A/N: Hey everyone. Hi all. Things are settling down so it's update time!

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 86: A Realm at Peace

"So you're gonna be a father now, congratulations."

Lord Alliser Thorne grumbled. "Aye, an heir for my house, but does your cousin have to use it as an occasion to spend all my coin?"

Gerion Lannister, wearing the goldcloak of the City Watch, snickered. "That's us Lannisters for you. We either horde gold or we spend it."

"But get this!" Thorne complained. "Apparently women need a whole new wardrobe when they're with child. Why didn't anyone tell me this?!"

"Well of course? Do you think their bellies can it in the tight bodices they usually wear?"

He grumbled. "I suppose… but that's more coin out of my pocket!"

Laughing, Gerion clasped him in the back. "You're the Lord of Duskendale, not some ranger freezing his ass at the wall. You can afford to make my cousin happy."

The two of them, still talking loudly, rounded the corner and leaving the corridor empty… or so it would seem. About a quarter minute passed before a silver-haired head poked out of a dark alcove. "Aight, coast clear."

"You sure?" Came a voice behind her, still shrouded in darkness.

Daenerys Targaryen rolled her eyes - the same expression as her muna did when Jaime said something annoying. "Would I lie? Come on."

Cautiously, Baelon Targaryen joined his aunt as they rushed along the corridors, sticking to the shadows if on instinct. Both quite short and slight, that made it quite easy to hide in case a servant or maid drifted their way.

It wasn't their first time sneaking through the Red Keep and they were experts at it - taught by the master, Princess Rhaenys. She learned from their uncle Oberyn so the hatchlings had no match.

As they were about to turn the corner, Jon raised his hand. "Shhh." His wolf-like hearing picked up the soft footfalls in the distance and he practically yanked Dany flat against the wall. Their hands squeezed tightly in their childlike fear of being caught and brought to their parents with a stern look… only for the one servant girl with a bundle of dirty linens passing by, her attention distracted elsewhere.

"That was close," Dany murmured when they were alone again. "Good ear, Jon."

He didn't know why, but Jon loved when Dany complimented me. "Told ya' that I'm better."

"Keep dreaming," she replied, another phrase her muna used when Jaime was teasing her. "We're almost there, slowpoke. Let's go." With a gesture of her palm, she drew Jon with her as they headed down the new corridor.

Already the smells of the kitchens wafted into the corridor. A hot steam, joined with the aromas of steaming stews, roasting meats, and fresh breads. It was an enjoyable smell, and Jon sighed happily as he sniffed. "Chicken and onion pie, my favorite."

"You're such a wolf," Dany quipped. It was a more northern style dish, and she'd never admit to Jon or Artie that she loved it too. Eyes peeled at the door, she found it… a tiny smear of red on the knob. "That's his spot. Do the knock."

"Alright, alright, hold your dragons," Jon insisted, darting forward. He made two quick knocks, followed by three slow ones, and then another two quick ones… and the door opened not five seconds later. "Yes!" His whoop was in a murmur. Even with the cacophony within, they didn't want the kitchen staff to hear them.

Out through the crack slipped a chubby boy about their age. "Hi, your Graces," he said, bowing… or what made for bowing anyway.

Dany waved him off. "Stop. Got the stuff, Hot Pie?"

The son of the Chief Cook of the Red Keep, Hot Pie learned from even this early age the run of the kitchens. He was the unofficial mascot of the kitchen staff and no one paid him any heed - the name coming from when he accidentally dropped a meat pie meant for Jon on his own face. The poor boy was scalded but the name stuck. He held up a small sack. "Here'ya go, Princess."

Eagerly, Dany took it and forked over a gleaming silver stag. "We're not here."

Hot Pie nodded, miming his keeping his mouth shut. The door then shut and Jon and Dany were alone again.

The silver princess looked into the bag and smirked. "Perfect… they even smell fresh."

Jon insisted on looking for himself, and found the little round morsels of gingerbread and powdered sugar. "Most we've ever gotten." They both simpered with glee and ran off - making sure to be equally as stealthy.

To their good fortune, the Prince and Princess of House Targaryen ran into no one else in the deserted corridors. Dashing through Maegor's Holdfast after ascending from the kitchen tunnel, they were soon back at their shared chambers, Jon turning the knob and letting them both slip through. "We got it!" Dany proclaimed, pumping her fist in the air and twirling about. She was always one for flair.

"Bout time," grumbled Asha Greyjoy, sitting flat on the bed and fiddling with the cuff of her shirt, bored out of her mind. "Couldn't stand the wee ones' constant blubbering." As if emphasizing her point, Alyssa, Allyria, and Myrcella all scampered towards Jon and Dany, hands trying to reach for the gingerbread cookies. Asha snorted, only for a firm hand to smack her head. "Hey!"

