A/N: Hey everyone. Some personal shit going on. I had to quit my job after my car got broken into on company time and my boss told me not to bother him with concerns over my safety. Asshole... Wish me luck on the job search.
Good news, with Bet of Dragons done, my one shot done, and Targaryen Dynasty wrapping up (check them all out, I promise you'll love them), I shall be starting a new project: a modern romantic comedy (with plenty of smut) starring Jon and Daenerys called "My Best Friend's Wedding :D It'll be posted on Ao3.
Be sure to check out my current stories Dragonshield and Heart of the Blessed.
Enjoy.
Chapter 85: Tessarion's Gift
Lips pressed into a thin line, Cersei Stark wished she hadn't gotten up that morning. Did Catelyn Tully know anything of the realm she ruled? Much as she wanted to, the new Lady of Winterfell couldn't fault her predecessor on everything. The functions of the household ran quite efficiently and the maids and servants in charge of the various groups were competent at their tasks. Winterfell was clean, the stores were neat and tidy, and everyone was fed.
But by the Seven above, relations with the Northern Lords were close to a nadir.
Snorting, Tyrion almost laughed at the latest missif from Rickard Karstark. "And he kisses his mother with that mouth? By the gods." Beside Tyrion, Lann the lion yawned where he rested by the fireplace. At over six moons he was growing rapidly into a fine specimen, and was already growing a thicker coat to compensate for the Northern clime.
"I believe Lord Karstark's mother is dead, Tyrion," Cersei replied, not in the mood for her brother's antics. Her aunt Genna was here on request to help her sift through the various stacks of dispatches that accumulated both since Ned left for war and from before. Her husband gave her full permission to review his correspondence, an act to which Cersei rewarded him by dropping to her knees and sucking his cock till he exploded in her mouth. I love that man with all my heart and soul.
He trusted her, and she wouldn't let him down.
"Well enough for her. He's… pretty explicit in his descriptions of what Catelyn Tully can do with herself. I'm not sure this is possible for a living woman to do."
"Northmen are apparently quite bold and forthright," Genna observed.
"Both a blessing and a curse, I'm afraid," Cersei replied, reading another stack. "Karstark I'm not worried about. They're kin of Ned's so an invitation to Winterfell probably should smooth them over. It's these that I truly worry for." She pointed to a stack of dispatches.
Tyrion reached over to read them. "Ahh… House Bolton. The traditional enemy of House Stark for millennia. Yes, truly something to worry over."
Cersei remembered Roose Bolton from her wedding. A fundamentally untrustworthy man, but one that gave away little. Always the greatest type of foe. "I want to keep him close, but not too close. Ensure he complies with us."
"He has a young son, Domeric, as his heir," Genna said. "Perhaps you could foster him at Winterfell." Cersei nodded, the idea a sound one. I could cut off the head by binding the heir to House Stark… The baby kicked inside her, making Cersei rub her stomach.
At that moment the door opened and a little thatch of blonde hair rushed in. "Momma!"
Right after Robb, Malera showed up with a harried face. "Forgive me, my Lady, but he was insistent."
Arms filled with his wooden toys, Robb smiled at Cersei. "I finish my lessons. Can I play here?" When Ned was out on his duties and Sansa was unavailable, Robb always came to Cersei.
She could never deny him that. "Of course." Cersei looked at Malera. "You're dismissed, I can watch Robb myself. Go spend time with Jory." Her lady in waiting blushed madly, but nevertheless beamed. Oh, she had fallen hard.
"So I stay, momma?"
"Yes, pup, you can stay." Smiling, Robb kissed her cheek and went to snuggle beside Lann and the fire. The lion accepted Robb's presence. He was a gentle beast at heart.
The domestic scene continued for a bit. Cersei and Genna continued reviewing the dispatches from the Northern Lords and Night's Watch, Robb played with his toy wolves and dragons on the floor, and Tyrion alternated from playing with his nephew and giving his witty advice to whatever his sister and aunt were partaking in at the time. Scowling at Tyrion whenever he spoke, Cersei would never admit that she oft found his advice solid and moved to implement it. He's right about Lord Glover… given his intransigence I should advise Ned to raise House Forrester to Lords in their own right under only our suzerainty…
"Momma, what's a bas-tard?"
One could hear a quill drop in the lady's solar from Robb's question. Cersei was still, unmoving and quiet. Genna sucked in a deep breath, concern on her face. "Oh boy," Tyrion mused under his breath. Quickly, he grabbed at a flagon of Lannisport white resting on the table beside him. He'd been saving this for a special occasion to begin partaking in, and this certainly would count if it would get as ugly as he thought.
Tywin had anyone that openly called Robb a bastard either killed by flogging or given to Gregor Clegane for an… attitude readjustment. Cersei always insisted on the latter punishment. As a result, Robb was sheltered and treated as essentially a Lannister, the same regard given now that he was a legitimized Stark and heir to Winterfell.
