A/N: Hi guys. The big moment is here! Jonerys meets Sansa.
Good news on my end. I've started my new job and have my first med school interview in one week's time. Wish me luck.
My romantic comedy modern AU story My Best Friend's Wedding has just been posted on Ao3! Be sure to check it out for some drop dead laughs, sweet fluff, crazy pairings, and plenty of Jonerys smut ;)
Enjoy.
Chapter 90: A Wolf's Return
"Hurry up, hurry up, let's get all this on."
"Aunt Genna, I can dress myself," Robb complained, pouting sullenly. "I'm not a babe."
The older Lannister, her figure slimmer and golden hair more lustrous in spite of being a widow going on a year now, chuckled. "I still remember when you were about ye' big," she gestured to her forearm, running a hand along it. "Babbling and reaching out for anything shiny."
Robb's cheeks reddened in embarrassment, while beside him Sansa just snickered. "Don't be such a sourpuss," she giggled. "Today we're meeting the King and Queens!" She hadn't this excited since her poppa came back from fighting the Ironborn, and only the worry of any part of her beautiful blue dress being dirty or ripped kept her from bouncing all over the walls.
"I met aunt Lya and n'cle Rhaegar before, they're nice." As Genna fixed his collar - dressed in leathers almost a miniature copy of their father's - Robb's green eyes suddenly sparkled with his own excitement. "We'll see the dragons. N'cle Little says they've grown huge!"
Closing her eyes, Sansa imagined the dragons. Great, majestic beasts like in the stories her Aunt Lya sent for her nameday… she had learned to read from them, and Old Nan or Genna always read them to her if she asked. "Oh, I would love to ride a dragon," she sighed.
Without her noticing, a hand patted her back. "Oh, sweet niece." Uncle Tyrion - Robb's beloved 'N'cle Little' - hugged Sansa loosely, kissing her fiery hair. "I once wished I could ride a dragon when I was your age. Little did I know that I would see live ones… but never am I to ride one since I am not of Valyrian blood. Your Aunt Lya's children are, but you aren't either."
"I'll ride a dragon," she insisted, only for Tyrion to give her a sardonic look.
Robb giggled. "A dragon would eat you before let's you ride." Sansa stuck her tongue out at him, crossing her arms.
Her resolve to give her stupid brother the cold shoulder for the rest of forever wilted only hours later, the sight of the royal procession entering through the main gate of Winterfell. She grabbed Robb's hand, the two sharing their excitement at the fluttering dragon banners at the head of the column. Beside them were their poppa and momma - Ned in his best Northern armor and Cersei wearing a red and gold dress in northern trim and a direwolf pinned at the breast. Young Rickard was behind with Malera and Jory, while Cersei held tiny baby Joanna, Sansa's youngest sibling. "Look…" whispered Robb. "It's the Sword of the Morning." He looked almost close to fainting from seeing his idol riding alongside someone who could only be Lady Dacey Mormont.
Sansa's eyes scanned each newcomer. "Is that your uncle?" A golden kingsguard free of his helm rode proudly, the legendary Brightroar clipped to his side.
"Aye, that's uncle Jaime I think…"
"Shhh, quiet," Cersei scolded. They resolved to watch everything in silence.
More of the legendary Kingsguards came into view, from Ser Barristan the Bold to their own uncle, Ser Benjen Stark - he had that look about him, like her poppa. "Grandfather," Robb murmured so that only she could hear, eyes moving to a severe man in armor and a red-gold cloak billowing behind him. Behind him was…
"Lya." Her poppa's face broke out into the widest of smiles. Queen Lyanna Targaryen in the flesh. Tall and proud on her horse, sword at her side and crown on her head. She looked at everything with the most rapturous of smiles… including Sansa.
The little wolf knew immediately that she'd love her aunt.
But there was something missing. "Where are the dragons, momma?" Robb asked Cersei.
Before Cersei could respond, twin roars boomed over the landscape. Some fell to the ground in fright, others flinched, and others still gawked in the sky as two dragons soared overhead, beating their large wings as they circled the keep. Sansa was one of the latter, seeing the majestic creatures as they soon flapped hard, trying to land in the courtyard with their Targaryen riders astride them.
Down from astride his dragon - the great Aegarax, the Sunrise Dragon in the flesh - the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaegar I Targaryen himself, plopped his boots onto the newly cobblestone surface of the courtyard below him. Sansa gaped at him… from what her poppa said she had met the great King when she was just a babe. The redhead was sure she would've remembered him, tall and strapping in his scaled armor and thick black cloak emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon. His silver hair flowed freely about his shoulders, thick and lustrous.
