Of White Trees and Blue Roses

I own nothing. This all belongs to GRRM, and I'm just playing with the story he gave us.

For those who have submitted unsigned reviews, thank you for the concrit and feedback. Always gratefully received.

~X~

Chapter Thirty Eight – Living with the Dragon

The Tower of Joy

Lyanna rolled over towards Rhaegar's side of the bed, her eyes flickering open once she found it empty. Scanning the room, she discovered that the hatch was closed and that Rhaegar's familiar black jerkin was missing.

Not that this was anything new. Her love didn't sleep for very long, often waking before the sun showed its face. Just once it would be nice to wake up beside him. It might change the pattern and tone of her morning.

Reaching for her shirt and breeches abandoned the night before, Lyanna washed away the evidence that she hadn't been alone all night, and then dressed. A quick look out of the window confirmed that it was still very early.

Skipping down the stairs, she heard movement in Arthur's room as she headed to the lowest and largest bedroom, which now only served as her dressing room. She ran a brush through her hair and then braided it over her shoulder.

Lyanna walked over to her splendid and now complete suit of plate armour. It was her second most treasured possession after her sword and it had been costly indeed, the price paid by more than just herself. As she ran her fingers over the blue sapphire flowers, Lyanna remembered sitting by the tourney field at Harrenhal with her family, the look of shock on her father and Brandon's faces as the prince handed her a crown of blue roses.

And now they were dead. Her father's stern face, with its grey eyes that could be frosty one moment and soft as slush the next, sprung to mind. She missed him so much—Brandon, too. Lyanna's face creased in a half-smile as she recalled fond memories, the expression quickly collapsing with the knowledge that it was her pig-headed resolve to wear armour and a sword that had determined their fates.

Solemnly, she began the awkward process of fastening her plate. It would be easier if she called one of the servants to help her, but this was now her daily ritual of remembrance. It was something she liked to do on her own, in private.

Had it been more traditional, like the armour worn through most of Westeros, she would have been unable. Instead she had been given plate like that worn here in Dorne, where full plate would become cumbersome in the oppressive temperatures of the day—another reminder that she was far from her native Winterfell with its snows and freezing rain. She had left the North far behind when she had come south to be trained by the prince.

This room gave Lyanna a chance to be alone away from the heat of the courtyard or the easy distraction of Rhaegar's bed. She had always thought of herself as good company, but since the news that Arthur Dayne had brought she seemed to have developed some of her love's tortured introspection. It seemed that Lyanna wasn't such good company for herself after all. She felt homesick for Winterfell and the sea of familiar faces that had surrounded her. The faces of people she'd betrayed.

Had Oswell reached King's Landing yet? Not only did she miss his dark humours and cynicism, but Lyanna was anxious to find out whether she'd be married to her prince.

Would a marriage between Targaryen and Stark bring peace? In Lyanna's eyes a marriage wouldn't bring back her father or her brother, and she was sure that many northern lords would be of a similar mindset. Eddard, however, would see sense—this she knew for a fact.

But would the king? During their late night discussions, over their evening meals and in the bedroom, Rhaegar had told her of his concerns over his father's grip on sanity.

Lyanna hated the king, though it felt like treason to feel that way towards the man that had sired Rhaegar. If she did become Rhaegar's wife, then it was probably for the best that she avoided King's Landing if possible. And then there was the matter of his first wife, Princess Elia—another innocent party who'd paid a dear price for Lyanna's fine armour, and his children, Aegon and Rhaenys. She'd stolen him away from them these last few months.

Once she looked the part of the warrior woman she'd always wanted to be, the ice knight that Rhaegar had convinced her she was destined to become left the Tower. Her dressing process always left her feeling empty, apart from a ball of anger that had built up in her stomach towards her prospective father-in-law.

After breakfast, waiting for her in the courtyard as always, it wasn't Prince Rhaegar but a dark knight, clad all in black, his chest glittering with blood red rubies. He was a Targaryen, and that was all that mattered. The house of dragons had murdered her father and brother, and Lyanna felt incensed. Her wolf blood boiled in her veins and she gripped her Valyrian sword tightly, it now feeling like a natural extension of her arms.

With her steel grey eyes peering through her helm, Lyanna was enthusiastic with her swings. The capable silver knight fought her dark opponent, hearing Arthur's voice shouting out small corrections to her technique.