But now? Gods help the poor cunt who taught him that word…
Finally, Cersei spoke. "Where did you hear that word?" Both her aunt and brother could hear her trying to be calm for Robb's sake, but the fury was obvious underneath her facade.
"From Sansa." Robb was confused. "She say people call me 'Bas-tard.' I don't know why."
"Who calls you this?" Now Cersei could barely hide her anger.
Robb blinked, suddenly aware of his mother's rage. "Did I do wrong?" He looked at his feet. "I's sorry…"
Hearing him drew Cersei out of her anger. It was still there and burning hot, but love for her son was paramount. "Oh no." She rushed to him. "Come here, pup." Enveloping Robb in her arms, she kissed the crown of his head. "You did nothing wrong, I just want to know who said that word to you."
"What does it mean?"
Looking to her aunt and, yes, even her brother for support, it was Tyrion that spoke up. "It refers to the fact that your father wasn't married to your mother when you were born."
Robb was confused. "That silly. Momma and poppa married now."
"Aye, it is pretty silly," Tyrion replied. "Now where did Sansa hear it from?"
Biting his lip, Robb looked at his mother. "She say she hear it from her Septa." Cersei's eyes darkened. I'll kill that bitch. "Also say to Sansa that she stay away from me. Why do she do that? Sansa is my sister and I love her."
"Oh, the innocence of children," Tyrion mused. "Quite sad really that they're taller than me regardless."
"Shut up, Tyrion," Cersei shot at him. "You're not helping.
Genna was next to her niece and great-nephew. "Sansa loves you too, that's why she doesn't listen to what her Septa says. She shouldn't call you a bastard or try and separate you."
"She say Baelon a bas-tard."
That was also shocking. "What?"
"My cousin… the one poppa and Aunt Lya told me about. Sansa say her septa call him a 'Bas-tard usurper." He said the unfamiliar words slowly, but the meaning was sent.
Oh dear, she's a dead woman. Tyrion wouldn't want to be with her if the King found out… or gods forbid Queen Lyanna found out…
Cersei handled it rather evenly. "Don't worry, pup. I'll handle it." Her eyes smoldered almost wildfire green.
No one dared to attack the cub of a lioness without meeting the teeth.
Running a hand through her silver locks, Rhaella tried not to smile at the heartwarming scene. "Son, you should get back to your kingly duties." When he didn't listen to her, her tone wavered. "Damn it, this is serious…" Rhaella didn't sound convincing.
Cheek pressed to Elia's pregnant stomach, Rhaegar sighed. "I know, muna, but I can't help myself. I missed out on being with both my loves due to the war, but now I can make up for it." He kissed the swell of his son… yes, Rhaegar was sure they were both sons. "Skorkydoso iksos issa byka zaldrīzes."
Both Queens, eager for his attention, blushed as he spoke Valyrian. The accent… it did something to them. "Please, goodmother…" Elia said, mouth dry. "Let his Grace enjoy the lives growing inside of us."
Groaning, Rhaella tried to hide just how much she was enjoying seeing her son so happy. "Fine, but we have to get back to the matter of running the Seven Kingdoms."
Grinning, he shifted to Lya's pregnant swell, kissing it. "I can feel him," he said in wonder.
Lyanna rolled her eyes. "And you're so certain I'm having a boy?"
"Aye." There was no doubt in his voice. "Aōha muña jorrāelagon ao olvie, byka zoklazaldrīzes."
She shook her head. "Our husband is such a cheeky bastard."
"We love him though."
A loving look crossed Lyanna's face, hands playing with his hair. "Aye, we do."
Rhaegar again nuzzled Lyanna's belly, his hand stroking Elia's in a circular pattern. "Kirimvose syt ēdrure aōha munas se nyke ēdan kirimves bisa tubis." He dropped a loving kiss to each of the swells.
Feeling her heart melt at his touch and gestures, Lyanna looked at Rhaella. "What did he say, goodmother?"
Struggling to keep a straight face, Rhaella took a deep breath. "Loosely translated, my son is telling his unborn babes 'Thank you for staying quiet while I had fun with your mothers this morning.'" Unable to contain herself, she burst into giggles.
Mouth open, Elia was stunned. "No, he did not say that. Rhaegar?"
The King said nothing for a moment, before finally collecting himself. "Kessa, my loves?"
"Wait, did you say that?" Lyanna's grey eyes were piercing, and when he merely hid his face in her belly she knew Rhaella's translation was accurate. "You lecher!" She smacked him on the head. "Those are our children in there."
"Owww… Elia, help me." That entreaty only got him a smack from her.
"Serves you right, saying such indecencies to our babes."
Clearing her throat, Rhaella took pity on her son. "Well, from how loud you three were, I doubt the babes got any sleep."
"Goodmother!"
The Dowager Queen was on a roll. "Reminds me of Jaime and I when Cella was in my belly. I swear, there were times he took me so hard that I was afraid I'd go into premature labor…"
"Alright, that's enough…" Rhaegar insisted, face slightly green. Enduring the giggles of his muna and wives, he scooted the chair back to behind his desk. "So… where were we?"