In one wave, her father bent the knee. Her mother followed, joined by Sansa, Robb, and the rest of the household of Winterfell, showing their loyalty to the man that had married their She-Wolf.
Stroking the side of the green dragon's neck, the King readjusted his cloak before walking to the other, golden beast. Offering a hand for his mother to grasp as she climbed to the ground. It was a short journey, but she pressed a motherly kiss to his cheek anyway.
While the Queen Dowager moved to join the others of their party, the King stepped towards where Sansa, her father, mother, and the rest of the Starks waited with their knees bent in supplication. "Rise," he commanded, his voice firm and deep. The voice of a warrior. Sansa did so gladly, wiping at her skirts to get the dirt off just as the King reached her poppa. "Lord Stark."
Her poppa nodded. "Your Grace."
King Rhaegar raised a brow. "There's something… different about you." The pause was louder than the roar of the dragons. "You're actually smiling." Suddenly the King began laughing uproariously, a laugh in which her poppa soon joined as they embraced in a tight, manly hug.
While all eyes were on the growing dragons, gawking with fear, awe, or excitement at the symbols of the restored Targaryen might and exceptionalism, Sansa's were trained in a different direction. Focused among the mounted royal party, behind the crowned Queen that was her Aunt Lyanna, were the eldest children of the Targaryens - those old enough to ride, and rather skilled at it just as Sansa was. An older boy, on the cusp of manhood, shivering underneath his thick furs that Sansa noticed Robb snickering at earlier. A girl a few years older than her, tall and defiant against the northern chill with violet eyes and lustrous black hair. Another boy with silvery features similar to his Grace the King…
But the last two made Sansa's eyes widen… both in surprise and a rare sort of joy brewing in her heart like a gentle warmth. A boy and a girl, both around the same age as her and Robb. One of them looked so much like her poppa - like Aunt Lya - with the raven curls and pale skin of a northern warrior. Only he held the same violet Valyrian eyes that the girl held. She looked like a snow angel, exactly what a dragon should.
Baelon… Dany… Sansa stared at her two playmates, the ones whom she had spent little time with but never forgot - a moment so treasured by her to be vivid to this day. They were real, she hadn't just imagined them.
The boy, Baelon, noticed her first. It took a while since he had been observing the great keep of Winterfell with eager eyes, but when his gaze found Sansa they widened just as much. Her greys locked with his violets and Sansa suddenly felt intimidated by his piercing stare… yet helpless not to look away.
Reaching out to tap his companion, Dany, on the side, she looked to him quizzically before her gaze fell upon Sansa too. A blush found Sansa's cheeks and she looked away at the combined effort of their violet eyes… when her courage returned, she saw Dany beaming brightly at her. Joyful and triumphant.
It felt like an unease in her heart that she had little idea of was finally gone, leaving nothing but warmth as Sansa returned Dany's smile. Coaxing Baelon into smiling as well.
Clasping Ned on the back once more for good measure, Rhaegar pulled back with a genuine smile. "In all seriousness, Ned, it's wonderful you no longer have that brooding scowl as your default expression."
Before Ned could reply with a laconic remark, Cersei cut in with one of her own. "Live with him, you don't, my King." Rhaegar chortled at that, while Ned was not amused - he was mollified when Cersei kissed his cheek. "Goodbrother, Winterfell is yours."
There was a time where Rhaegar never wanted to see Cersei Lannister for as long as he lived. The girl had been beautiful, but her emerald eyes contained a smug entitlement that turned him off - and her insistence to try and seduce him whenever they met truly met his ire. Now though… her golden features were even more beautiful than before, but the expression was gone. Replaced with a congenial joy, explaining by simply how close she was to Ned. It didn't even seem intended, just that by instinct she kept her hand on his and her body angled as close to him as possible.
Given what his goodbrother went through, Rhaegar loved to see it. "Thank you, Lady Cersei." He eyed her some more. "You look like a true Lady of Winterfell."
"It helps that this keep is built over hot springs, for the cold is still beastly." She smiled up at her husband. "Dear Ned keeps me very warm as well." It hung for a moment, but suddenly Ned grew mortified while the southerners shared smirks.
"If you're mocking my brother, don't. That's my duty." Breezing forward without propriety, Lyanna leapt into Ned's embrace. "Gods, Ned. It's felt like ages."
He squeezed her tightly. "Welcome home, Lya."
She pulled back, grinning. "Passing under the gate reminded me of how I truly missed this place." Crown on her head, Wolfsbane at her hip, and the Targaryen sigil emblazoned on her cuirass, Queen Lyanna knew her home was with her husband, wife, and children wherever they were but nothing could take away her affection for her childhood home. She looked at it in awe. "You're really rebuilding the old keep?"
