A/N: Good news, friends, I'm considering starting another fic. It'll be set during the time of Aegon the Conqueror, Queen Visenya, and Maegor the Cruel. Be sure to let me know what you think about it and I'll reveal more details later :)

Also, I've just come across a great story that any Targ fan would like. It's called Black Reign from my friend bykim0120. Check it out, you won't be sorry :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 50: Forbidden

Pitch darkness shrouding the entrance to the Bay of Torrentine, everyone aboard ship darted about with highly-tuned silence. Boots soled with cork or felt so as to not scuff atop the deck. "Steady, lads, steady," Davos Seaworth whispered. "Tiller amidships."

A gentle breeze passed from the southwest, perfect to slip the newly acquired sloop to make the dash towards Starfall. Large sails picking up the air, masts angled to provide the fastest push through the water, white trails of foam in its wake. A much better sailing than the skiff or tiny cog the smuggler used before. Plus, the stores he could carry were expanded now that he could focus on speed rather than innocuous stealth to slip past patrols by Braavosi customs officials or the King's tax collectors.

"Why are we headed to fuckin' Starfall," hissed his first mate, voice low so that only Davos could hear it. They'd been together since the beginning, and worked like a well oiled mill.

Davos glanced at the rocky hills and ridges that towered over the bay, the ones that had sunk several cogs that tried to break past the land blockade… at least those that had beat the Redwyne fleet patrolling farther out to sea. Amateurs. "The King-claimant's Queens are nestled in there, surrounded by hostile enemies. If Rhaegar wins, which I think he will, rewards are to be large when he finally does take the Iron Throne." Queens as good as them… the people would tear down the walls of the Red Keep to see them rule.

"Ya' better know what yer' doin', Davos." The First Mate moved away, towards the bow when a large fountain of water erupted a hundred feet off the starboard side. "Missiles!"

"Hard a starboard!" Davos bellowed, all sense of stealth abandoned. Even painted a dark blue, the sloop was not the quietest of ships - and the silhouette was still very spottable by a keen eye. Apparently the besieging forces had many a keen eye. The sloop groaned from the sudden jerk of the tiller, tilting heavily to the side as it made its hard turn. Davos gripped the railing, holding himself upright. Eyes closely following the flaming arc now plunging directly at him.

But as he had thought, they overcorrected the catapults, aiming farther to port and slamming very close to where the sloop had been… but far from where it was now. "Seabed!" one of the men called out. "Ten fathoms!" They were shallowing, so land was close.

"Half to port!" Davos called out, seeing the flicker of lights hard north. Starfall. The sloop groaned again from the power of the turn as two other missiles slammed into the bay. One close enough to shower half the crew with seaspray. Heart pounding, Davos hadn't felt as alive in years. "Land ho! Prepare docking speed!"

"Aye, captin'!"

Tying the sloop to the docks, covered and free of attack by the battlements of the keep itself, the crew had already unloaded half the supplies before a contingent of Dayne guardsmen arrived from Starfall. "Halt!" called out the leader, moonlight exposing his kingsguard armor.

Even a Flea Bottom gutter rat would recognize the Sword of the Morning. "Ser Arthur," Davos began, walking towards the detachment. "I come bearing supplies…" Only moments later he was seized by two guardsman. "What the fuck?"

"We don't know who you are, sellsail," Arthur growled back. "Take him to the dungeons till we can sort this out."

"This is a mistake!" Davos cried out, the guards hauling him into the keep. "I am on your side."

"We'll see about that, sellsail," a guard growled.

"Davos?!"

The guards halting where they were, Davos looked over to the end of the hallway to find a woman - a heavily-pregnant woman dressed in a more modest Dornish dress. Chestnut hair drawn back into a messy bun. He'd never forget such a fair face. "Princess… Queen Lyanna." She rapidly walked towards the group

Ser Arthur trotted to where the Queen was, meeting her in the middle. "Your Grace, what are you doing here at this late hour? You and the little Prince should be resting."