"Choices for the replacement of Uncle Lewyn on the Kingsguard." Lyanna took that moment to squeeze Elia's hand, a gesture that she greatly appreciated. While he had been buried as fitting a Martell Prince and Kingsguard, it was still sometimes raw to lose the great protector she had always counted on since arriving in the Red Keep all those years before. Having Arthur and Dacey around helped, but it wasn't the same. She'd endure though. "Have you considered our proposal?"
Grimacing, Rhaegar knew his Queens would scowl at him for his reaction. "You don't know what you're asking of me."
"What? With Ser Barristan as Lord Commander the Stormlands need a knight on the Kingsguard. From what Lord Varys tells us," not to mention Elia's little birds as well, "She is as powerful a knight as any man… unless you don't want a woman warrior on the Kingsguard?" Lyanna was ready to smack him if he said anything about it she found insulting.
"It's not that I have any problem with it, but this isn't you swinging a sword or even Dacey as your sworn mace." Technically she was still Lyanna's lady in waiting, but was almost always armed as Ashara took over most duties for the both of them. Lyanna wasn't hard to put together for the day, still retaining her wild beauty. "Others might."
"Fuck them. You have a dragon."
He snorted, but conceded the point. "Aye, I have a dragon." Tapping his fingers on the table, Rhaegar sighed. "Fine, you may write Evenfall Hall and inform Lord Tarth he should send his daughter to the Red Keep. If she can keep her own against Dacey, then she can be on the Kingsguard."
Elia giggled. "You better find someone else, cause Dacey's going to be out of commission for a while."
Rhaegar blinked, only for his eyes to widen. "I owe Arthur a bottle of Dornish Red for this. Good for him." First Lyanna, then Elia kissed him on the lips and sashayed out of the room, putting on a little exhibit for his benefit.
His muna groaned behind him. "Your life is out of a song, Rhaegar."
"A song I likely wrote, muna," he replied back, grinning. "And what of you? You got your knight in shining armor as the Princesses always do in the old tales."
Opening her mouth, a retort died on her tongue. "Mayhaps you're right. I did." She had a dreamy look, Rhaella thinking about her golden lion. "Aye, I did, didn't I?" The two of them chuckled, both finally having obtained their happy endings. But… reality would intrude. "I am sure Hoster Tully is ready to speak with us."
"I am not looking forward to this… but if Lord Tywin thinks this is the only way to placate them…"
"Tywin wants you to deal with it so he doesn't have to. I know he finds Lord Hoster a pain beneath him."
Rhaegar shrugged. "I don't see how he's wrong. Hoster's always been narrowly ambitious in the most oily of ways." But there was nowhere around it - the Tullys were still the Lord Paramounts of the Riverlands. "Arthur!"
Arthur Dayne opened the door. "Yes, your Grace?"
"Send for Lord Hoster. He comes alone and will speak to the Queen Dowager and I."
"Of course, my King." Arthur didn't take long.
In his youth, it was said that Hoster Tully was tall and broad, vibrant blue eyes and brown hair projecting strength and vitality. But alas, age had turned it all to grey - the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands was portly and a bit stooped. His eyes though, they were still sharp. He hadn't lost his mind as he had his strength. "Your Grace," he bowed as best he could.
"Lord Hoster," Rhaegar replied. "Please sit." Hoster was glad to, though his sour expression didn't change. "I am told by my Hand that you have an issue with my goodbrother and the succession for Winterfell."
The Lord's fists clenched. "Ned married Catelyn first, your Grace. He had two trueborn children by her while this lionspawn was still a bastard…"
"That 'Lionspawn' is the legitimized cousin of the Crown Prince, Lord Tully. Watch yourself." Rhaella's tone was filled with fire even when soft. She was no more the weak consort to Aerys.
Taking a deep breath, Hoster calmed himself. "Forgive me, but it is not my intention to insult the Crown Prince." House Targaryen had dragons again, and the last King of the Riverlands imparted a lesson about those beasts to the entire Realm. "But the fact of the matter is the children of my daughter have been usurped their right."
"And what right is that, Lord Hoster? Rule over the North? By age and legitimation, Robb Stark is the new heir - he is not some smallfolk's son but of the blood of the former Kings of the Rock. Purely noble blood." Not that the family would care either way, but title and pedigree still mattered to most. "But I understand your concern."
"Your Grace?"
Rhaella leaned forward, sympathy on her face. "We know what it's like to lose someone we love. Such is tragedy, and we are nothing but sympathetic that you desire something of your daughter to live on and not be forgotten." Nothing could be further from the truth - Lady Catelyn, by all accounts, had been a terrible wife and Lady to Ned and it heartened the Queen that the Warden of the North found someone to love her… but niceties had to be met. "Perhaps something involving your granddaughter Sansa could be arranged?"
"How so?"