"I can't take all the credit, Lya," Ned shrugged. "It was at the insistence of Cersei here." He leaned in to kiss his wife's temple.
Lyanna's gaze shifted to Cersei. "Lady Stark." I used to be 'Lady Stark.'
Cersei dipped her head in respect, nonetheless cradling Joanna close. "Your Grace."
"Is that my newest niece?" the Queen asked, leaning in to see the chubby-cheeked babe looking up with pure green eyes. "Golden blonde hair, she'll be a beauty, but it's such a shame that you have no children that look like you, Ned." Lyanna tickled Joanna's cheek, making the babe giggle. "Baelon looks more a Stark."
"You can tell he's a dragon though," Ned remarked, lightly thumping Lya's arm at her jests. Getting a bigger thump back from the laughing Queen.
"Already? Dear gods, wife, you could at least wait an hour before you roughhouse." While Queen Rhaella waited behind and tended to the Targaryen brood, Queen Elia brushed forward while bunched up in her orange cloak - thick and warm, though she still shivered. "And our goodbrother has more children for you to meet, so don't focus only on the babe." Elia leaned in to kiss Ned on the cheek, a gesture he reciprocated.
Giving Joanna one last pinch on the cheek, Lyanna knelt upon the crunchy snowfall and pulled Robb into a hug. "Nephew, you are just as I remembered… only better."
"Hi, Aunt Lya," Robb chirped, happy to see his aunt again. "I'm a Stark now."
"You most definitely are, not just in name," Lyanna beamed. In his leathers, grey cloak, and boots, if one took out the golden hair and green eyes he looked a perfect Stark. Reminded her of her Baelon - coloring aside, he was a Targaryen through and through. "Your poppa tells me in his letters that you are progressing with your swordsplay."
He grew excited. "I'm gonna be as good as poppa." Beside them, Ned puffed up in pride.
"Lofty goal… one I know you'll achieve." Kissing his forehead, Lyanna now looked at her niece. "Sansa dear." It was like staring at what Catelyn Tully had to have looked like when she was younger, only with twin grey eyes that were like her gazing through the looking glass. Something that gave Lyanna hope - considering what was being discussed regarding Sansa. "Last time I saw you, you were just a babe."
Blinking, Sansa pointed to her baby sister. "Babe like Joanna?"
"Even younger," Lya chuckled, cupping her cheek. "You look beautiful, like a proper lady."
Sansa smiled, proud of herself. "I'm a Lady Wolf, aunt Lya."
"A Lady Wolf… aye, I like that. Don't let anyone try to squash either part of you, niece." Her eyes glanced to Cersei. "You can be as strong as me and as graceful as Lady Cersei."
"Hear that momma? I can be as pretty as you!"
Lyanna was surprised, looking up at Cersei. Momma? A snort - well, looked like Cersei had taken her advice to heart. For Ned's sake, she was delighted to see it.
"Uncle Ned!" Speaking of Ned, he was currently being squeezed tightly by her eldest daughter, so delighted to see her uncle again. "I'm finally here! Look at all the snow!"
Sharing a grin with his sister, wife, goodbrother, and goodsister at her exuberance, Ned ruffled her hair. "Aye, I can see the snow. For me, it's not somethin' too unusual, so forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm." Most northmen would rather there be no snow.
Looking up with her bright, purple eyes, Rhaenys gave Ned a brilliant smile. "Do you have a direwolf for me, uncle?" It was the innocent tone she used to get everyone to do her bidding - Lyanna rolled her eyes while Elia chuckled.
Ned sighed. "No direwolves, my dear. I'm sorry." That seemed to strike Rhaenys harder than any punishment or sorrow.
While there were plenty of greetings and introductions left to give, it was clear that many of the southerners - Elia the highest ranking of them - were starting to succumb to the cold. Lyanna knew what to do. "Let's get all of us into the keep to warm up. We can continue this at supper."
Ned raised an eyebrow. "Already bossing me around - as my sister or as the Queen?"
"Why can't it be both?" she replied, eyes twinkling. Turning to her beloveds, Lyanna pecked them on the lips. "Get the children settled. I'll be but a moment."
"Where are you going, my love?" Elia asked through her chattering teeth.
A sigh. "Somewhere I need to be." Neither of them denied her when she gave that resolved look - they trusted her.
If the keep seemed just a little bit livelier with all the new construction Lady Cersei was instituting, the godswood was exactly how Lyanna had left it. She was hit almost immediately by the spiritual power of the old gods upon entering. It was a… surreal experience. Was the heart tree here truly stronger than the two saplings Howland had sent for Dragonstone and King's Landing? Or was it simply that this was where she grew up? Perhaps both were true.
