried. Mayhaps both… "Sister… you know that Brandon Stark is dead."

"Yes, I know that. Burned alive by the Mad King… gods, I thank all above that Ned wasn't there." She had cried softly that night for him. It's as I said - I should be there to comfort him. "What of it now? Did Rhaegar finally arrive from Dorne? Did father throw his lot with Rhaegar?"

"Well… no. Efforts to secure an alliance by marriage have… hit a snag."

"What are you talking about? Shouldn't Queen Lyanna's brother, the Lord of Winterfell, merit an alliance?" There was no reason why Ned would deny an overture from father, unless… "Did father tell Ned to get stuffed?" Tyrion said nothing. "If he did then I'll fucking ride to Winterfell and marry him myself…"

Tyrion's raised hands stopped her. "Father never contacted the Starks… at least not before the news came in." He had never seen Tywin fume as he had, though Tyrion had been told by Genna that the reactions to Cersei's pregnancies had been the worst. To learn that Ned Stark had acted so decisively before he could even make an overture… It wasn't pretty.

Taking that and Tyrion's silence for the worst, Cersei's voice dropped low. "Brother… what happened…"

His words hit her like a collapsing roof. "Ned married another."

Cersei stood there a moment before it truly sunk in. She staggered, forced to fall atop her bed - face white as if drained of blood. "Who…" came the lonely reply.

"Lady Catelyn Tully, his brother's betrothed. From what father figures, it was the only way to get the alliance between the North and the Riverlands. I'm sorry." He waited for her rage, for her to scream and shout and throw things, but shockingly nothing came. "Sister…"

"Get out."

"Cersei…"

"I said get out!"

Craven in that moment, Tyrion scurried out. It wasn't till he shut the door did he hear the first glass or crystal piece smash against the wall.

Straight… turn… straight… straight… turn… turn… Cersei wandered aimlessly through the keep. The servants all gave a wide berth, knowing her penchant for tantrums. And from what they previously heard echoing from her chambers, the fears grew.

Oh, had she thrown a tantrum. Nothing was spared, glass scattered in bits on the floors. Clothes ripped open, a knife dug powerfully into the mattress scattering goose down in the air. This was the truth of her life. All stolen away from her by the Mad King and Catelyn fucking Tully.

But anger and sorrow had long been replaced with numbness. She would never have Ned. She would never be his… love each other though they may, he was too honorable to betray an alliance. His oaths were too important, and ironically such rock-solid reliability was something she loved about him.

And now he belongs to Catelyn Tully. The bitch that they both shared concerns about while in bed together, worried that she'd be a horrible lady for Brandon. At least Brandon loved her, and she loved him far more. Her beloved would never be happy, Cersei knew this - Catelyn may not have been a whoremonger like Robert Baratheon, but she would be as horrible a match, simply in a different manner.

Suddenly a sound broke her daze. Blinking, Cersei found her attention drawn to a specific room. Finding a crib inside, yet no servant as a baby wailed within. "Hello?" she called out. "Someone?" For some odd reason the area was deserted. Sighing, she made her way in.

The babe hadn't been crying for long, face still pink and plump rather than swollen red. There was no doubting who it was. Loren Payne's son… Podrick… There was no other dwelling in well-apportioned rooms such as these. Her uncles' children were five namedays at the youngest. Unable to just leave him - and honestly feeling the motherly tug that the tiny babe in her womb had given her - Cersei reached in.

"Hush, little one," she cooed, bobbing Podrick up and down. Saying thanks to the gods that he began to settle. "You know, I have a babe in my belly. One who will grow up here, same as you." The babe looked at her with wide eyes, uncomprehending but keen on her. Sighing, Cersei pulled him closer. "What am I going to do? What will happen to my babe?"

She'd never know the happiness in her love's eyes at their babe - never start a true family. Would Catelyn Tully ever grow to love him? Cersei had her doubts, but prayed that at least it would happen.

At least one of us deserves to be happy. In her arms, Podrick slept softly… and she truly couldn't wait to hold her babe the same way.


Coins jingled as Ser Will Cole tossed the sack onto the table. With a gesture from the young highborn, the grizzled knight opened it up, revealing a thousand gold dragons straight from the royal treasury. "Here you are. Ten sacks of these await you if the Brave Companions accept the contract I'm offering."

The Brave Companions were younger than most of the famed sellsword companies that Renly Baratheon had met with over the past weeks - dangling the coin and ingots that Connington had provided him for the task. Meeting with the rather… unsavory lots did not sit well with him, but since Robert and Stannis took the cream of the Stormlands off to the actual war, he would need to make due with what he had. And the Brave Companions were the most unsavory of the lot… but quite accomplished in war.