Looking down at Rhaegar, he saw Rhaella's nod and continued. "It is never too early to start planning for my son Baelon's future betrothal, for such a choice would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I believe Lady Sansa is on the top of the list for that honor." He watched as the anger leached from Hoster's eyes, replaced by greed.
"Cersei, what is going on?" Ned watched his bride with confusion. She looked radiant in a woolen dress in the colors of his house, pregnant belly on full display that made him swell with pride, but there was an odd, hard glare set in her eyes. "Why have you summoned the household to the Great Hall?"
"Just preparing to throw the refuse away my love," responded his wife, looking at him with a muted grin.
Ned saw a particular glint in her eyes that he's only seen in her father - one right before he delivered the Rains of Castamere on an unfortunate soul that crossed him. It made the Lord of Winterfell worried. Normally they made such decisions of the entire household together, but here he hadn't been clued into what Cersei was doing.
Cersei notices the concern written all over his face and kissed him hard. Tongue plunging into his mouth while she moved his hand to her belly. Doing whatever it took to reassure him. "I didn't mean to worry you or harm your standing as Lord, but… Just trust me on this, Ned. Let me speak for now and listen, please?"
Still confused, Ned nonetheless nodded. "I trust you, Cers." He did so with his life… from her brilliant smile, she knew it too. Another kiss, this one a simple peck of the lips, and they made their way together into the Great Hall.
Everyone was gathered, even Tyrion, who waited by the high table as an honored guest of the keep. Cersei's gaze drifted to Sansa, standing awkwardly near the head with Malera and Jeyne standing beside her and Old Nan behind. A protective screen of women joined by Ser Rodrik and Jory, and Cersei sent her a small smile. One returned by the dear. Robb was absent though, ensconced in his rooms with Aunt Genna. Cersei didn't want him to witness this.
A lioness protected her cubs.
Clearing his throat, Ned sat down. "Thank you for gathering here today. My wife, Lady Cersei, has indicated to me that she wishes to go over a matter that concerns the whole household."
"Thank you, my Lord." Squeezing his hand, Cersei donned her commanding mask. "Septa Mordane, step forward."
The representative of the Faith in Winterfell and the late Lady Catelyn's closest companion was standing among the other Rivermen still present in the keep. Some mingled with the Northmen, but most were ostracized - oft by personal choice. She looked a bit surprised, but did as she was told. "Yes?" she asked, her eyes not bothering to hide the disdain she held for the opportunistic whore in front of her. "Is there something the matter, Lady Cersei?" Mordane avoided calling her 'Lady Stark,' a slight not lost on the Light of the West.
But a lion didn't concern itself with the opinions of sheep - neither did a wolf. "Yes. Some things came to light that make me question your ability in overseeing the education of Lady Sansa."
That made the Septa's face scrutch as if she had just drank a cup of curdled milk. "Excuse me, Lady Cersei?" She was affronted, but tried to keep calm even under such insults. "I'll let you know that I put the utmost efforts on making sure Lady Sansa is educated to be proper Lady. A Lady as befitting the title of niece of the Queen and cousin of the Crown Prince." She subscribed to the branch of the Starry Sept that didn't recognize the marriage of Lyanna and Rhaegar nor Baelon's position as legitimate heir, but reality was reality.
"I was unaware this was Riverrun, or Oldtown for that matter?" Cersei, to prove her point, looked to Tyrion. "Brother, was I under the mistaken impression that this is Winterfell?"
"Such isn't a mistake, sister." This was actually a bit of fun for Tyrion, merely sitting there and bobbing his stunted legs. "We are in fact in Winterfell." It was refreshing to see his sister tearing someone else apart for a change.
Not unaware of this, Cersei fought the urge to roll her eyes at him… or smirk - Tyrion would never let her live a smirk down. "Be that as it may," she continued, green eyes narrowing at Mordane. "Personal invective against the heir to one's liege Lord would be considered grotesque even there... especially when intended for his other children's ears." To her right, she could hear Ned suck in a breath. He caught on quickly, eyes flickering to Sansa with worry.
Mordane raised an eyebrow. "And what do you mean by that Lady Cersei?"
Cersei's eyes narrowed. "I am speaking of when you referred to the heir to your liege as a bastard in front of Lady Sansa," she practically hissed.
To her credit, the Septa's expression didn't waver one bit. "I don't recall ever referring to your son that way." Your son… clearly not including Lord Stark.
Bitch. Cersei's didn't waver either. "Lady Sansa," her voice softened as she looked to Sansa. "Please step forward."
Watching his daughter, Ned's heart broke at the look of fear on Sansa's face… as if she had done something wrong. Nan, Jeyne, and Malera tried to reassure her but she wasn't having it. "Sansa." Ned's voice caught her attention. "It's alright, we're not mad at you. Please come."
"She is obviously too young to speak of such adult matters," Mordane huffed arrogantly.
"I want to hear what she has to say," Ned said firmly, shutting up the septa.