Truth was, Lyanna was unable to sleep, nightmares plaguing her even with Elia holding her close. She needed air and found herself close to the docks… only to find this. "The babe and I are perfectly fine, now what are you doing with this man?"

"He says he's a smuggler trying to bring in supplies, but we can't be sure of his identity."

"Your Grace, you must remember me," Davos begged. He had endured the dungeons of a castle before - it was an experience he cared not to repeat.

Lyanna, luckily for him, remembered Davos quite well. "This man is Davos Seaworth of Flea Bottom. He is a smuggler and is the husband of the matron of the orphanage." She marched to the guards. "Release him at once."

As his arms were released, Davos immediately bent the knee. "Your Grace, forgive me for my intrusion into your lodgings in this time of war…"

"If you had informed anyone, then there would have been no getting past the blockade, I understand." Lyanna beckoned him to stand. "Ser Arthur said that you brought supplies?"

Letting out a relieved breath, Davos nevertheless felt several eyes on him - Ser Arthur's being the most poignant. Dawn ready to protect his Queen from harm. Davos didn't intend to end up at the receiving end of the famous blade. "Some general foodstuffs from Oldtown, ones that wouldn't arouse suspicion from the Hightowers. Grain, oats, potatoes. Several barrels of salted beef and pork… plus a sack of fresh fruit for the Princess and Prince," he smiled sheepishly.

Lyanna beamed in response. "Well, I am sure that they would greatly appreciate it, Davos… as would I in my condition." She patted her belly. "Come with me, we'll find accommodations for your men"

Davos shook his head. "No, we'll need to be off before dawn to make it past the pickets. But we'll be back, I promise."

"I look forward to it." Perhaps they would survive the growing food shortage within the walls after all.


Huffing, desperately trying to catch his breath, Lord Willam Dustin burst into to war room of Harrenhal. Interrupting a strategy meeting currently in progress… but his announcement was important enough to blow three horses getting from the Crownlands to the great keep in less than a day. "Your… your Grace…"

Ned answered for his goodbrother, "Seven hells, Willam." The lead scout was close to collapse in front of the entire war council. "Fetch him something to drink."

"No time… Robert…" But when someone thrust a skin of sour wine… Bronn most likely, though perhaps the Blackfish, Dustin drank it down greedily. Soothing his wheezing throat and numbing it.

At the head of the table, Rhaegar looked upon him expectantly. "Well, Lord Dustin? Out with it." Given their skills on horseback, the Dustins took over scouting duty from Howland's Crannogmen - at least the far-placed pickets deep in the Crownlands.

Dustin nodded. "Lord Robert's army marches for us. Stormlands and Reach banners among the columns."

A cacophony burst out, every Lord and knight of the twenty-person council taking it upon themselves to point out their preferred strategies on the map. Jabbering at the top of their lungs to their comrades… until Rhaegar slammed his fist upon the table. "We will be civilized, you cunts. One at a time!"

Ser Alliser Thorne spoke up first. "We must prepare defensive positions north of the Keep. I'd give Robert two weeks to arrive here so we still have time to prepare."

"And not use Harrenhal as a defensive position?" Titus Peake exclaimed. "You're just asking for Randyll Tarly and Alester Oakheart to slam through us."

"Better than being hemmed into a siege at a position we could not hold," Thorne shot back.

"Your Grace," said Howland Reed, calmly scanning every escape route on the map. "We can still withdraw deeper into the Riverlands. Allow the northerners to raid and bushwhack until Robert overextends his supply lines… we can defeat him in detail then."

Leaning in, Ned spoke quietly in Rhaegar's earshot. "Harrenhal isn't defensible outside the castle. A few hills and a creek, that's it."

"Lord Stark speaks true, your Grace," added Ser Gerold, his mind sharp since commanding the royal forces in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. "You won last time since there were no defenses for Chelsted to utilize. No one would think less of you if you retreat."