"Don't be a grouch," Rhaenys insisted. Eight namedays, she was the unofficial leader of the 'Targlings' as Oberyn dubbed them. "You're part of this family whether you like or not."

"I'm no dragon," Asha hissed back, but sighed. "Fine. Thanks for the cookie." When Rhaenys grabbed one of them and handed it to her, Asha tried not to look like she enjoyed it… but the cookie was absolutely delicious.

"Mmmmm…" Egg was already nibbling halfway through his first. "Cooks are great."

Dany nodded, doling out a cookie each for the younger babes before taking two for herself. "I know. So amazing."

"Hot Pie used to do this for five bronze star… now a silver stag - cooks must be extra vigilant," Rhaenys commented.

"What vigilant?" said Allyria, botching the pronunciation.

"Means they're watching out for us, cousin," replied Artie, finishing his last one and mouth full of crumbs. "Gotta be careful."

"Oh please, it's us," Dany boasted. "We're always careful."

Jon snorted. "I'm always careful. You like to be miss priss."

The Princess glared. "Don't call me miss priss."

"Miss priss," Jon replied, only for Dany to leap on him. The two Targaryens tumbled about, their peers watching with amusement - Rhaenys just burst out into giggles as she watched. They'd be hugging and all cutesy in a few moments and she wanted to enjoy this as long as possible.

When Dany had Jon pinned as she usually did - Jon was stronger but never liked to come close to hurting her - the door opened and all froze. Looking down at all of them, Sandor Clegane's scarred face made the scowl on his lips all the more intimidating. Asha pointed at Rhaenys. "It was her idea."

"I'm going to kick your butt later," Rhaenys mumbled.

"Mmmm-hmmm…" Sandor grunted. "Pilfering cookies again?"

Gulping, Dany nodded - he didn't even comment at her pinning Jon down.

"Of course… always with the Little Prince and Silver Pest." Sandor shook his head. "Clean up your mouths and then leave the chambers. His Grace wants you all at dinner." With that, he shut the door.

"What just happened?" Asha asked incredulously.

Jon, pushing out of Dany's grip, laughed. "Told you, my doggie loves me."

Dany shook her head. "He keeps calling me 'Silver Pest.'"

"You are kinda a pest, Dany," Egg chuckled, only for a half-eaten cookie to be thrown at him. "Hey! I'm keeping this cookie."

That drew a frantic Dany leaping on him. "No! My cookie!"


"Sleep now, my sweet," cooed Lady Lynesse Baratheon, rocking little Shireen in her arms. The three-moon old babe was babbling softly, only to disappear in a yawn as tiredness began to wash over her. "There you go. Let your eyes close and slumber take you into the embrace of your dreams." A gentle kiss to the forehead serenaded Shireen to sleep.

Lynesse placed her in the crib gingerly, draping a blanket over her tiny form. For a moment, she watched Shireen sleep - smiling serenely. The babe was the spitting image of her according to her brother Baelor, who had visited Storm's End only two weeks before. Fair skin, a delicate nose… a great beauty she would be. But there was no mistaking her for anything but a Baratheon, sporting her father's dark hair and azure blue eyes. There would be no shortage of suitors for Shireen Baratheon when she came of age, Lynesse was sure of this.

Brushing a thumb across her cheek, Lynesse blew the babe a kiss. The most precious being in her life, and what she feared was to be her only child - considering how difficult the birth was. She sighed, but accepted it. Shireen would be enough for her, and certainly was enough for Stannis. Nodding at the nursemaid, she made her way out of the nursery and towards the rest of the Lord's quarters in the central tower of Storm's End. Her home for the past year and a half.

The keep was bustling with activity, moreso than when she had arrived. Before the center of the Stormlands was still under the shadow of Robert and Renly's actions during the Rebellion, sad and morose - forgotten or avoided by much of the Realm. But with Robert fighting honorably at Lannisport and Stannis' bravery in the Second Battle of the Arbor, the shower of royal favor revitalized it.

Wealth was slowly being reaccumulated, her husband using most of it to buy back the lands lost in war indemnity five years previously. A smart and powerful man, her husband was. Lynesse felt quite lucky.

Her husband was in his solar as he usually was, a three-day stubble on his cheek as he tirelessly worked over papers and arranged the affairs of the Stormlands while Robert sparred, hunted, ate, and drank his way through life. "Husband," she said.

Dour usually, Stannis had a tiny smile that he only saved for her and Shireen. "Wife." He rose and pecked her lips. "I'm glad you could join us."

It was then that Lynesse noticed someone else in the solar. "Lord Beric."

Beric Dondarrion nodded. "My Lady." If Stannis was the true Lord Paramount, Beric was his most trusted advisor. Better than the likes of Meryn Trant or Rolland Storm that Robert was fond of taking as companions. "I am glad you could join us. We could use your mind."