The face carved into the bark was unchanged as well, a constant in a world of turbulence and change. Running her gloved hand along the surface of the wood, Lyanna reflected on such shifts. Last time she had come to this tree, she was but a maiden, betrothed unofficially to Robert Baratheon - Lyanna couldn't help but shudder at the thought - and now she returned a Targaryen Queen. Wife of Rhaegar I Targaryen and Elia Martell. Mother of eight beautiful children including the Crown Prince, dragons all. Wielder of the Valyrian steel sword Wolfsbane and beloved the Kingdoms over for her compassion and ferocity.
Smiling, there was nothing she would change about her life… suddenly her face fell. The same memories brought forth two that truly brought sorrow where there had been nothing but happiness. "Bran…" she murmured. "Poppa…" Laughing with Bran as they played in the godswood together, throwing snowballs. Praying beside her father, learning the lore of their gods. Never would Bran laugh with her children, never would Rickard teach them the ways of the North.
Both were forever taken from her, and even with eighteen years of memories wasn't enough.
A lifetime wouldn't be enough.
Head resting against the bark, Lyanna didn't know how long she cried. Memories of her father and brother bittersweet in her mind. Of all the time lost with her beautiful daughter Visenya, so long thought lost but returned to her by the grace of the gods. The sorrows and pain of the life she had chosen for herself poured out before the heart tree. It could've been minutes, it could've been hours.
All she knew was that a tug on her tunic brought her out of the reverie. "Muna?" With red-rimmed eyes, Lyanna looked down to see Baelon looking up at her, concern on his angelic face. "Why are you crying?" He looked sad.
Closing her eyes, Lyanna knelt and hugged her beloved boy. "Just… it's been so long since I was here, Jon. This is where I grew up, when I was but a girl like your sisters or aunts."
"But… then you should be happy."
"Happy tears, dear son." Lya found Rhaegar approaching, hefting Jon into his arms as if he weighed nothing. "She's just so happy the tears come out."
Seeing her two men, Lya quickly embraced them both, Jon wrapping tight round her neck while Rhaegar kissed her brow. "I thought I asked for some time," she murmured, not at all upset though.
Rhaegar chuckled. "Jon missed his muna. Wanted to see if you were alright." He pulled back, looking at her with violet eyes. "Are you?"
Staring back at her husband, sensing Jon's eyes on her as well - the two violet pairs identical - Lyanna smiled widely even though the tears still framed her face. "Aye, I am." Under the shade of the weirwood tree, no one could ever tell a lie.
Leaping on the bed, Dany jumped up and down. "She's here! She's here! She's here!"
Rhaenys rolled her eyes. "Get down before you break the bed."
"She's too tiny to break the bed," Baelon laughed, thinking he had made a good point before a pillow was thrown at him. "Hey!"
Daenerys stuck her tongue out at her nephew. "You're a meanie… and you're barely taller than me!" It was true. In spite of his being a boy and a Targaryen boy at that, he was only half a head taller than her… and she was pretty petite for her age. Both made up for it in Targaryen fire though. "Aren't you happy Jon?! We found our Rhaenys!" She stuck her tongue out again, this time at her niece. "Told you, Rhae!"
Laughing, Rhae fell on her own bed. Feeling the softness of the furs and wishing it was her very own direwolf she was snuggling against. "Aye, Dany. You told me." She looked at her younger aunt. "I saw her face. She knew who you were."
Daenerys shook with excitement. "We can finally play Conquerors with a Rhaenys, aren't you happy, Jon?"
"Aye, I'm happy," he commented, looking out the window to see the snow.
She giggled. "You sound like my brother… all gloomy like muna says. Be happy." Knowing Jon would be quiet and brooding forever if he could, Dany quickly jumped from the bed and ran behind him. "I said be happy!" Without mercy, she began tickling his sides.
Turned out that Dany knew exactly how to make Jon squirm and giggle and leave his brooding behind. "Dany…" he gasped, giggling from her tickles. "Get off me!"
"Be happy and I will," Dany replied, smirking as he fell to the floor and she straddled him - never stopping her tickles. "Tell me you're happy, Jon."
"No…" He was happy, but he wouldn't admit it to Dany. "Rhae, help me."
"You're on your own, brother," Rhaenys grinned, laying on her stomach and watching her aunt tease her brother. "Targaryen ladies stick together." Something both her muna and her grandmother instilled in her and she had taken it to heart.
"See, say it."
"No."
"Say it!"