Brooding, Rhaegar looked at the map again. They were outnumbered, not decisively so but in an open fight it could be. He visualized the various movements in every contingency he could imagine. The Battle of Redgrass Field kept coming to mind. Would he be Blackfyre or Maekar? Would he entrap Robert or just savage his own army in the process?

Robert is aggressive, not cautious. From jousting against him - and what Lyanna had said about him, Rhaegar's blood boiling at the thought - he would be opposite of Chelsted and attack with everything he had. That could exhaust the loyalist army, but given the Westerlands hadn't chosen a side…

No, he had to annihilate Robert on the field as he did Chelsted. Either withdraw or… "Ser Lyonel, how soon can the knights of the Vale arrive from Tumbler's Falls?"

Lyonel Corbray blinked. "A week if we push it, but I think it could be longer for the Bolton forces."

Nodding, he looked at the Blackfish. "Ser Brynden, Walder Frey and his bannermen still haven't arrived."

"He sent a raven saying Ser Stevron was on his way. Beyond that…" he trailed off.

Rhaegar scowled. He needed those men. "Send a rider up the Kingsroad. Find the Freys and get them here!" Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rhaegar would have to fight with what he had. "Tumbler's Falls changes the situation. Our strategic flank is secure, so we stay and fight. Ser Alliser, see to the defenses."

After the council drew to a close, Rhaegar explaining each facet of his plan and taking suggestions from the other Lords, he and Ned walked along the battlements of the great castle. "What you're doing is very risky, brother," the Lord of Winterfell remarked.

"I've been in the midst of battle, Ned. I know what risks there are." His arm had just healed up, and was still a bit stiff sometimes. I'll have to train more. "Robert has more men and his are fresh. We need to defeat at least part of them in detail." Catching how Ned winced, Rhaegar sighed. "I'm sorry that we have to face your friend in battle." He was determined to kill the cunt for what he did to Lyanna, so his sorrow was merely for his goodbrother's sake.

Wrestling with the recriminations of it, Ned simply sighed. "I've come to terms with fighting him, because I don't see him as the enemy. Your father is."

Rhaegar glanced at him - eyebrow up. "He wants Lyanna for himself, and he'll slam his warhammer in my heart to get her." He could sense Ned's conflict. "If the time comes, will you…"

"Just spare him if you can, brother. Promise me that." Ned's greys met Rhaegar's violets. "I know I can get through to him, make him bend the knee if he is taken prisoner… or if your father dies."

Looking at his feet for a moment, Rhaegar relented. "For you, I'll try to take him alive, but no promises. I won't do what Daemon did at Redgrass Field." His zeal to save Gwayne Corbray doomed him. From his nod, Ned understood.

Sensing a presence, Ned embraced the distraction. "Brother, come here. Septon!" he called out, drawing the attention of the humble septon. "This is the man I met when I arrived here, Septon Meribald."

As Rhaegar came into view, Meribald's eyes widened, taking to his knee. "Your Grace."

Few septons would actually bend the knee to temporal authority, so already Rhaegar had a good first impression. "Rise, Septon Meribald." As he did, Rhaegar smiled. "Northerners usually hate those of the Faith, but my goodbrother only speaks well of you and how you tended to the wounded of all faiths."

"I do what I can, your Grace. All souls are the children of the gods, and it would be hypocritical of me to deny one group such love while embracing another."

Rhaegar was impressed. "Not many Septons agree with you. Nor the High Septon or Most Devout."

Meribald's face curled in disgust. "Our noble Faith has regressed. Once we went out with well-intentioned piety to provide a true heavenly order in the world, but now the institution is either corrupted by earthly desires - as I once was." He would always seek penance for the sins he committed as a man of the gods. "Or fanatic zealots hellbent on forcing their ways into the entire kingdom, abusing the power the gods bestowed upon them."

"Sounds like you'd make some changes if you had such power," Ned observed.