At Mordane's words, Sansa did her best to firm herself like a wolf should. Her mother - the late Lady Catelyn - she tried to send her South but there was nothing to suggest she didn't truly adore Sansa just as her poppa had. Mordane… while Sansa feared her, she also didn't like her at all. She was mean and sour.
Sansa's grey eyes blazed in a way her aunt would be proud. Cersei couldn't help but smile. "Tell me, daughter." The words were purposely chosen. "What did your Septa tell you regarding your brother?"
"I said nothing of her true brother!"
Now Cersei was losing her patience. "I think Lady Sansa considers both Robb and Rickard her true brothers."
"Let the child speak," insisted Ser Rodrik, glaring at Mordane.
Finally able to speak her mind, Sansa was unafraid. "She always tell me to stay away from Robb... that he bad blood and not of Seven... that he a bastard." Sansa didn't know what a bastard was, but it couldn't have been good.
Many gasped. Some of the Riverlands nodded in agreement, while the Westermen looked enraged - they were joined by the vast majority of the northmen. In spite of Robb's origins, the boy was a delight and quite popular… none of which could be applied to Mordane.
The aforementioned Septa grew beet red. "You insolent brat!" she screeched. "Didn't I tell you that the Seven condemn lying children?"
Tyrion snorted from the high table. "I don't know whether to say you have tits of steel or simply nothing in the head... a bit of both perhaps," he concluded.
"Is anyone talking to you, dwarf?"
"See… you don't even try to make it a joke. How boring." He rolled his eyes.
His sister, however, roared like a lion. "Septa Mordane, you will shut up and let Lady Sansa speak!" Cersei lowers her voice to speak to Sansa again, mindful that Ned is trembling in silent anger beside her. "Is that all, daughter?"
"Can I say one more thing... momma?" She found that she liked Cersei calling her 'daughter.' The woman clearly treated poppa right and was ever so loving to Robb, so Sansa impulsively called her mother as well.
"That whore is not your mother...!" Mordane tried to say, but was cut off as Ned's hand slammed against the table.
"Lady Cersei is my wife and the Lady of this castle," he thundered, the wolf emerging to defend his beloved. "Call her that again and I'll have my guards recreate Ser Ilyn Payne's fate upon you!" That seemed to do the trick as the woman went whiter than snow. Breathing deeply to calm himself he turned to Sansa. "Continue, little pup."
Gulping, slightly afraid and slightly in awe of her powerful father, Sansa nevertheless steeled herself. "She... she also say... Prince Baelon..." Her eyes widened. Was that the boy from her vision? "Prince Baelon a bastard too. A bastard of a… whore… what's a whore, poppa?"
It didn't take long for the entire great hall to explode into uproar - insulting Robb and then insulting Queen Lyanna… "You dare accuse me of insulting the Crown Prince?!" Now Mordane was fearing for her life. If it ever reached the King or Queens' ears, she would be dragon food… that was if the Northerners didn't kill her first. Her glare moved to Sansa, anger in her eyes. "It appears I didn't teach you enough manners!" With that, she moved to slap the brat that had been her bane for years.
"Keep away from the lass," Jory said, getting in the middle.
Cersei was not far behind. "If you touch my daughter," she said, mostly to provide a united front and hurt this woman… but the vision of Maggie the Frog wasn't far behind. "That hand will leave your body, I guarantee that." Her voice was colder than the wall. "I wonder, what would their Graces do with you once they find out you've been slandering the Crown Prince and his cousin as bastards and usurpers?"
"I've never said that, but that brat of yours is a bastard and usurper." She didn't care anymore. "You are a whore that stole the birthright of Lady Catelyn's trueborn children!"
Ned looked ready to explode but Cersei held her hand up, her visage calm... and too much like their father for Tyrion's comfort. "Is that so?" Her voice was now so calm that it sent shivers down the spines of all around her. "Guards."
The Stark guards complied, joined by a few of the Lannister men-at-arms - they officially were escorts for Genna and Tyrion but served her. "Yes, my Lady."
"I will not have blood spilled at my order as my first true duty as Lady of Winterfell. It is an affront to the old gods. However, make sure the Septa and all the Rivermen of the late Lady Catelyn's retinue are off to Riverrun by the morrow."
None of the Winterfell's guards made the slightest attempt to hide their grins, elated to finally kick out those stuffy southerners that had been nothing but a pain in their arses sinces their arrival. "Of course my Lady," Jory grinned.
Being enclosed by the Stark guards, Mordane went red. "You have no authority over me, whore!"
"Oh I do, Dear Septa." Now Cersei was in her face, guards having temporarily stopped and restrained her. "Your Lady isn't here anymore and this place is in desperate need of a true Lady of the North."
"You're nothing but a woman disgraced in the eyes of the Seven, birthing a bastard that usurped the trueborn children of Lady Stark."
Ned had enough by now. In one sweeping motion he unsheathed Ice and placed it in the neck of a now terrified Mordane. "What did I say about insulting my wife?" His grey eyes were dark with rage… Cersei felt her core go wet from seeing it. "Are you truly so eager to share Ser Payne's condition?"