"No!" Growing miffed, Dany redoubled her tickling, but her hold on him was weakened and Baelon managed to flip her over and pin her - tables turned. "Say you're sorry, Dany," he smirked, now tickling her sides.
"Jon!" she squealed, thrashing around. "He he… stop… he he…"
Such a delightful moment was what the Hound walked in on, groaning. "For the love of the gods…" He only didn't curse because Queen Lyanna threatened to castrate him if he did so in front of the children. That woman scared him. "I wouldn't normally care about your spats, but Lord Stark is coming with his brats."
Rhae jolted from his bed. "Uncle Ned?" She loved her Uncle Ned from the very beginning, when he saved her from her grandfather. "Get up you two!" Rhaenys barked at her aunt and brother. As soon as the door behind Sandor swung open and revealed the Warden of the North. Normally he was always so dour and enigmatic, but in front of his niece and nephew he was purely happy. "Uncle Ned…" She ran to him, hugging him close. "I'm sorry, uncle. I hoped to find a direwolf, but I'm sorry I was so rude."
Laughing at her endearing attitude, Ned kissed her hair. "You have your mothers' manners, both of them. And do not worry… I find it endearing you want to be a Stark."
"Part-Stark, I'm a dragon and a viper too," she said proudly.
"Aye, forgive me for forgetting." He cupped her cheek. "Since I couldn't find you a direwolf, how's about I show you the godswood?"
Her eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Aye." She squealed in happiness. "Just one moment, niece." Walking over to Jon, Ned spared a look to Dany. "You're as beautiful as your mother, Princess." She blushed at the praise, smiling at him. "Baelon, my dear nephew." He knelt before him, hugging Jon closely. "You look like both your father and mine."
Jon smiled to him. "It's nice to finally meet you, uncle. Muna tells me so much of you."
"Don't believe everything she tells you, nephew. Trust me," he laughed, clapping his back. "I would love to continue this, but I need to take your sister somewhere so I was hoping you'd spend some time with your cousins."
"Cousins?" Jon looked to Dany, whose eyes were sparkling with excitement. They watched as the door again opened to reveal first the same blonde-haired boy that he remembered seeing his muna greeting… and then her. His redheaded playmate… Sansa.
"I'm sure you've already been told of each other, and you didn't know the three of you met before as babes," Ned tapped his daughter's shoulders. "But this is Robb and this is Sansa, both my darlings. I'm sure the four of you will get along so well." He kissed all four of them on the crown of their heads while taking Rhae's hand, leading her out - Sandor grunted but allowed them their moment alone.
The door hadn't been closed for a second before Dany launched herself at Sansa. "Sansa!" They were tangled together, giggling. In her youthful mind, preoccupied with the wonders of her imagination and the illustrious history of her house rather than the burdens of reality, Daenerys had never been in a more joyful mood. "Jon," she squealed, hugging Sansa again. "We have our Rhaenys!" Pulling Sansa into her exuberance, the two girls jumped up and down while still embracing, giggling and squealing happily. "We can finally play all the games again!"
"I've dreamed of this, of seeing you again," Sansa replied, equally as happy. Robb stayed quiet, while Jon smiled and watched from the side. "Had Old Nan and poppa read all about the dragons so we could play."
That brought an even wider smile to Dany's face. "You're our perfect Rhaenys. We can play Last Storm now."
Beaming himself, suddenly a thought came to Jon. "Oh no. We can't play Last Storm." Of all the pupils of their grandmother - Dany's mother - only Dany paid more attention but her zeal was for the dragons and their own ancestors. Jon paid attention to everything, and it wasn't shocking that he remembered this. "We don't have an Orys."
Brows furrowed as she poked out of her shared embrace with Sansa, Daenerys suddenly realized that her nephew was right and gasped. "Oh no…" she repeated his words. "Just when our Rhaenys came back to us." On a dime, her mood changed, unadulterated joy changing to tears. "How could I forget we need an Orys."
Sansa looked confused, while Robb only nodded. "Can't not have him."
"Who's Orys?" Sansa asked, scratching her head. She had no idea why her playmates - her Aegon and Visenya, the ones she had insisted on learning about the moment she had played with them in her dreams - were so put out.
"Orys Baratheon," Jon stated. "Aegon's brother and best friend." While 'Baratheon' was usually spoken with mean tones by his munas, when his grandmother told them these stories then Orys would be described in glowing terms. "He fought in the Last Storm. We need him."
Furrowing her brows, Sansa pursed her lips pensively. "Robb could be him," she piped up. "He's strong."