Comprising men from all over the known world - Westerman lancers, Dornish spears, Myrish crossbowmen, Qohorik light horse - their leader was a handsome Dornish bastard by the name of Tagyn Sand. What he had in looks was matched by the shrewd bitterness of a man that wished for more than his lot in life. "Ten thousand gold dragons, eh?" He stroked his clean-shaven face. Quite attractive, Renly figured, but nowhere near the beauty of his Griffin. "Tempting, very tempting."

"How soon can your men be ready to march with me?" Renly asked, growing impatient. The other sellswords, pirates, and brigands were glad to take the coin Connington provided. If I didn't need their damn numbers…

Tapping his bronzed cheek with a finger, Tagyn Sand thought it over. "Boat voyage from the Stepstones? I presume it would be about two moons…"

Another sack fell on the table. Ripping it open with a knife, a Baratheon guardsman revealed another trove of gold dragons. "Double if you make it less than one moon."

The dark eyes of Vargo Hoat settled on the boy, narrowed and savage. For a moment, Renly didn't know if the Brave Companion second-in-command wished to intimidate him or was eying him puriently. Either thought made his hand tremble underneath the table. "Young Barathhh-eon. Do nothh fuckth withh us," he hissed, fierce in spite of his ridiculous lisp - rumor said his innate savagery was only enhanced because of the laughs tossed his way. "I'll fuckthing rape your corpsthe if you screw us over…"

"Enough, Vargo," Sand interrupted, reaching out to scoop the coins in his hand. Jingling them gingerly. "How many others do you have? Sieges are expensive business in terms of manpower."

"Six thousand," Renly replied.

"All committed, I assume… including us?"

"Yes." The fact that all he could commit to the assault were five hundred Baratheon guardsmen, fifteen hundred assorted former criminals turned men-at-arms, and the two landed knightly houses of the former Peake keeps was not something he was keen on disclosing. If the negotiations with the other sellsword companies proved fruitful, he would have his men.

From their looks, neither Sand nor Vargo seemed to believe him. "And Starfall? The Daynes are a powerful House."

Forwarded by his beloved Jon, Renly had the latest whispers from Lord Varys himself. "The Peakes, Daynes, and Blackmonts have already combined their forces north of the Prince's Pass, marching for the Riverlands to fight with Rhaegar. Whatever forces remain are likely skeleton garrisons."

"I still don't like this," Sand mused.

"Why?" Vargo seemed less perturbed. "An unguardeth keep withhh twoth beauthiful Princesses ripe forth the takthing. I saythh we go forth it."

"You are not in command, I am," barked the Captain - Hoat shut it, but glowered darkly.

The young Stag was prepared for this. "This quest is with the full sanction of his Grace. Rewards far greater than these await you."

This was taken with serious thought. "I want Starfall."

"Lord Connington offers High Hermitage."

A smaller keep with fewer lands, the prospect of even this clearly sated the greed of the bastard of a Dornish landed knight. One who was denied even the most meager inheritance. "Done."

Renly smiled, another five hundred elite soldiers added to his cause.


"Well, that's a wrap." Elia tossed a stack of letters onto her desk, snarl on her lips.

"Calm down, my love," Lyanna cautioned, rubbing her bump - it was as if little Jon could sense his muna's anger. "What could be so bothersome."

A sarcastic chuckle left Elia's lips. "It's clear I barely have a family anymore. Doran refuses to help, or even authorize the Dornish houses to decide for themselves if they wish to fight for us." Looking at Lya, her eyes shifted from a wary fatigue to a bright anger. "I'm sure if I denounced you - something I would rather cut off my hand than do - he'd send some support."

Lyanna looked worried. "Don't cut off your hand. I rather like what you use it for."

Looking cross, Elia couldn't help but curve her lip upward at that. "Filthy girl. Our husband is weak enough to fall for that, not I." But the knowing grin on Lya's face belied the falsehood. When it came to Lyanna, Elia was like a blushing maiden - as was the converse. "Also, the Westerlands rejected all my pleas." Her scowl returned. "I doubt that Tywin even wrote this letter. The calligraphy is too flowery for the old lion."

Starfall almost an island in the sea of war, Elia nevertheless had immersed herself in fighting the war from afar. Buried in paper and ravens as she desperately tried to back their husband from thousands of miles away. "You can only do so much, love," Lya cautioned. "You are a Queen, yet you are also human." Lyanna wished Elia wouldn't exhaust herself so much. At least not that way…

"Somehow I think Varys is behind this in some manner. Remember what I told you about the Lysene mummers?"

"Vaguely, although…" Lya grinned, "I do remember what we did after you said it." She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, grey eyes twinkling suggestively.