"You... you spit on the memory of your late wife..."
Truth to be told, Ned cared little that his last conversation with Catelyn went so poorly - he had honored her as a husband and now he could truly move on with his new wife and his children. "I have the undisputed authority according to you, so I command every Riverman to leave."
Most of the Rivermen glared in anger. One woman however, a maid, fell to her knees in front of Ned. "Please, mi'Lord, don't make me leave. Mi'husband is one of yer guards!"
The man in question stepped forward, a fairly handsome man with a full beard and head of jet black hair, was one of the men holding the now incredulous septa. "Aye, It's true mi'Lord. She converted in front of the weirwood and everythin'."
His eyebrow rose. "Anyone else wish to stay?" There were a few. Three maids, two men-at-arms, and one hedge knight that had found locals in Wintertown to marry or want to marry. Putting the ancestral Longsword back in place Ned commanded "Good. You have my leave to stay." He turned to Jory. "Now get these filth out of our home." His men were only happy to comply, removing the Septa and the rest from their lives forever.
Sansa immediately ran to Ned. "I sorry, poppa"
The Lord of Winterfell gently caressed her red locks. "You did nothing wrong pup."
"No, you didn't." Cersei put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll oversee your lessons personally from now on."
She gave a tiny smile. "Thank you… stepmomma."
Sighing, Ned let his head fall into Cersei's neck. "Thank the gods that is over."
Cersei nodded. "Shall we retire to our bedchamber, my Lord?" He grinned, showing his agreement with her idea.
"Get down, stupid!"
"You get down!"
"That makes no sense!"
"It means shut up!"
Concern on his face, the youngest lad of the trio didn't like when his eldest brother and sister fought… which they did all the time. "Let's just go play Young Dragon… I don't want lemonade anymore…"
But Daella was stubborn. "You want it and so do I!" The lemon tree in the middle of their house was massive, taller than even the first floor. As such, there were juicy yellow morsels always out of reach, and the young girl was determined to get them. "I'll find the biggest, fattest lemons."
"You're a big, fat lemon!" their older brother shouted.
"Stupidhead!" she shouted back at Aenar. Gods, she hated him and his whiny attitude… A smile brightened. There were two big lemons, just waiting for her to take. Daella reached out, but just wasn't quite able to get there. "Almost… almost got it…" Just as she grabbed the branch, the one she was perched on snapped and all went tumbling to the ground.
"Daella!" shouted Gaemon.
"My Lady!" Two servants and a guard rushed over.
She was grinning. "I got them!" Holding up the lemons in triumph, blood trickled down from her hand. Sure enough, there was a gash there. "Rats…"
"You better head to see the mistress."
Slowly turning the latch and pushing the door open, Daella grew quiet as a chill washed over her. She hated it here… the den of her muna, it was dark and imposing with all sorts of scary things that were the stuff of nightmares. If it wasn't for the woman that gave her life and raised her and her siblings, Daella would want nothing to do with this place. Gingerly holding her injured hand, she toughed it out regardless. "Muna? Muna, where are you?"
"Over here, young one," came the voice. It was soft and feminine, ever so sweet with her. Pinpointing it, Daella ran over and found her muna standing beside a table covered with various plants and pots and jars. Beside was the blazing hearth, always kept burning. Such was how it was with the private chambers of her muna. Always hot even in the sweltering heat of summer. "What's wrong, child?" Sarra said, turning around with a smile. Her black hair was pulled into a simple bun, the beautiful woman's violet eyes cast with warmth towards her beloved daughter.
Daella bit her lip, holding her arm. "Hurt it… fell off the lemon tree."
A sigh. "Oh, Daella…" She went for a drawer in a large cabinet perched against the wall. "I told you to stop trying to climb that tree." Out came a roll of linen bandages and a jar of potent rum.
"I wanted lemonade and the lemons on top are the juiciest," Daella replied by way of explanation.
"We have servants, why can't they get them for you?" Dipping a rag into the rum, she placed it against the wound and heard her girl hiss in pain. It wasn't what it was like when Illyrio was alive, but we are luckier than most.
She frowned. "I'm no funny britches like Aenar. I can do for myself."
"I know you can, sweetling, but you need to know who you are. You're of the best of blood, a future Queen if I have anything to say about it." Once clean, she began to roll the linen around the wound, making sure it was tight to bind the gash.
Daella nodded. "I know…" Biting her lip, she looked up at her muna. "Does that mean I Baelon's Queen?"
Sarra blinked. "You know about Baelon?"
"Aye… Gaemon likes playing young Dragon with twins, but Aenar always whine about 'Baelon' stealing his throne. That mean Baelon is King?"
"Baelon will be King, yes, if the usurpers have their way."
"Will they?"
Shaking her head, Sarra leaned down and kissed her forehead. "You're too young to worry over such, sweetling. Go rest before supper." Hopping down from the stool where she was sitting, Daella made to move before Sarra called out for her again. "Did you get the big lemon?"