"Umm…" Normally he was up for anything, but Sansa putting him on the spot like that in front of the children of the Sunrise Dragon made him pause. "I… I guess I could…"
"Perfect!" Dany moved to pull Sansa out of the room, but was stopped when Jon grabbed her arm.
"Wait, Dany." While she only really cared about who played their Targaryen ancestors, Jon was more… picky in general. "Could you be a good Orys?" he asked Robb, sizing him up.
The young Stark blinked. "Sure… Prince Baelon." He was growing uncomfortable. "Aye, I can."
"Hmmm…" The purple eyes scanned over Robb, analyzing him as a wolf did its prey. "You fight with swords?" Robb nodded. "How good? I'm good cause Arthur Dayne train me," he bragged.
Jaw dropping, Robb had never been more envious of his cousin at that moment. All those great warriors able to train him… lucky lucky lucky. "Uhhh… poppa says I'm good."
Jon regarded that. "Muna told me that N'cle Ned beat Ser Arthur." Before long, he was smiling. "Good enough. You can be Orys." He bumped his cousin in the shoulder with his fist.
Dany was squealing again. "Well then, what are we waiting for, stupid!" Grasping Sansa in one hand and Jon in the other, she practically pulled them out of the chamber with Robb following. Instinctively, one knew not to wake the dragon.
One would think that there'd be a respite from the evening winds of the North when entering a manmade structure, but Rhaenys still felt the freezing chill as she followed her torch-carrying uncle down the stairs into the Winterfell crypt. The winds still howled, only they echoed through the caverns - making her silently reach for her uncle's hand.
"Don't tell me the fierce dragon is scared," Ned chuckled.
That affronted her. "A dragon is never scared," Rhae replied haughtily, only for another howl to make her yelp and meld herself to Ned's side.
Setting the torch in one of the special hollows to hold them, Ned brought Rhaenys into a hug. "It's alright to be a little scared, niece. One can't be brave unless they fear something." She nodded into his hold, feeling safe in her uncle's hold. "And there's no need to worry. I've been here plenty of times before, and never have I seen any grumpkins or snarks."
She raised an eyebrow. "Grumpkins and snarks?"
"If you listen to any of Old Nan's stories while you're here, you'll know what those are, Rhae." He ruffled her hair, making her smile. Turning around, he looked at the row of sarcophagi. "Do you know why I brought you here, Rhaenys?"
They had journeyed through the godswood, Ned pointing out everything significant both in relation to the gods and to their family specifically. It had been a happy experience, but Rhae felt a much more solemn feeling down here. "This is where all the Starks lay," she murmured back. Her ears seemed to pick up whispers all around, but when she looked in their direction they vanished.
"Aye. Every Stark since Bran the Builder. I've seen his tomb." Ned set a hand on her shoulder. "They say we have a great fear that we won't be able to rest underneath the roots of our heart tree, so Starks rarely go south."
She bit her lip. "Muna did."
"That she did," he said. "I don't regret it though, for it brought you and your siblings into my life." Ned guided her to a trio of tombs, each lined with statues - two were much more lifelike than the third, those of men while the third was a woman. "My mother, father, and brother."
"Grandfather Rickard and Uncle Bran?" Her muna talked of them often, usually in tears. "I remember them… vaguely. Grandfather was nice, while Uncle Bran was very fun." Rhaenys' most vivid memory of him was that he'd oft bring her a toffee apple from the kitchens, a grin on his face and telling her not to tell her parents.
Ned snickered. "You don't know the half of it." His expression was wistful - bittersweet. "My mother died long before you were born, Rhae, but she would've loved you. Your muna took a lot after her."
The whispers came again, Rhaenys vaguely picking them out.
'Is she a Stark?'
'She smells like a viper.'
'Not a Stark…'
'No, she feels like one.'
'Not of blood.'
'Doesn't matter…'
Squeezing her uncle's hand harder, Rhae looked up at him. "Uncle, am I a Stark?" He peered down at her. "I mean, kepa and muna are dragon and viper as Uncle Oberyn says, but muna is a Stark so am I a Stark?"
Ned had to think of what to say, the question a rather heady one from his niece. She was young, but truly more mature than most children of her age based on the experiences she endured. Lyanna's letters expressed a very determined, fierce child that trained with focus and flourish - Oberyn seemed like such a man, but Rhaenys didn't yet have his epicurean attitude to life. No, what he saw was Lya in her. "You aren't my blood, niece. That I must say." Rhaenys looked down, expression solemn and hurt… Ned reacted by kneeling and making her look at him. "You may not be my blood, but you are my niece in love and spirit. That's all that matters."
"But… I'm not a Stark."