A warmth spread through Elia's body. Was she blushing? Perhaps she was. "Yes… that was most enjoyable, my wolf." Their first true night together as two parts to the whole, lovers even without Rhaegar - though him not being there left its own hole in their hearts. Every night since… bliss. "I sense you wish to distract me."

Lyanna feigned an innocent look, even though she knew Elia was on to her. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Shut it," giggled Elia, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. Pulling back just on the cusp of abandoning everything and making the she-wolf moan and scream. "Now back to what I was saying…" In spite of the desires coursing through her system, Lyanna composed herself and listened intently. "Back when I was pregnant with Rhae, no one really paid me any attention. I was just some young, worthless girl who's only responsibility was to birth heirs." Her voice caught - the demons still not fully vanquished.

"You are so much more than that." Lya placed a hand on hers, rubbing it gently with her thumb.

Elia melted, picking up the hand and kissing it. "I love you."

"I love you too… now go on."

Nodding, Elia continued. "It did give me an asset, in that if no one cared about me then they underestimated me. Therefore, I was able to hear the various comings and goings of court at the time of the Defiance."

"Oh." Lyanna knew that was when Aerys' descent into madness began.

"The strain between Tywin and Aerys… I believe that Varys was the one that instigated it by spreading rumors and whispering in the King's ear about Lord Lannister's duplicity. It's a classic mummer's trick, gain influence by castigating others." Elia shook her head. "After Steffon Baratheon died, Tywin was the only one loyal to Aerys out of actual friendship rather than personal gain."

Processing what her wife was telling her, Lyanna started to piece the trains of thought together. "So you think Varys is selectively feeding Rhaegar information for his own ends?" The man had seemed sincere when he spoke to she and Ned on Dragonstone.

Hanging her head, Elia massaged her temples. "I cannot be sure of anything, stuck here at Starfall, but my suspicions are raised. Look." She lifted up a letter from the desk. "When my mother and I travelled the realm looking for a bride for me, I made friends with Leyla Hightower, Lord Leyton's daughter. We've kept close in touch, and now she sent me this."

Lyanna scanned the letter. "The Hightowers are fully mobilized and marching for King's Landing along with the forces of the Honeywine." That was not a good development. No matter how obsequious Mace Tyrell could be, his true power rested with the ability to muster Oldtown as well as Highgarden. "We haven't heard this."

"Exactly, why didn't Varys speak of it? Why didn't Varys tip any of us off to Chelsted attacking Harrenhal… why didn't he warn your father and brother of Jon Arryn's true cause of death."

"Perhaps he didn't know."

Sighing, Elia closed her eyes. "Perhaps he didn't, perhaps he did. I can't be sure anymore and it's truly shredding my insides. I want to do something… to help Rhaegar in his time of need, but everything is showing me that I'm just a twenty nameday girl over her head." She buried her face in her hands, trying her best not to succumb to the headache and heartache.

And yet moments later, her hands were pulled away and a soft pair of lips pressed against hers. Insistently breaking through her walls until Elia's thoughts were only on the wild northern beauty before her. They pressed together, Elia feeling Rhaegar's babe nestled inside Lyanna. Our babe…

Breaking the kiss, Lyanna stood - pulling Elia with her. "Come with me. Tackle this with fresh eyes and a better mood once you perform your wifely duties."

Elia chuckled, smirking as she let Lyanna tug her towards their chambers. "Wouldn't want to neglect those duties, now do I?"


Peering ahead at the low sloping hill that blocked his view of the rest of the Roseroad, Alliser Thorne wished he had a swig of real wine - not the sour horse piss issued by the King's Landing quartermasters. "Where is he?"

Blinking, his subordinate glanced around for several moments. Lost of what to say. "His… Lord Varys' little birds had him riding this way… from Highgarden. He should be here."

"Well he's fucking not." Both in front and behind the collection of officers mounted upon their horses, the rows of a thousand men of the Targaryen Household Guard waited astride the Roseroad. Waiting to block the progress of Crown Prince and King-claimant Rhaegar Targaryen, wanted for high treason by the King.

Yet none wanted to face Rhaegar. To be the ones to put him down for good simply over what Princess Lyanna did at a tourney. Seven Hells, they all loved the She-Wolf of Winterfell, how fierce and wild she was.

All of this just didn't sit right with the landed knight. Proudly following House Targaryen, this level of civil war and familial bloodshed made his blood run cold and stomach roil. Why? Why do this? House Targaryen almost destroyed itself in the Dance of Dragons… and then the Blackfyre Rebellions. This could have been the final end and Thorne just couldn't stand the thought.

"Riders approaching!"

Sure enough, a large detachment of horse crested the ridge. Many knights and mounted men-at-arms, tucked under a few fluttering Targaryen banners. "Spears and shields!" Thorne ordered. "Spears and shields!" He quickly dismounted, racing to the front of the line.