And then, after a long dance in the increasing heat as morning creeped towards the middle of the day, Lyanna finally found the window she'd been looking for. The Targaryen had left himself open to her offensive, and her fine Valyrian steel blade flew towards his unprotected armpit, at such an angle as was sure to bury itself deep in his body.

But the tip did not penetrate, and Lyanna held back the urge to thrust forward.

There would be no revenge in killing this Targaryen, as he had already pierced her through her heart and defeated her long ago. Inside the Targaryen armour was Rhaegar, and he was as dear to her, if not more so, than Brandon and her father. He was her love.

Lyanna stepped away, pausing to catch her breath for a moment before storming as far away as the small courtyard would allow. Sitting on the low stone flower beds, she removed her helm and tried to enjoy the victory to which she'd been striving for so long.

What exactly am I fighting for? Lyanna wondered. What will all this achieve? Lyanna was undoubtedly now a trained killer, yet in achieving her dream she'd created a nightmare. She wanted to avenge the murders of her family, but to do so would harm her relationship with Rhaegar.

After all, wasn't it Lyanna herself to blame for encouraging Ben to compete at Harrenhal? That had brought her to Rhaegar's attention and allowed her the chance to run away to learn to be a knight. And if she had said no and carried on to Riverrun then there would be no murders to avenge. It was the selfish act of running away with the prince that had set the whole series of events in motion, and she was yet to be convinced that becoming his wife would solve much at all.

It might save Eddard and Benjen, and avoid a civil war, but could Lyanna ever go back to Winterfell and look everyone in the eye without seeing the faces of the men who'd died because of her actions? If she couldn't go north or to King's Landing, where else could she go?

Lyanna's self-flagellation ceased as footsteps approached. Rhaegar had removed his helm, and as he drew near he held back, his handsome face a picture of concern.

"You fought well. Congratulations. That was an excellent display." Her love's expression held an apology, as if he knew the path her mind had been taking. He held out a skin of water and Lyanna gratefully took it.

"Thank you."

As she drank, Rhaegar also sat on the edge of the flower bed, waiting to take the skin from her once she'd finished. His violet eyes bore into Lyanna's, willing her to talk.

It was no good. She couldn't be mad at him. He was no more to blame than herself. Lyanna's mouth twitched and her icy demeanour thawed. In response, her sad prince smiled in return, and then leaned over to steal a kiss.

~X~

King's Landing

Aerys grew increasingly agitated with the small council as they continued to ask him questions about which he had no interest. Tywin had never bored him like this—he had taken care of the mundane matters and only sought his opinions on the things that really mattered, as a Hand should do, whereas Merryweather seemed incapable of making any decisions.

He became even more distracted when the laughing tree finally located him, bursting through the stone wall roots first. It taunted him quietly, reminding him that he was doomed and that the Iron Throne would be taken from him within the year—that he would meet his end in his own throne room at the hands of someone close to him.

He tried his best to ignore what it was saying, attempting to concentrate on the nonsense Merryweather was mumbling in his ear. To compensate, the tree began speaking louder, laughing hysterically between jibes.

"I will show you!" the king suddenly cried out when the conflicting voices got too much for him.

After the burning of Lord Stark and the death of his foolish son, the king had been approached by one of the pyromancers, and it had been a happy introduction. Rossart, he was called, and they had talked long, both sharing an enthusiasm for fire.

He had shown him "wildfire"—the volatile green substance that was like liquid dragon fire. He often visited and King Aerys had commissioned him to start producing wildfire for him. One day he would burn the blasted tree and put an end to its prophesising.

"Your Grace?" Lord Merryweather asked tremulously, and the king blinked. In that instant the tree disappeared and the room was quiet.

Aerys smiled. The tree knew its fate. Fire devours wood, just as the Targaryen dragons would burn and destroy the North and its godswoods, with their pathetic white trees.

The council members looked at each other, and then used the moment as a prompt to move the matter onto more interesting subjects.

"Varys." The king addressed the young, bald-headed eunuch they called the Spider. Even at his fresh age and with his foreign ways, he had proven to be a very capable Master of Secrets. He was intelligent and knew when to speak and not to babble like some idiots.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"What news is there of the rebels. Has there been a sighting of Lord Stark as yet?" I will burn him and his white trees. "And what of Lord Arryn and Lord Baratheon?"