"I see the way your munas look at you. My goodsister's expression is no different from my sister's - they love you with all their hearts and it doesn't change."
That made Rhae smile. "I want to be a Stark dragon uncle. I want a direwolf and a dragon, to be as strong as muna Lya and my grandmother."
While Ned felt the greatest of pride at Rhae's love of her adopted family so to speak. He knew there could be disappointment in her future. "Rhae… you know that direwolves haven't been seen south of the wall in centuries?"
"Jon has dreams of them sometimes. I know they'll come, and one will be mine."
Dreams of direwolves? He'd have to ask his nephew of that. "Direwolves… from what the chronicles of Cregan Stark say of them, they are as spiritual as dragons. You'd need to bond with them, and I don't know if someone without Stark blood can do so." Before she could feel sadness at this, Ned hugged her. "But you need to know that you are a viper as well as a dragon or a wolf."
"Uncle…"
"The North will stand with your kepa no matter what, but you need to bond with your muna Elia's family and homeland. That will be very important with your future, so please promise me that."
She looked at him quizzically, but nodded. "I promise. I love my muna and my uncle very much."
Ned kissed her cheek. "That's my girl." They hugged again, and this time there were no whispers around her. Rhaenys felt completely belonging down here, and the wind no longer bothered her.
"Well… I came here with very low expectations, daughter. But you've exceeded them and more."
Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Cersei nevertheless curtseyed to Tywin. "Thank you, father. Your praise makes my life worth living."
Tywin's eyes narrowed. "Don't be facetious. You were never good at it." If the cold bothered the Hand of the King, he didn't show it. A warm woolen gambeson, trousers, and cloak in their house's colors seemed to be enough. "Robb, Joanna, two stepchildren not of our blood but connected to you… as long as you don't change into Alicent Hightower then our house has many new warm bodies to form alliances." There were those that were sentimental, and Tywin Lannister wasn't one of them. "However, I expect many new babes from you, Cersei. Robb and Joanna aren't enough."
"Whatever you say, father."
"No, you will do your duty. Jaime's certainly not having any more from Queen Rhaella and…" He looked to Tyrion with disdain. "Some things speak for themselves."
Tyrion nursed a goblet of ale. "You always had a way with words, father. Laconic way."
Ignoring his youngest child, Tywin's eyes bored in on his twins. "By some miracle, both of you raised yourself out of the shit situation that you created for me. You better do your duties and not ruin it." With no more than a grunt, he turned on his heel and brusquely walked out of the chambers.
There was a silence for a moment before Jaime spoke for the first time that night. "We aren't the ones with a whore for a paramour." He said it softly, as if Tywin were listening through the walls. A relic of their childhood.
Cersei shook her head. "You're not japing with me, Jaime. He really took a paramour?"
"Aye, the woman that fathered one of Robert's bastard girls. Ironically, she's rather nice. I enjoy her company much as I did mama's."
Snickering, Tyrion gulped his goblet. "Turns out it was he where I got it from, not grandfather. Fucking a whore in the Tower of the Hand of all things? Ironic, no?"
If there was one thing Cersei didn't wish to think about, it was her father fucking a whore. "Let's just head to the great hall before they send a search party after us."
"Ned keeps you on that tight a leash?"
"No… he just worries about me." Cersei sighed happily as they began to leave the chambers for the corridor. "Ned is thoughtful that way."
"I've been here for over a year and I still cannot wrap my head around you marrying Ned fucking Stark." Tyrion rubbed his temples. "I mean… you and he? Wouldn't have thought it."
Rolling his neck to work out the kinks, Jaime clicked his tongue. "Speaks to the ironies of life, I suppose. Father always expected me to carry on our house while you, Cersei, were supposed to bear Targaryen babes." He chuckled. "Instead you're whelping out father's future heir while my line is a Targaryen Princess… I can only imagine whom he's auctioning off Cella's hand for."
"How old is she? Three?" Tyrion clapped his hands. "Oh, he's already done so, but isn't saying anything lest Queen Rhaella feeds him to the dragon named after you, brother."
"That's my beautiful dragon," Jaime said wistfully, neither of his siblings knowing whether he was referring to Jaimexes or Rhaella. "Her roars are louder than the fourteen flames of Valyria." Still they knew not.
Shrugging, Tyrion turned to Cersei. "If Jaime is right about one of your children being his heir, how would that work? Is it now 'House Stark of Casterly Rock, Wardens of the West.' Our father would resurrect the Reynes before that happens."