Daella grinned. "Two big, fat ones," she said proudly.
"That's my girl," Sarra laughed. "Give them to the cooks and tell them I want a pitcher of lemonade made for you and your brothers." Beaming, Daella blew her a kiss and was off.
When alone again, Sarra's smile shifted back into a scowl. Baelon Targaryen… the latest in a line of usurpers and half-breeds. They were all weak, the red dragons, hemmed in by a life of cultural rot, tainted blood, and torpor. King Rhaegar's hatching of the dragons was surprising and disrupted the natural order of things her kepa had taught her, but Sarra wasn't deterred. They may have gotten lucky, but she taught me the true connection to the great gods.
There was no doubt in Sarra's mind where providence laid. But where did the newly powerful Red Dragons play their part in the inevitable?
Only one way to find out.
Grabbing a pewter bowl filled with red powder and a bottle of crimson liquid, Sarra approached the hearth. "Great pantheon," she proclaimed in High Valyrian, tossing a handful of powder in and watching the red-orange flames turn crimson. "Hear me. Grant me a glimpse of the future between my line and the line of Daeron, how their newfound power matches against your destiny." Taking the flagon, she poured some of the liquid onto her hand. "As a gift, I show willingness to sacrifice combined with the offering of impure blood. Such is my devotion to you." Without delay, Sarra thrust her blood-covered hand into the flames.
Suddenly, her eyes rolled back, fires dancing in her vision. Two great beasts, a monstrous black dragon streaked with red and a dark red dragon streaked with black meeting in the sky. Wings flapping and serpentine bodies twisting as they danced a powerful, beautiful contortion above the clouds. A rider was astride each, one dark of hair and the other light…
With that, she was lurched back into reality, breathing hard. My gods… Intense, but vague. The visions always were, unless one of the gods sought personal contact - but that never happened. Not for her, and only twice for as long as the one that preceded her had lived.
But even in the pieces, something could be observed. A black dragon… flown by one dark of hair… Wasn't Prince Baelon dark of hair? From her whispers, Sarra was certain…
She sighed, setting down her supplies and running a hand through her hair. They would win, she could taste it, but the road was fraught with peril.
When was it anything else? In the game of thrones, you win or you die.
Sarra knew the stakes more than most.
With the evermost care, Aemon lowered Prince Rickon Targaryen into Lyanna's arms. The Queen was exhausted but so so happy holding her little baby boy. "Rickon… my sweet dragonwolf." Another Prince with the Stark colors, but none of them were complaining, he was absolutely amazing.
Across the twin beds, Qyburn lowered another bundle for Queen Elia. "Your son, your Grace."
Elia couldn't get enough of her little boy. His thatch of silver hair and little fingers and toes… gods, the little fingers and toes! The best part of all her babes, oh they were so adorable. Feeling Rhaegar hover over her, kissing her forehead, Elia sighed deeply. "You were right, my love. Two beautiful princes."
"You should listen to me more often, beautiful." Brushing a tendril of hair from her forehead, matted to the honey skin from a sheen of sweat. "He's perfect, a handsome Valyrian Prince."
"Just like his brothers." Elia kissed his nose. "While Lyanna named Rickon, I have the perfect name for this hatchling."
Rhaegar grinned. "Do tell."
She stroked his cheek. "Daemon, Prince Daemon."
A chuckle. "The second Rogue Prince?"
Across the narrow gap between the birthing beds, Lyanna beamed tiredly. "Would that be such a bad thing, my love… ooh…" There was discomfort in her abdomen, which still felt bloated and distended.
Rhaegar was up in and instant, by her side while Elia looked with worry in her eyes. "My sweet she-Wolf? What's wrong?"
Holding Rickon, her eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not sure, I… ahhh!" She grimaced, then screamed, causing Rickon to thrash and wail. "Oh gods… another contraction!"
"What?! What's happening?!" Rhaegar felt a pervasive terror fill him. "Uncle! Qyburn! Do something!"
A sigh from Aemon. "I told you, Qyburn." He moved to Lya feeling her stomach. "This was my thought for moons."
Lyanna screamed in agony. "Why… why am I in pain?!"
"Your Grace, take Prince Rickon," Qyburn insisted, taking a position between Lyanna's legs as the King scooped up his son. "Aye, Maester Aemon. She's still fully dilated."
"Tell me what's going on!"
Aemon placed a hand on her cheek. "You're giving birth to your second babe."
"Second babe?" Rhaegar was dumbfounded.
"Twins!" Elia was immediately excited. "My gods… you're having twins!" First Rickon, then Daemon… and now this? Was this a dream? If it was a dream then Elia would never want to wake up.
As for Lya… "Get this babe out of me!" She moaned in pain. "Please… I want it over!"
"You'll be just fine, my love…"
"You!" Lya's wolf came out to play. "You're never touching me again! You did this to me, Rhaegar!"
Elia laughed. "You say that now, Lya. Just wait."