He chuckled. "I do have dreams to make it all better, to bring honor and prestige to the Starry Sept once more. But alas," he shrugged. "I am just a country septon"

For once, a Septon brought Rhaegar calm rather than haughtiness or a sense of being smothered - removing his every blood instinct from him, everything that made him a dragon. "Tell me, Septon Meribald, would you take us to the sept to pray. Ned isn't of your Faith and I… I lapse sometimes, but we would be honored to take your prayer." Looking at Rhaegar, Ned couldn't help but agree.

Smiling, Meribald gestured his hands. "I would be happy to ease your mind, your Grace."


The sour-faced guard bowed as Aeron Greyjoy approached. The Septon to the Drowned God held an even sterner face than would normally be ascribed to those of the Iron Islands - weathered and hardy as the rocks that made up Pyke castle. But the guard was deferent to the youngest son of his Lord. Few earned respect through anything but the Iron Way, and through his faith Lord Aeron was one.

He nodded as he passed the guard. "What is dead may never die," he murmured, flickering a sprinkle of seawater upon the man's face. A blessing that was met with a profuse thanks. Allowing a rare smile to pass his thickly bearded lips, Aeron passed into his Lord's bedchamber. "Father?" he called out. "You summoned me?"

"My son?" A wrinkled wraith called from the sickbed. "Come here." Quellon Greyjoy was once a tall man, one that fought like a banshee in every sort of war and raid that the Ironborn were famous for. Attacking Blackfyre, Free City, and even Lannister forces with a fury that would make the Iron Way proud. Now though, he was emaciated by sickness. Barely able to keep food up and beset by powerful headaches. The great Lord of the Iron Islands was dying, all of his children knew such. "Oh Aeron…" Quellon's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Gods, you smell of rot."

Aeron shrugged. "Suppose I must change out the seaweed." Tied to his beard, the dried plant of the sea brought him closer to the Drowned God… though it needed frequent changing. "So, what did you request of me?"

Not one to mince words unlike his cunning son Euron, Quellon cut to the heart of the issue. "I'm dying, my son. It will soon be over for me." As if proving his statement true, he coughed - almost hacking out a lung it was so severe.

"Shall I fetch a maester, father?" Aeron asked, reaching forward to grab his hand. Reaching for the tip of his waterskin to draw holy seawater. Wordlessly he sprinkled it on his father's forehead, willing silently for the Drowned God to take the pain away.

A minute later, the Lord of the Iron Islands finally managed to settle down, though his voice remained raspy. "Son, all I've done… I've worked so hard and so much is left unfinished." The reforms of Quellon Greyjoy were extensive. Ones that constituted the greatest change in the Ironborn way of life since Harwyn Hoare conquered the Riverlands over three centuries before. Abolition of Thralls, ending of Salt Wife practices. The bringing of maesters onto the rocky shores… none could have been fathomable until Lord Quellon. "But your brothers seek to destroy it."

"Your children are all loyal to you…"

Aeron was stopped as his father lurched out of bed, grabbing his arms with bony fingers. "Listen to me," he hissed. "They will get us into war. To revive the Iron Price by any means necessary. Balon will do it, Victarion will lead the fleets, but it will be all Euron's doing, the little monster." It was no secret that Euron was his father's least favorite - quite mutually. "They will destroy us, for the Seven Kingdoms will reign fire upon the Iron Islands if they are just given the excuse."

"I understand, father, but they are in civil war. Dragon against dragon?"

Quellon shook his head. "Doesn't matter." He coughed again. "One will win. One always wins. My foolish sons will destroy us, so make sure to stop them. Stop them by any means necessary." His grip tightened on Aeron. "Save us… you're the only one… who… can…" Wheezing heavily, Quellon fell back on the bed, the coughs turning into spasms of pain.

The youngest Greyjoy was out of his seat in an instant. Yelling for the guards. "Fetch the maester! Tell him to bring milk of the poppy, now!"

Some time later, as the Lord of Pyke slowly drifted off to a serene sleep, Aeron walked out of the room. Heeding his father's words - needing guidance from the Drowned God, but knowing he was right.