"And of what do you need?"

"Robert's succession," Stannis said simply.

Lynesse groaned. "What offer did he reject this time?"

"That of Lord Royce. His eldest daughter is coming of age, but Robert declined." From his tone, Lynesse knew Robert's manner of rejection was… less placid as that. He normally didn't fly into rages anymore, but the issue of his marriage wasn't something he held himself back on. 'No woman is worthy of me! Only her! Only Lyanna!' It was rather embarrassing the first time she witnessed it… but now Lynesse was just annoyed.

"Do we need to worry? You're his heir and Shireen is yours."

"A problem that would not be solved and you know it, wife."

Sighing sharply, Lynesse had to concede the point of her blunt husband. Few in the realm outside of Dorne and parts of the North would accede to female Ladies in charge of keeps. If Robert died without heir and she and Stannis unable to sire more babes, Shireen's position would be shaky. "I understand, husband, but what are we to do? Your brother." Her lips curled in distaste. "Remains adamantly against any betrothal offer presented."

"As I said, wife, I am well aware." Stannis looked up from his papers and gestured to Beric. "Which is why Lord Dondarrion and I came up with a solution."

Chuckling at the Hightower lady's raised eyebrow, Beric leaned forward. "It isn't a shock that Robert has many bastard children."

Lynesse snorted, as if Beric insulted her intelligence. "Of this I am well aware. He doesn't wish to marry but can't keep his cock in his pants…" Her eyes widened in understanding. "You mean to legitimize a bastard of his?"

Stannis nodded. "More than one actually. We need daughters to make alliances and an heir and a spare just in case. Lord Beric has been tracking them for me over the last seven moons."

"As such, I've found four that show promise." He produced a stack of parchment, setting it in front of Lynesse for her perusal - Stannis hadn't just married a pretty face, but a sharp mind and Beric respected that. "Two daughters and two sons."

"Are any of them highborn in their mothers?" Lynesse asked, beginning to read. But she wanted to know from his words.

Beric didn't disappoint. "Mya Stone is already acknowledged by Robert as his. She's being raised as a servant in Lord Elbert's household and my conversations with him indicate he's willing to send her here without precondition. As for the younger boy…"

"Edric Storm…?" Lynesse got to the part and then winced. "Highborn child of one of the Florents… was this the one you almost married, husband?"

"No. I don't think even Robert would want to bed Selyse." Stannis shuddered, thanking the gods above that he had rejected the betrothal offer - he'd never have found his beautiful bride if otherwise, nor his sweet daughter. "I'll have to offer significant funds that we don't have to Lord Florent for the bastard."

Laughing, Beric shook his head. "No, he's offered to send five hundred gold dragons to us to take young Edric. the cunt wants the boy gone so he can eliminate all evidence of his daughter's lack of chastity - probably to secure a good marriage alliance with one of the other Reach lords. The girl is quite pretty with dark hair and eyes."

"Robert's type, for sure," Lynesse commented. "And the other two?"

"Those were harder. Lowborn mothers that I didn't even know had slept with Robert… one died and the lad is being raised as a water-carrier in a blacksmith's smithy on the Street of Steel."

This one intrigued Stannis greatly. "Gendry Waters. This one tells me he looks like a mini-Robert and he's older than Edric."

"A smallfolk's child as the heir to Storm's End might not obtain loyalty, I worry." Lynesse shrugged. "But he's but a boy so can still try and earn it for himself. As for the last one…" Her lips pursed. "Oh boy…"

"Aye." Stannis laughed without amusement. "Bella Rivers, bastard daughter of the woman who has become Tywin Lannister's mistress. I was hoping not to involve him besides the asking of the Crown for their leave in this… not that dealing with King Rhaegar on Robert's behalf is also something welcome by me."

A door being thrown open caught their attention. "Who speaks about dealing with the Dragonspawn?!" Slick with sweat from training, Robert didn't reek of wine for once, though his breath was putrid with garlic. He hadn't drank yet, but his appetite was still considerable, only held back by his frequent sparring and hunting. "The less I have to see or hear of my cousin the better." Robert's anger had somewhat dimmed thanks to the Ironborn Rebellion and House Baratheon's now rising status in the realm, but the man that had Lyanna would never be a favorite of his.

Deciding to be blunt, Stannis rose. "We're discussing the matter of heirs for you, brother."

"I told you before!" Robert shouted back. "I am not going to marry! No woman is worth the bounty that I can offer them."

Yet plenty are worth your cock piercing their innocence… Lynesse didn't say that though. "My husband, Lord Beric, and I have found a solution that doesn't involve your getting married." She handed him the stack of papers. "We've found four bastard children of yours. If you give us leave to do so, we can request their legitimization and secure the succession of your line."