"Keep pushing, your Grace," urged Qyburn, overseeing his seventh royal birth. "You're doing well, I can see the crown of your babe's head."
"Ahhhhh!" Honestly, it was easier than Rickon's birth, but Lya was so exhausted and the contractions were so sudden it felt just as arduous.
But when the wails of her newborn reached her ears, all of it was worth it. "A girl!" announced Qyburn. "A Targaryen Princess." Lya's head fell back, exhausted, but with a blissful smile.
Rhaegar felt as if he would faint. "A girl." He adored his sons, but his daughters were a precious gift of the gods. Ones he gladly cherished to bring softness and light into his life. He sat, rocking Rickon in his arms, watching with Elia as Aemon moved to take the babe from the cleaning station and the maids that wiped her down with fresh linens. "Uncle?"
Hefting her in his wrinkled grasp, Aemon babbled something sweet to the babe and kissed her forehead. "She feels like your muna did in my arms, nephew." Gingerly walking to the Queen's side, immediately did Aemon feel Lyanna's hands reaching for the babe. "Goodniece?"
"Give her to me," Lya begged. Her miracle child, born as a pure surprise. Aemon gladly complied, chuckling with tears in his eyes… there wasn't a dry eye in the place, not even from the normally stoic Qyburn. The scene was so precious as the Queen hugged her daughter in the crook of her neck, crying softly. "My beautiful daughter. I love you so much." It was true. From the moment she laid eyes on the girl, Lyanna's heart was as irreversibly bonded to her as she was to all her babes.
'You have done well, Lyanna…'
Blinking, Lyanna felt a soothing chill banish away her pain, filling her with serenity. It was her… it was Tessarion. Why are you here, great one? She kissed the squirming babe on the forehead, nuzzling her with her cheek.
Lyanna could've sworn that the goddess was in front of her, smiling with joyous tears flowing from her eyes. 'The four dragons… you've become what your destiny requires of you. Your husband and goodmother hatched their dragons. Your wife's womb was healed… and now I have bestowed my gift upon you… through your daughter…'
What do you mean? The babe tucked into her arms, she reached up for Lyanna on instinct. My daughter?
'One you thought lost forever… she is here before you. Such is the gift for those that reached their destiny.' A cool breeze passed through Lyanna, the goddess disappearing into the aether of existence.
At first, Lyanna knew not what to think… the words confused her, eyes merely drifting down to her beautiful babe. Already her eyelids were pulling back slightly, exposing the dark violet hue of her irises. A perfect Targaryen princess with the beauty of Old Valyria and the spirit of the North… just as in her long ago dreams…
One you thought you lost forever…
She is here before you…
Lyanna gasped, finally understanding. Tears burst from her eyes and she hugged the babe close, peppering her with sweet kisses. "You're here… I love you, sweet hatchling." The tears made her grey eyes shine. "Rhaegar, Elia… it's her. It's Visenya."
Both having had experience with the goddess… it didn't take either long to decipher the subtext. "You mean…" Elia murmured.
"Truly?" Rhaegar still rocked Rickon, but his eyes were planted on Lyanna. When she nodded, openly crying, he was at her side - kissing the crown of her head before showering affection on the little darling. Elia wished she could join, but with Daemon and her own exhaustion she'd have to settle for now to giving her love from the other bed.
The door creaked open and Rhaella peeked in. "Is it done? Cause the hatchlings…" Even the mighty dragonrider couldn't stop the Targaryen brood from rushing in, desperate to see their parents.
"Muna!" Jon was at Lyanna's side in an instant, followed by Dany close by. "Is that my valonqar?" he asked, looking intently at the bundle.
Lyanna giggled happily. "No, sweet Baelon. This is your sister Visenya."
"Vis...senya? Like Vhagar rider?!"
"Kessa, like Vhagar rider," Dany huffed, almost insulted he had to ask. Though she was rather joyous to see another niece. Another girl to play the great Targaryen Queens of history.
"This is my second valonqar," Rhaenys insisted proudly, holding Rickon in her arms. "Looks just like Jon… but grey eyes. Yes, little direwolf, yes you are." She tickled his nose, Rickon babbling and swatting at her fingers.
"He so little, muna," Egg said, sitting with Elia and nudging at Daemon, obsessed with the boy wriggling whenever he brushed the soles of his feet.
She grinned tiredly. "Babes are little, my son. You were that tiny too."
At the insistence of his mother, Jon was brought to touch the babe in the same way. "Hi, little sister," he murmured. "No worry, I take care of you. I mighty dragon." Baelon stroked her cheek. "You safe with me." Visenya merely yawned, burrowing deeper into Lyanna's side.
In the heavens, the great goddess watched the family with the biggest of smiles.
Elsewhere, her twin brother also watched, but with a different expression.
A/N: They are favored by the gods, 100%. Little Visenya is back :)
And so we have Cersei cleaning house.
Who were those kids in the house with the red door?
Next up, time jump of a year.