It was obvious that Lord Robert Baratheon had a temper. Many had been at the receiving end of it, but neither Stannis nor the rest of the loyalist war council had ever seen him this enraged. "You fucking cunt!" Had Stormbreaker been in his arms, he would have likely cleaved the table in half. "Do you see what you've fuckin' done?!"

Connington didn't budge, not afraid of Robert. "If the army went at the pace you wished for it, it would have arrived at Harrenhal completely exhausted and at the mercy of the Starks and Arryns."

"We fuckin' outnumber them!" Grabbing Olyvar Oakheart, he thrust the Lord of Old Oak into the mix. "Go ahead, tell all of us what you just told me!" For once, Robert was completely sober and spoke in proper sentences. Battle agrees with him.

Gulping, the leader of the army's scouts rolled his shoulders back and made it to the table. "Alright, we outnumber the enemy forces at least eighty thousand to fifty thousand according to what reports Lord Varys has provided us." No one trusted the slippery Spider, but his information was supremely accurate and he had the King's ear. "They're being reinforced as we speak by the forces of the Vale under Yohn Royce."

"You fuckin' see?!" Robert bellowed.

Many Lords agreed with him. "Had we marched quicker we'd have caught them without the knights of the Vale," argued Lord Caron of Nightsong.

Randyll Tarly nodded, the man in effective command of the army due to his… strategic mind. "They'll have defense in depth, ignoring Harrenhal itself lest they be trapped in a siege." He gestured to the line of the small creek that trickled into the God's Eye. "Given we are unable to hit them from the rear as Baelor Targaryen did at Redgrass Field, we will have to strike them with a frontal assault."

Baelor Hightower frowned, still chastised by his defeat at Tumbler's Falls. While nearly a thousand of his men had perished and the same amount wounded and out of the fight, no one truly blamed him. Faulty whispers hadn't shown Bolton in the area, and he had withdrawn in good order. Never piss off the Hightowers. "Attack head on against prepared defenses?"

"They will not be expecting it, and are woefully short of heavy infantry. Northmen with axes and light armor may be good brawlers, but they cannot fight in formation to save their lives… except perhaps the Boltons."

"The Boltons are still in Tumbler's Falls," mused Lord Selwyn Tarth, another marital house of the Stormlands. "We could attack while some of Rhaegar's best troops are absent."

Connington pounded the table in agreement. "Good, my Lords, good. And Lord Baratheon can lead the main assault."

Robert seemed to perk up at that. "Wherever Rhaegar is, I'll be there to strike him down like the rapist he is." With a flourish of his cape, the Lord of Storm's End withdrew. Master of War gone, the council essentially began to empty… until it was just Connington and Stannis left.

Sensing the young Baratheon eying him with suspicion, Connington turned around. "Is there something you wish to say, Ser Stannis?"

Pursing his lips, Stannis nodded. "You seemed eager for a frontal assault, even as you wanted a slower movement. Why?"

"It's the better plan," the Hand replied.

"Or you wish to use the plan of least risk."

You're right, though I'll never admit it. Connington's… objectives of fighting the war didn't completely match up with his King's. "You're seeing ghosts, Stannis."

"Perhaps." The middle son made his way to the entrance. "Oh, by the way, my last raven to Storm's End and my brother found the Castillan respond in his stead. Seems he went off to parts unknown. I wonder if you have anything to do with that?"

Connington scoffed. "You must have hit the same flagon as your brother, Stannis."

Narrowing his eyes, Stannis simply walked off. He could never prove any of his suspicions, but the more the days went by the more he felt that his long, august House was ever closer to extinction.


"How soon will Lord Baratheon's army reach Harrenhal?" the king demanded with a snarl.

"It shouldn't be long, your Grace," replied Lord Merryweather, belly jostling as the entourage proceeded down the halls of Maegor's Holdfast. "The last raven had them setting out from Antlers…"

A bony hand waved him off. "Bah, Connington is slowing him down. A bullheaded lad like Robert, he would have fucking attacked weeks ago if let off his leash. Stupid stag cunt, but every ruler has to have one like that."

"Of course, your Grace."