Grabbing the papers, Robert squinted as he read the lines - slowly, for he never was the best of readers. "Oh?" A grin. "Ah, Mya. I almost forgot about that sweet little thing." He continued on. "Gendry? Don't remember ever siring him, but a blacksmith's helper? Good, nice and strong." If there was anything Robert respected, it was strength. "Ah yes, the Florent girl. She was a tight thing, she was. But tight in the right places rather than your Florent, right brother?" Robert guffawed at his jape.

Stannis pursed his lips. "Aye, Robert. Aye."

"Let's see… oh yeah, I remember this pretty one. Tywin's mistress huh?" He clicked his tongue. "Wouldn't want her anywhere near that asshole. Aight! Let's do this." He slammed his palm on the table for good measure. "I'll write a letter to my dragonspawn cousin to be sent within the day." Without bidding them farewell, he was off to his solar.

Eying each other, Lynesse spoke first. "You need to write a letter yourself, husband."

"Again, I am well aware of that." Another potential fire to put out. In moments like these, Stannis sometimes envied Renly a bit. At least his troubles were over, while Stannis' were just beginning.


"Hmmmm…" Maester Luwin looked down at the sheet of parchment dotted with scribbles. "You're doing better, Theon, but it's still borderline illegible."

"I'm trying," insisted the ward of House Stark. He'd been barely literate when arriving at Winterfell - a testament to the dutiful parenting of Balon Greyjoy. Luwin considered it an achievement to get him to read at the same level as the others. "It's just so hard."

"It's because you're stupid," five nameday-old Robb Stark declared. He'd never liked the Ironborn, remembering how they tried to hurt his mother if not for Sandor Clegane.

Luwin smacked him lightly with a pedagogical stick. "Watch your tongue."

It affected Theon, who hung his head. "Don't worry, Theon." Sansa was much nicer to him. "You'll get the hang of it."

Robb rolled his eyes and went back to his writing. "No, my Lord," Luwin chided, tapping the table. "You cannot spell it that way. The 'r' in girl comes after the 'i,' not before."

"What's the difference?" Robb complained, his yellow curls askew as he labored through his lessons.

Luwin sighed. It wasn't that he wasn't smart, just that he had little patience. "The former means a young woman, the latter means a type of cooking instrument. If you are to write dispatches as a Lord, then you must learn how to spell."

He huffed. "I'm not some prissy Lord. I shall be a mighty warrior like poppa."

"Poppa writes too, Robb," Sansa insisted, carefully scrawling her practice phrases on a sheet of parchment. Unlike Robb, she never gave trouble during the lessons - eager to absorb information whenever she could.

Nodding, Luwin stood and walked over to Sansa. "She's right, young Stark. A Lord fights when needed, but most of the time he seeks peace and the administration of peace involves much writing." He looked over Sansa's work. "Once again, magnificent, my Lady. Your calligraphy is unmatched for someone your age."

Sansa beamed, always one to accept praise. Hair perfectly styled, grey eyes as radiant as their aunt Lyanna was oft described as, she waited until Luwin looked away before sticking her tongue out at her brother. Just as wild as Lyanna, Sansa possessed the grace and good sense to disguise it when needed… something Robb didn't do enough.

He stuck his tongue out back at her, but Luwin saw him. "Young Stark, please behave yourself."

"Yes, Maester." He loved his sister - they did everything together especially since Rickard and baby Joanna were too young - but seeing Sansa's cheery smile made the heir to Winterfell want to shove her and her perfect dress into the mud. No matter how wild she could be, Sansa hated the mud.

Lessons finally over, Robb scampered about the grounds of Winterfell towards the keep - he was free, while Sansa was stuck with Old Nan for embroidery lessons. Sucks to be her. Sansa may have enjoyed it, but Robb found it to be so boring as to be akin to torture. He'd much rather explore the keep with Lann or ride in the Wolfswood with his father. The lion was a constant sight in Winterfell and had grown a mighty mane and shaggy coat to deal with the cold of the North… but was nowhere to be found. Probably sleeping. The beast was also notoriously lazy.

The servants and guards all bowed or curtseyed to him as he walked through the grounds. "Mi'Lord," or "Young Stark," being banded about constantly, ever respectful and warm. Lannister he might look, the liking the Northmen had for his mother bled into adoration for the cute lad. "My Lord." Robb saw Jory bow, joined by a curtsey from Malera, his mother's lady in waiting and Jory's wife.

"Jory, where's poppa?" Robb asked, resolved that a ride in the wolfswood sounded like a great way to spend the afternoon.

"I believe he's in his solar, young Stark. Do you wish an escort?"

"No, I manage," Robb replied, moving towards the keep. He knew the way by heart to his poppa's solar, and was there in no time.