Starting out of Starfall with ten men and Melisandre, now over two hundred followed Rhaegar. Hedge knights and men-at-arms from the crowds of Highgarden and beyond flocking to follow the Dragon Prince into battle. For fame and glory, but also out of the desire to fight for the Seven's Chosen. A man who braved a Trial by Seven and emerged victorious, blessed by the gods. But faced with a thousand shock troops, they stilled their horses. Knowing they could not face a hedgerow of heavily-armed pikemen.

"That's Alliser Thorne," Ser Barristan observed. "He can't be fighting for Aerys."

"Perhaps a parlay? We could turn him," suggested Ser Myles.

"I say just run," remarked 'Ser' Bronn, having recently been knighted by his King. "We'll find a way around them.

The King-claimant turned to Melisandre. "Your thoughts?" The red priestess smirked, leaning in to whisper something in his ear.

At the front, the commander of the regiment cupped his mouth. "Rhaegar Targaryen," bellowed Thorne. "You are wanted…" The words tasted like bile in his throat, but his duty was his duty... "For the crimes of treason and witchcraft against King Aerys, Second of His Name. Present yourself for arrest!"

The Crown Prince - or King-claimant as he would style himself - slowly urged his stallion slowly forward. Leaving the protective screen of his hundred knights and men-at-arms. "Your Grace…" hissed Ser Gerold, but Rhaegar ignored his Lord Commander. Trotting Moondancer until about thirty feet separated him and the line of guardsmen. Dragonwings on his helm glinting in the noonday sun.

To Thorne's awe, as well as the awe of his men, Rhaegar dismounted - boots hitting the road with a puff of dirt. Without a word he stepped forward, one stride at a time towards the line. "Present spears!" an officer barked, the front row dropping their halberds in a rippling line. But still Rhaegar walked. Unafraid and unwavering in the face of what could end up as certain death.

Drawing his sword, Thorne pushed towards just before the first row. "Stop!" he commanded. Gods, my Prince, just get out of here! Don't make us harm you… Still he walked - close enough to see his violet eyes underneath the helm.

But suddenly Rhaegar stopped - a mere ten feet from the points of the spears. He wordlessly removed his helm and let the magnificently forged steel fall to the ground. Again, he drew Blackfyre from its scabbard, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror glinting in the sun. It joined the helm on the ground.

Many a man gasped at the sight of their Prince so close. Silver hair blowing in the wind, showing not a glimmer of fear, he looked like a Valyrian god - strong and proud. Eyeing each of them with an inscrutable look upon his beautiful face, Thorne last of all, he raised his arms to the sides. "If there is one man!" he boomed, voice as powerful as a dragon's. "Who wishes to kill their King… Here I am. Let it be done quickly."

Not a sound followed but the chirping of birds... The buzzing of grasshoppers... The gentle breeze wafting across the landscape. All among each line men trembled, watching the mighty Dragon Prince offer himself up. Some were close to fainting, others shaking so much to nearly drop their weapons.

The clinking of plate and mail broke it all. Ser Alliser Thorne escaped the bounds of his men. Walking forward till he was almost face to face with Rhaegar - neither man gave away a single emotion as they stared each other down. Waiting, each second as if it would be an hour…

In a fluid motion, Thorne drew the blade at his hip and bent the knee before Rhaegar. "Long may he reign!"

The cries almost instantly followed. Armor and weapons smacking against the ground as entire rows of men bent the knee. Dozens, then hundreds, then the entire thousand.

"Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!"

All swearing allegiance to their true King. The man they were proud to follow, who would often personally train them and present them with commendations. Who paid them and visited them in their barracks, a mighty King that wouldn't fill the streets of their city with the stench of wildfire and burnt flesh. They did so out of their own will, proud to fight for him.

Taking Blackfyre back in hand, Rhaegar held it high as the entire regiment hurled to its feet. The cheers were deafening as both the knights that had followed him from Highgarden and the men-at-arms of the household guard converged to Rhaegar. "All hail the King!" shouted Ser Gerold, sword raised high.

"All hail the King!"

A/N: The story of Napoleon securing the authority of the 5th Regiment during the Hundred Days was too awesome not to use. Check out the painting Napoleon's Return from Elba, by Charles de Steuben to see what the scene must have looked like for our Targaryen King.

Olenna with a green dragon egg (anything special about green ;D) to give to Rhaegar. The plot thickens :D

First glimpse of Cersei... I'm sad for her :(

Lucky that Elia has Lyanna to cheer her up with 'wifely duties' while she struggles with her worries for Rhaegar. I suppose the converse is also true ;)

Ashara and Benjen are getting along. Unfortunately, Renly is on the march.

Next time, Rhaegar arrives at Riverrun.