Jaime fought the urge to roll his eyes at the obsequious lord - bending the knee before the Mad King in order suck his cock, it was revolting. Everyone bowed and scraped before Aerys… including himself, Jaime had to admit. Cowards all.

I've seen what he's done to my beloved… and I do nothing but pick up the pieces. It only made it worse that Jaime knew the feeling of helplessness… but for Merryweather and the others it wasn't fear of death, but a craven greed to manipulate the King. The Lord of Longtable had no competence in anything but organizing feasts and flattering the King, which earned him a high position.

Rhaegar… you can't win soon enough.

"...the Queen fairing in carrying your new Prince of Princess?" Catching the tail end of their conversation, Jaime's attention shifted. Listening with rapt hearing.

"Bah, she's weak like she always was. Confining her to her rooms with this Lion cunt guarding her every day…" He motioned to Jaime behind him. "But lately… she's fucking defiant."

"How so?"

Aerys scoffed. "It's as if she's trying to resist me." A cackle left him. "I showed the folly of that only hours before." Jaime's blood ran cold. "A Queen is subservient to her King. Had Aegon V done that instead of gallivanting with mistress after mistress, then perhaps Naerys wouldn't have fooled around with Aemon or raised Daeron II to be a weak little shit," Aerys spat. "Fools all of them."

At that moment, Ser Olymer Tyrell - brought by his cousin Lord Mace to supplement the Kingsguard even though he looked quite uncomfortable wearing the white cloak - arrived to switch shifts with Jaime. He didn't blame the poor knight. Along with the Stormlander Ser Rolland Storm, the new Kingsguards chafed under the perfidy of serving Aerys on the whims of petty men.. Only Rhaegar deserved to hold their oaths, this Jaime knew with certainty.

He was everything a Targaryen King should be.

Bowing to the madman that supposedly held the crown, he hid the fear on his face. The dread at what could have possibly happened to the Queen. As such, he rushed towards the Queen's quarters, far away from the King's by all providence of the gods.

Dismissing the guards left at the door and waiting for the both of them to disappear around the corner, Jaime's heart pounded as he made his way inside. His fears were validated, finding Rhaell - his beautiful Queen - hunched over on the bed. Tears falling from her cheeks as she cried softly, hugging her legs.

Seeing fresh bruises on her legs and shoulders, Jaime rushed to her side. Hiding his own anguish beneath the facade of Aerys II Targaryen's kingsguard mask. "My Queen..."

Rhaella looked up and through her tears could see the one man left in the capitol that seemed to care about her. Helm removed, Jaime's blonde hair fell to his shoulders, emerald eyes sparkling with such compassion and worry that she could have sworn Joanna was back. The simple, happy days of her father and mother's reign where her friends Joanna Lannister and Mynara Martell lived without fear. It was only fitting that her son would provide Rhaella with an inkling of such times. "Ser Jaime..."

"Let me fetch some water." He proceeds to the bathchamber and wets a cloth from the filled basin - the servants always keep it well stocked due to the babe's needs. Returning, he kneels by her side at the bed.

She winced as the kingsguard eased the towel over the bruises, though it soon soothed her. Gods, she was glad to have him. "Thank you," Rhaella murmured, enjoying his attention. Moaning in contentment.

The moan threatened to go straight to his crotch. "Is the babe...?"

Moving her hands to her belly, Rhaella could feel her babe. Unlike her past pregnancies, this time she felt not a single thing wrong with her. "The little one is fine Ser Jaime."

A silence fell as Jaime continued to ease the bruises his Grace left - merely to keep her in line. "Why did he do it?"

Rhaella closed her eyes. "I spoke of him making amends with Rhaegar. This was the result." She trembled. "Luckily he didn't strike my stomach."

"If the babe came to harm, I'd kill him where he stands."

"No Jaime," Rhaella exclaimed, eyes flying open but keeping her voice down. "You're a Kingsguard, bound to protect the royal family." They had this argument before, but somehow things had changed. How intensely he looked at her, Rhaella shivered. "Doing so would put you at a level even lower that of the kingmaker, the kingslayer." Her voice had lowered even softer, however.