"Oh yes…" Robb heard his father speak from within his solar, indicating to him that he was there just as he hoped. "So good, wife…"

Since Lord Eddard Stark made it a point of never sparing a moment if his children needed or wanted time with him, Robb simply grabbed the latch and pushed open the door. "Poppa," he announced.

Head leaned back and simply humming in pleasure, the words of his son were like an electric shock to Ned… and not the good one. "Robb!" Below him, thankfully hidden by the stout ironwood desk, Cersei stilled in her motions. Green eyes widened in alarm and she pulled her mouth off of Ned's cock - where she had been so close to getting him to spill his seed into her mouth. 'Get him out of here,' she mouthed, face flush hair askew. "Do you… need something, son?"

"Can we go for a ride in the wolfswood?" Robb asked. "My lessons with Maester Luwin are done," he said proudly.

"Ummm…" A naughty glint in her eye, Cersei squeezed his length, both soothing and aggravating the pressure pulsing in his cock. "Perhaps later…"

Robb pouted. "Please, poppa. I didn't make fun of Sansa's girly sewing once. Please, please, please."

'He's a good boy, Ned,' Cersei mouthed before sucking his tip into her mouth, licking it ever so slowly.

What started as a simple kiss between husband and wife rapidly developed into something more. Ned intended on continuing this further after she was done, but his time with Cersei was being interrupted - but it was his son, so could he complain? "I promise I'll ride with you before dark." Robb looked to object, but the door opened again.

"And what is going on here?" Alone - Ned thanked the gods - ambled in Tyrion, ever nosey and inquisitive. "I heard voices in distress?"

"Go away, you irritating demon monkey," Cersei mumbled with a disgusted sneer on her face, but immediately resumed her sensual motions. Lips engulfing her husband's cock and sucking it deep into her throat.

Biting back a groan, Ned gripped the massive ironwood table to ground himself. "What do you... want, Tyrion?

The imp gazed at his goodbrother in puzzlement. "I could've sworn someone was calling me a demon monkey… Jaime is hairier than me so I don't see the comparison."

Cersei hummed on his length, enjoying how his legs trembled. "Get him out of here, my wolf," she ordered, fondling his balls and licking a stripe to his tip.

"Can… can you please take Robb somewhere… I… am quite busy…"

"But you always make time for your son and heir," Tyrion replied, suspicious.

Robb, eyes shifting to both his father and his 'N'cle Little,' didn't know what to think in his child-mind. "I ask poppa where momma is, but he won't tell me."

"My son… your mother is…" a muffled grunt. "Handling a task for me… elsewhere. Yes, elsewhere."

The ruffling of skirts and a slight glimpse of golden hair appearing above Ned's lap finally clued Tyrion in. "Oh, gods…" He stifled a laugh. "Ah yes, handling a task I see. Cleaning your spear perhaps?" He was certain Cersei was using the most vile profanities in regards to him, but not enough to stop her carnal actions. "Odd, because Cersei never cleans anything outside of her baths. Could she be sampling the cream for tonight's dinner?"

"Lann likes cream," Robb piped. "Maybe he can help!"

His helpful suggestion made Tyrion erupt in laughter while Ned winced. "Goodbrother, for the love of the old gods…"

Tyrion held up his hands. "Alright, alright. Cersei cannot say that I am not a good sibling for her, assisting in her… eel milking."

"Ewww… I hate eel." Robb had it once during a trip to White Harbor and was now what he always used as reference when food tasted bad. "No eel for dinner, poppa."

"Goodbrother…"

"Right, come on, nephew. We're not having eel tonight and poppa is busy."

"But where's momma…"

"Come on."

Confused as anything, Robb looked back at the flushed, trembling face of his father as the door closed and Tyrion shuffled him out. Once they were alone in the corridors, the imp began laughing uproariously, smacking his knee. "There is no doubt that your mother and I are related in our wantonness."

The words were too big for him to understand, so Robb just blinked. "N'cle little? Where's momma? And why was poppa sweating? It's not hot."

A damnable grin didn't leave Tyrion's face. "Oh nephew." He patted Robb's back, the boy only half a head shorter than him. Better enjoy that while I can. "There is so much I want to tell you about life, but I cannot till you're older."

"Why not?" Robb pouted. "I bet Sansa knows… goodie two shoes."

"No, she wouldn't know… at least I hope she doesn't." He winced for dramatic effect. "Your mother would castrate me if I taught you the facts of life too early… though she'd likely castrate me if I taught you them at all so woe is to me."

That didn't help Robb's confusion. "What's 'castrate' mean?"

Another laugh. "It means turning a man into… not a man."

"If momma castrate you, would you wear a dress like her or Sansa?"