She rolled her eyes at Tyrion - was he being intentionally stupid, or just wanting her to say it so he could claim to be perniscent no matter what? Probably the latter. Unfortunately, he wasn't an idiot as he was ugly. They could've sent him to live with Uncle Kevan for the rest of his life with their cousin that smashed the beetles. "I presume that he'll simply adopt one of Ned and I's spares. Robb will be Lord of Winterfell and I think they presume to make Sansa Queen."
"Sansa as Queen?" Jaime laughed. "She better get ready to fight the dragon princess on that." He then laughed harder. "So your stepdaughter, if she wins, becomes Queen. Father must be quite irritated that of the choices involved, the one closest to him isn't his blood."
Cersei snorted. "We always did have a knack for pissing him off. Even in doing what he eventually wanted, we did it out of order and gave him each of the seven hells in trying." By the end, she was smirking. "That poor old man… it's a shame that pulling the lion's tail is so amusing."
"Speak for yourself… you don't have to worry Gregor Clegane will smite your face with a single punch," Tyrion mused, stroking his chin. "Father wouldn't overtly do anything, but I'm sure that brute would do anything to get into his favor after being banished back to Clegane Hall."
"He's still there?" Cersei hadn't seen the Mountain since the army departed Lannisport to attack Pyke. "Can't father just torch that place and be done with it?"
"You'd get no complaints from Sandor. Might see him smile for once outside of like the once a week he does thanks to Prince Baelon." Jaime knew the Clegane siblings hated each other, though the list of people Gregor liked was empty and Sandor's corresponding list only included Prince Baelon. "I doubt he'd need to resort to a fire. His servants could do the deed, they hate that cunt."
Tyrion looked up. "Oh, so you believe the tales of smallfolk going inside Clegane Hall only to never come out?" The three of them were nearing an intersection in the hallway.
Jaime looked surprised. "And you don't?"
"I used to," Tyrion mused as they passed by the intersection. "Then I heard the same tales said of the dungeons of the Dreadfort by boys here in Winterfell so I think all of them are pretty much rehashed of the same… oooof!"
Suddenly, a female figure darted out of the dark hallway to their right in a flash of silver, leaping on Tyrion and knocking him over. She was followed by a second female figure with a flash of red, also tackling the dwarf. "We got him!" the first one hooted. "We got Loren the Last!"
"Don't let the lion get away!" Two boys also dove, all ending up in a pile of giggles with their female companions - they had blonde and raven hair respectively, and all four appeared to be the same age. It was at that point that a pair of violet eyes found the two Lannisters looking at them. "Ser Jaime, Aunt Cersei." Prince Baelon looked proud of himself. "We got Loren the Last!"
"I can see that," mused Cersei, eying over Tyrion. "Alright brother?"
Coughing, Tyrion groaned. "Why are even babes taller than me?" Robb and Sansa always played with him like this, but the Targaryens were quite spirited playmates. All four were in a frenzy. "I should… find it flattering that… I'm Loren the Last. He was a… great warrior."
Jaime did his best to hide his snickers… and failed spectacularly. "These two do it all the time," he explained for Cersei's sake, pointing to Baelon and Daenerys. "Little Aegon and Visenya, right terrors they are - your Graces." He added a formal bow for good measure.
"Hmmm…" Aegon and Visenya? Aye, Cersei could see that. Even young, Crown Prince Baelon was shaping up to be a powerful warrior King and Princess Daenerys looked at Lyanna and her own mother as if they were goddesses. A dangerous pair, though it brought questions as well as revelations. "Robb, pup, if they are the Conquerors then who are you?"
Giggling, Robb mussed his uncle Tyrion's hair, making both Cersei and Jaime let out a stifled giggle. "I'm Orys!"
"The best Orys!" Baelon exclaimed.
"Orys Baratheon, then?" Jaime hummed. "Good for you, Cersei. If the Prince sees your son as his Orys, then he will be very close to the throne. Congratulations."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about." Her twinkling eyes said different. Good job, my son. Grinning, she leaned down to look in the now shy face of her stepdaughter. "Sansa, who may you be?" She didn't recall Starks fighting at the Field of Fire."
It was Daenerys that answered. "She's our Rhaenys!" A fit of happy giggles. "She and I Jon's Queens."
"We bring fire and blood," piped up Prince Baelon, hugging his cousin. Sansa blushed further.
Both Jaime and Cersei - and Tyrion, from underneath the pile - now shared serious looks. Did the children understand the much larger implications of their choices of historical figures to emulate? Probably not, but this could be destiny.
Only time would tell, they supposed - one thing was for certain, they would need to tell the King and Queens.
Not that they could complain.
A/N: There you have it! The trio together for the first time. Hope it was enjoyed :)
Next up, perhaps the Direwolves show up. Comment to find out :D