Just being around her made his heart beat faster. Rhaella Targaryen… she was perfect. There existed no perfect knights as in the songs, but even with the effect of reality she was exactly like the maidens idolized by all. "I'm sworn to protect the true King and his family…" Jaime took her hands in his. "Rhaegar is the true King and you are his family." At that moment he recognized the magnitude of his touch - how he could have his head removed just for this - but he didn't care.

Propriety dicated she remove her hands from his… but she couldn't bring herself to. "Viserys declared that his daughter was the rightful heir, that didn't stop Alicent and her allies from undermining it"

"I don't care..." Jaime looked her in the eyes. "I will protect you from him, I swear it."

Oh Jaime… Rhaella wordlessly hugged the son of her best friend, glad to have such a man to protect her. To hells with propriety - for once she was selfish, seeking some form of protection and comfort that she hadn't had since Summerhall. "Why do you protect me so... I am not worth it, Ser Jaime..."

Simply hearing her doubt herself, hate herself even… it broke something within him. Jaime backed up slightly and looked into the amethyst eyes he loved so much. "Never say that about yourself Rhaella." She shuddered when he dared to say her given name. It was intimate… as if between her son and gooddaughters. "You're a Queen, a Queen of House Targaryen and the one that brought me back from the abyss - that gave me something honorable to live for." There was no need to elaborate… they all realized that he meant the King. "I protect you because…" Fuck it. I don't fucking care anymore. "I love you Rhaella, with all my heart."

Her eyes widened. Utterly shocked at this... Rhaella should have seen it, but she hadn't. It all made sense though. How he's always beside me… his devotion… it was love… What most would think of as lust or greed driving him, Rhaella knew it to be genuine. "You love me?"

"Yes." He wasn't denying it anymore. "I understand nothing can happen between…" Jaime was cut off when Rhaella grabbed his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss.

This was insane - as mad as her husband. Treason for the both of them as what had happened to Bethany Bracken so long ago, but after all that had happened... Daenerys in her belly made her crave protection and comfort. All of which Jaime provided, was glad to provide. The only one who genuinely cared - it just happened. A burst of lust that overpowered her sanity and logic. Mouths fusing together in a loving clash of tongue and teeth.

Now it was Jaime's eyes that widened. He couldn't believe it, the woman he loved, the angel that had saved his very soul... she was actually kissing him. It was a dream… one he couldn't help but take advantage of. After the shock faded, he returned the kiss with full force, letting out all the pent up desire.

Her fingers desperately stripped off his armor, mouth watering at how the tunic barely his his muscular chest. It soon joined the rest on the floor, Jaime pushing her onto her back. Rhaella kept their lips together, muffling their noises. The red keep had many ears after all, but it didn't stop him from slowly stripping her. "I love you," he murmured. "You deserve it all." Rhaella was in a daze, but at his general caresses and clear desire for her - even with her pregnancy - for the first time in her life she felt pleasure from the sexual act. The touch of a man making her hum with pleasure rather than cringe in pain or revulsion

Jaime felt impatient, his body throbbing with need for the Queen. Forbidden love, but his. Jaime pinned her to the bed, earning a yelp. He gazed down on her, pale skin glowing, purple eyes shimmering with desire. Her lustrous hair was such a mess, plump lips parted as she panted.

It all made him painfully hard.

Rhaella stared up at him. Here she was, married and pregnant with the King's child, and all she wanted was to feel the love of her best friend's son. "Don't hurt me, Jaime," she murmured in a low voice, her history unable to abandon her.

But what he did next - not ignore her or leave - made her heart his. Jaime lowered his face until their noses were touching. "I would never hurt you, my dragon," and with a passionate kiss, he positioned himself and finally slid himself inside her with the utmost care.

Gasping, Rhaella wrapped her legs around his hips. Mewling in his mouth. Aerys always felt as an invader, while Jaime simply made her feel full. Head tilting back. "Oh gods…" she whispered.