"I hope not, though Lord Varys wears something akin to one so I wouldn't know." Sensing Robb's head was likely hurting from all the discussion, he ruffled the boy's hair. "Enough of that. You're too young to worry about what us stuffy elders deal with on a daily basis. Let's go to the kitchens and get you a snack."

Just hearing the word 'snack' made Robb smile widely in childlike exuberance. "Can I have a toffee apple?"

Tyrion smirked. "I'll give you two, nephew, if you promise to keep it between us."

"I'll get one for Sansa too!" He ran off, confusion replaced with an excited energy.

"Boys these days." He shook his head. "We used to think our sisters were poison, and now they are inseparable to us… what has this world come to?" Damned if Tyrion wouldn't trade these moments for the world.


Free… he felt free…

The rhythmic thump of Maerys' wings sent a vibration through the dragon's body, felt each time by Prince Viserys. Astride the growing beast's spines, he gripped the spikes and let his hair blow freely behind him. His ten and third nameday celebrated five weeks prior, a boy his age likely would've felt the greatest exhilaration at being this high above the clouds. At having such a beast at his beck and call…

Viserys did feel that, but it was dwarfed by another emotion. Relief. Freedom. Salvation.

He closed his eyes as the dragon crested, just feeling the wind bracket his face. Cooling the low simmering fire he oft felt inside. 'Calm, rider. You are among your own.'

Smiling, chuckling even, Viserys released one hand to stroke the red scales of his dragon. "Dive, boy!" Maerys roared and let himself plunge through the clouds. The Prince kept his eyes open throughout the dive, not letting himself give up this view. The ant-like city below him, the sparkling blue waters of Blackwater Bay sparkling as it reflected the sunlight from above. Only those of the dragonblood could ever witness this majesty… this glory.

Long thinking himself a pawn, a castaway… it gave Viserys a new sense of purpose. I am a dragon, kepa… He hoped Aerys was watching from the afterlife. Smiling down on him. I've become what you always wanted… I've made you proud…

But, as much as Viserys would've liked to simply fly forever - crossing the world merely on dragonback, himself and no one else - he was forced to level out and guide Maerys back to the Dragonpit. Within, Aegarax was curled up in sleep, already having grown considerably since his brother rode him in the Ironborn Rebellion. Jaimexes, lazilly chewing on the blackened bones of a goat, greeted her brother with a hoot. Once Maerys landed, he did the same… only for the hoots turning into roars as they fought over the remaining carcass. Viserys only shook his head, chuckling at their antics.

While the dragonkeepers - very slowly - tempted Maerys away from his sister with a fresh carcass, Viserys found a horse waiting for him next to a rather bored Kingsguard. "Ser Arys," he said, nodding to the knight of the Reach.

Arys Oakheart bowed in the saddle. "Your Grace." He waited for Viserys to mount his steed. "To the Red Keep?"

"Aye, home." Viserys kicked his thighs inward, driving the horse forward. Already he felt an emptiness away from his dragon, but it wasn't anything the Prince hadn't endured before.

This was his life. Not much to write about, but hope ahead.

He paid little attention to the guards or servants of the Red Keep, accepting their bows and words of deference as his due for being a Targaryen Prince. That was how it was supposed to be and he didn't choose to change it as his goodsisters did. It is amusing, them being friendly with the servants. One didn't fraternize with those one ruled, as critical a rule in his mind as his muna's lessons that he never abuse any of his subjects.

Not that Viserys ever did so, but the lesson was pushed nonetheless. Such a shame… some of the young serving girls seemed sweet and pretty. He could've bedded them, but his mind could only conjure one kind of partner.

Hoping to stay in his quarters till dinnertime - his duties limited to sparring and required attendance in small council sessions since he completed his six moon squireship for Ser Jaime - Viserys' hopes were dashed when someone called out his name. "Uncle Vis! Come play with us."

Viserys sighed, rolling his eyes and heading into the chamber where the voice came from. Why does my half-wolf nephew keep imposing upon me. It wasn't like he made it seem that he was the sort of uncle that enjoyed playing with little children - even if they were blood. "Yes, Baelon?" He found he had entered the nursery, a total of eight cribs present including the newest babes of Dacey's daughter Lyanna and Ashara's daughter Serena. "Do you need something?"

Eyes bright and innocent - his kepa's eyes, as if taunting Viserys - Jon thrust a dragon figurine into his hand. "Me and Dany are playing Dance. Can you be Aemond?"

"Yes, brother. Play Aemond!" Dany insisted.

The Prince couldn't really refuse his little sister, whom he actually enjoyed being with as long as she didn't intrude on his schedule. "The rider of Vhagar…" He shrugged. "I could be worse. Let's have at it."

As they played, Baelon naturally insisting on the role of the Rogue Prince - Lyanna Stark's influence on him - Viserys took the time to look around. Cella was asleep, his half-sister's Lannister curls irking him even though he had nothing against the child. It felt an affront that the Dayne and Mormont children were here, but that didn't extend to Alyssa playing with her blocks or for the dozing Rickon, Daemon, and Visenya. Gonna need to find more dragon eggs for all of them. No Targaryen should be without one.

Finally, he was able to extract himself from his sister and nephew, trudging back into his chambers. Gods, he looked forward to a nice nap...

"Viserys." The Prince turned, finding Dowager Queen Rhaella entering his chambers. "Oh, thank the gods you are here." She looked relieved to see him. "Thought you'd be on that dragon of yours for much longer."

He sighed. "Muna, you were the one that insisted I learn riding since my ten and second nameday."

Rhaella laughs, clicking her tongue as she hugged him. "Kessa, and nothing can make me happier that you are growing into a mighty dragonrider like myself or your brother, but you must also be mindful of your duties as a Prince." She pulled back, holding his shoulders. "You're coming of age, and that brings more duties that I hope you will be able to handle with strength and tact."

"Not this again…" He sighed. Normally the Prince would squire at his age, but the first two attempts to bind him to a warrior of great renown turned sour as his attitude provided too much of an acquired taste for both Lyle Crakehall and Brynden Tully. Riding Maerys and a final squireship with Jaime Lannister - who had far more patience - worked, even though he secretly disliked the Lannister kingsguard for being his muna's lover. "I served your lover well, didn't I?"

She frowned. "Don't take that tone with me, Viserys." When he didn't seek to continue the argument, Rhaella brought her smile back. "You need to get ready, my son."

"Ready for what?"

"In a week's time, the Volantene delegation is arriving to establish closer diplomatic relations. The two senior triarchs and their retinues, and there will be a feast."

Viserys groaned. "I hate feasts… they're so boring."

"That's because you never join in on the fun, simply eating alone or with Ser Arys." She rifled through his cabinets for proper clothes. "You'll practice your dancing skills, as well as properly bathe beforehand…" Rhaella thrusted a bundle of trousers and doublets into his arms. "Try these on… and shave off that ridiculous attempt at a beard. I don't know what you are thinking with that."

"Yes, muna." What else could he say?

Gods, he wished to be aloft with his dragon.


He didn't like coming to the private quarters of the royal family. They brought… bad memories. It wasn't that Tywin Lannister didn't feel pride in his tenure as Hand of the King. With Aerys' eccentricities and the various blights that faced the Realm it was only his iron fist and able administration that prevented rebellion for as long as it did - at least that was how he saw it. But… for his life, it was a nightmare in many an instance, represented by the royal quarters of Maegor's Holdfast.

Was this corner where Aerys and Joanna had their illicit affair?

Was here where Rhaegar decided to spurn Cersei?

Did Aerys plot his death from this chamber?

No one considered Tywin Lannister superstitious, him most of all, but by the gods did it feel that the ghosts of the past haunt these walls.

Stop it. Rhaegar won, you won… all is well. All was well - in spite of all odds Tywin was back and with more power than ever. A close run thing.

Squeals of laughter drew him towards the nursery. "Lord Tywin," nodded the tall Kingsguard standing guard, intimidating in full plate and with a claymore sheathed at the waist.

"Ser Brienne," he replied formally. Tywin did raise an eyebrow at the female warrior arriving to be a Kingsguard… but when she lasted ten minutes in a duel with the King and five minutes against Ser Arthur Dayne himself, even he had admitted she was worthy. "Is Queen Elia within?"

"No, my Lord. Your son is though." While all the Kingsguards treated her as one of them, she had to admit that Jaime was her favorite - treated her as Renly did… before the unpleasantness years before. Brienne had dramatically improved her sparring skills thanks to him.

I shouldn't be surprised. Jaime inherited Joanna's innate sentimentality. "Right then." Brienne opened the door for him and Tywin stepped inside, immediately assaulted by the giggles of a delighted babe and the laughs of an adoring parent.

"High, kepa. High!"

"'Ere you go, my little dragon!" Hands clasped firmly around her waist, a tunic-clad Jaime lifted little Myrcella Targaryen high in the air. The Princess shrieked and giggled out of joy. Approaching three namedays, she would soon be in her own personal chambers and out of the nursery. From what Tywin heard, Cella was quite excited to have her own room 'like Rhae and Egg!' The Crown Prince and Princess Daenerys still shared a chamber. "Uh oh, here comes the hungry lion!"

"Eeeep!" Cella squealed as Jaime nuzzled her neck, making growling noises. "No kepa! Stop!" she giggled, kicking her feet and wiggling around in his hold. But her violet eyes - exactly like Aerys' ironically enough, which unsettled Tywin a bit - quickly spotted him. "Gam...pa!" she called out, trying to reach for him.