She felt so good, so soft. Her vanilla and cinnamon scent was intoxicating. With the collapse of everything else in his life, now that the first act of wanting passion was on him, he wasn't stopping. Cupping the back of his head, her mouth latching to his neck, neither was she.

His movements were slow, loving, the deepest of care. Keeping his lower abdomen hovering so as not to hurt the babe. Why couldn't you be the father…? The thought was unbidden, but Rhaella couldn't help it. He was just so perfect… She simply lost herself, enjoying the most wonderful moment, the only wonderful moment in her sexual life. The first time Rhaella had ever known pleasure, shattering beneath him. The lion knight worshiping her body, his seed shooting inside her as he rode out her climax to its conclusion..

Guiding her to collapse on their sides, Jaime held her close - heart beating out of his chest. It had actually happened, and it was far better than he could have ever imagined. The woman beside him made Jaime realize that what he had done with Cersei, while pleasurable, was nothing.

But as the aura of the pleasure dissipated, Rhaella felt her fear... and guilt. I cuckolded my husband the King while with his child… Committed treason on both her Queenly duty and Jaime's Kingsguard vow. Jaime… the child of my best friend… oh Gods...

Jaime sensed the tension in her. He understood, but it still hurt. "Rhaella..."

She held up her hand, guilt increasing at how she loved her name on his lips... at how she desired him yet again.

"Please my dragon." He leaned to kiss her again.

"No." She pushed him away. "I will not have your death on my hands, Ser Jaime." Rhaella looked away. "Please go."

But Jaime, having just truly had her, was no about to let go. Ignoring her pleas, he embraced her tightly. Not opening his eyes until she sighed into his hold. "No Rhaella. Now that I finally have you in my arms, I'll be damned to the seventh hell if I ever let you go." He owed it to his vows, to Rhaegar… to the memory of his mother to protect his Queen. His lover.

"Please go... I made a mistake..." It was agonizing to reject him, but Rhaella needed to do it.

But Jaime was stubborn like his father and brother - one of the very few things they all had in common. Hands rubbing down the silky skin of her back "I won't let you go my dragon. You will always have me to protect you," he declared as he kissed her neck.

Rhaella shuddered with pleasure, but had to be strong. "Jaime..." She cupped his cheeks, watching how he beamed at hearing his name on her lips. "Please. I can't let you be caught like this."

"We will be discreet. It will all be over soon." Rhaegar would win, he was sure of it.

"Alright... just go."

Sighing, Jaime rose and donned his armor. Bowing to her as deeply as he could. "I love you... and you will always have my sword and shield."

Rhaella fought the urge to pull him back to bed. It wasn't safe, but he made her feel an unmarried Princess again. "You're a maiden's dream come true, Jaime."

"I don't want a maiden, Rhaella. I only want you... I'll wait as long as I have to." And with that, he was gone.

Left alone, the nude Queen fell to the bed with a groan, hands on her face. "Seven hells..." Just thinking about Joanna's son... all the filthy things she wanted to do with him... her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "Oh Joanna, why did you have to bring such a handsome man into my life?"

It could never be. Rhaella surprisingly felt no regret for the moment of passion she shared with Jaime, but the pain came with the brutal truth of it all. She and Jaime couldn't tempt fate again. She couldn't risk her life with Daenerys growing inside her, and the thought of Jaime burning in wildfire had her heart shattering.

"Rhaegar, my son…" she murmured, curling into a fetal position. "Please win. Please save us." Only if he won would the axe above their heads disappear...

She cried herself to sleep, not knowing that Jaime heard all of it from standing guard outside. "I'll never let you go my dragon," he swore to the old gods and the new. "That's a promise."

A/N: Not quite there yet, but there pretty much is no earthly way Jaime and Rhaella are ever coming back from this. Full steam ahead ;)

So it's Starfall that Davos is running the blockade for, not Storm's End. Means he gets a new patron.

Greyjoys...

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