Jaime composed himself rather quickly, holding his squirming daughter. "Father."

"Ser Jaime," he said formally. "Princess." The Hand of the King reached over to chuck his grandaughter's chin, but otherwise made no other show of affection. "Have you been behaving?"

"I's a good dwagon, gam-pa!"

"See that you stay that way." Tywin looked up to his son. "I always figured that Cersei would bear a Targaryen child… seems I was ignorant of the future."

"She's as much a Lannister as a Targaryen, father," Jaime replied.

"But without our name, yet you are her father. Quite strange, doesn't it seem?" Ruffling the girl's hair, he moved to the window, making cursory glances to the other cribs. All were empty except for that of Princess Visenya, fast asleep. "However, I thought you were a lost cause when you took the white cloak, and you managed not to completely fuck it up. Seducing Queen Rhaella after you killed Aerys… impressive."

Jaime narrowed his eyes. "You know that she and I love each other, father."

"Aye, I've bore witness to enough of your affection… but we will need Myrcella for the future just as we will need Cersei and her babes, cause gods know if Tyrion will ever have children." He turned to give Jaime a stare. "Make sure she knows she's a lion just as much as she is a dragon."

Sighing, Jaime closed his eyes. "Yes, father."

"Gam-pa funny," Cella giggled. "Wion! Wion!" She began pointing to a stuffed lion resting in her crib. Besides the dragon egg resting beside, it was her favorite thing in the world.

The door opened to reveal Queen Elia, Ser Oswell trailing behind. "Oh, Ser Jaime… Lord Tywin."

Tywin bowed. "Your Grace." Thank the gods. "I have been trying to find you."

She gave him a neutral look, but smiled at Cella. "How is the golden dragon, Ser Jaime?"

"Been asking for a 'cookie' all day, so I suspect Crown Prince Baelon and Princess Daenerys have been pilfering from the kitchens again," he laughed.

"Gonna have to have a word with them, then," Elia shook her head, stifling a chuckle as she reached in to pick up Visenya. "Hi sweetling, did you miss your muna?" Senya wriggled her arms, which she took as a yes, kissing her cheek. "Follow me, Lord Tywin."

Within the corridor, aside from Ser Oswell behind them, they were alone. "What did you wish to discuss with me?"

"A friend in Braavos gave me a tidbit of information I thought you'd be interested in."

"Why me? Why not my husband or wife?"

"You're the one with the birds, no? And the brother adept at… suspicious deaths."

Her eyes narrowed, clutching the babe tight. "Lord Yronwood was prone to strokes… he already had one prior to my brother fighting him." But Elia didn't wish to dwell on this. "Just spit it out."

Tywin appreciated it. "The black dragon… perhaps Ser Barristan didn't kill the last one."

Elia's eyes widened slightly. "There were female lines. No threat I would think?"

"He could be lying, but I figured you'd be able to make the best of it."

"I'll keep it under advisement, my Lord." She reached her chambers. "Now unless you wish to watch me nurse, I think this bids our farewell." Tywin didn't wish to see that, so he took the hint. Martells didn't like the Lannisters and the feeling was mutual. At least Lyanna Stark is grateful enough to my idiot daughter for giving her brother some sort of love to tolerate my presence.

Back in the Tower of the Hand - he was no young man anymore, knees dying from the long climb - he found a surprise. "Talla."

The pretty Riverlander had taken to King's Landing like a child in a cookie jar. Spending her mornings, evenings, and nights in Tywin's company and bed, a decent stipend and freedom to go about the city with a Lannister guard had her transformed into the epitome of a wealthy highborn woman of fashion. One couldn't imagine she had been a common whore only two years before.

If it bothered Tywin that he had very nearly become his own father, he didn't show it.

"Did you find the Queen?" Talla asked, standing up to remove his cloak and kiss his neck. Just as Joanna had done, only without the kiss on the neck. Tywin found he liked that. At his nod, she clicked her tongue. "Was she appreciative?"

"Of me, still no. Of the information, I believe so."

"Dealers in whispers, they never divulge any emotions."

"So I've seen." Varys was just like that. "Why are you here?"

She snorted. "You're not happy to see me?"

"Beside the point, so answer the question."

Smirking slightly, she pointed to a series of dispatches on the desk that hadn't been there before. They bore the seal of House Baratheon… Talla had opened them. Too curious to scold her for that, Tywin began to read the contents…

Seven hells…

A/N: There are no real dangers so everything is quiet right now. Jon and Dany are still inseparable, Cersei and Ned are working on conceiving Arya, and Tywin is well... Tywin.

Finally see what's up with Stannis and Viserys.

Next up, the Baratheons request a favor of the King.