"No news of the new Lord Stark, but my little birds have been following the daughter of the fisherman it is said smuggled Eddard Stark from the Vale. It seems that her father perished during a storm around the same time—"

Lord Merryweather interrupted, earning King Aerys' scorn. "Then do we think the rebellious Lord Stark perished at sea?"

"I would think not. The daughter was on the vessel when it departed, and yet she seems to have escaped unharmed. Though she is still mourning her father, she has been in receipt of some very good fortune. She has a new boat—a handsome one, it is said—and has employed a number of men from the village. She captains the vessel herself and is very adept at doing so. It seems very strange that a girl who has lost her father and his ship could manage to do all this without earning the gratitude of some Lord..."

King Aerys nodded his head. What Varys was implying seemed to fit the facts.

"Lord Arryn is still fighting in the Vale, and our forces are doing a rather successful job of keeping him from heading south to join Lord Baratheon." Lord Merryweather paused to take a sip of wine from his ornate golden goblet. "Lord Baratheon is still at Storm's End, trying to convince his bannermen to join his cause."

"And what are we doing to ensure that this does not happen?" King Aerys glared at Lord Merryweather, who visibly shrank and suddenly seemed less comfortable under his gaze.

"I can assure Your Grace that the matter has been dealt with. I have assurances that Lords Fell, Cafferen, and Grandison remain your loyal subjects, and await instructions. I am sure that you will have no disagreement with their request that the lands of Lord Baratheon and those that choose to fight beside him might be redistributed amongst them once they quell the rebellion."

"Agreed. Inform them and bid them mobilise immediately. The longer we delay, the more chance Lord Baratheon has of becoming organised."

"Yes, Your Grace. I do apologise for not informing you sooner. I will send ravens as soon as this council meeting ends."

After that, the discussion turned to mundane matters once more, and King Aerys distracted himself with daydreams. A great black and red dragon flew over burning countryside, following a fleeing black stag. Swooping down, the dragon's claws rented the stag's flesh, before the giant lizard jaws sent out a burst of flame and then tore out its prey's jugular.

"I will show you. I will burn them—burn them all." The wolf, the stag, the eagle—they were no match for a dragon. Even the lion—King Aerys looked to young Jaime Lannister standing in the corner of the room.

Once the meeting was over, King Aerys made his way through the red keep, Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold Hightower walking behind him. Turning a corner, the king came across his second son—seven-year-old Viserys, playing with small animal figures.

Aerys took pause to watch him for a moment. He left the young boy's care to his mother, and as the very sight of his sister and wife reminded him that he'd had to forsake his love of Joanna Lannister to keep the Targaryen bloodlines pure enraged him, he had spent very little time with his youngest issue.

Maybe that had been a mistake? Dragons should be strong, and to abandon the boy to be raised by a mere woman would result in him being soft and weak of mind.

Aerys thought about the woman he was wed to but did not love, either as a wife or a sister, as the forced arrangement had bred resentment between both of them. He abhorred the thought, but she was still of an age where she might bear another child.

Only true dragons should sit the Iron Throne. Aegon, Rhaegar's son, was only half a dragon, his blood polluted by that of his sickly mother, Elia of Dorne. Maybe a line of pure bloods could still flow from Prince Viserys, though he was only third in line to the throne.

Yes. And if Aerys oversaw Viserys' education himself at this malleable age, then it would be useful to have an insurance policy, should Rhaegar have his mind addled by his Stark girl and seek to betray the Iron Throne and his family.

It would involve lying with Rhaella once more, but the life of a dragon was a life of duty. It was his duty to fill his sister's belly with a daughter for Viserys. For a moment Aerys felt uncomfortable subjecting the young boy to the same fate as himself, a loveless, incestuous marriage. But then, the life of a dragon was a life of duty, and Rhaegar, the older son and heir, was in dereliction of his.

"Viserys!"

The boy looked startled. "Yes, father." He got to his feet and approached apprehensively.

"Let me show you what it takes to be a king."

The fear dissipated and a wide grin stretched across the young prince's face. King Aerys felt a flush of parental pride. "Come with me. Stay by my side, and you shall see what is required of a dragon."

Reciting stories of kings of old, father and son retired to the king's solar, reciting and listening avidly the tales of their glorious ancestors and the dragons, now long gone, that had cemented their places as the indisputed rulers of Westeros.

Hours passed and the sun set, yet Aerys contined to speak and Viserys listened. Finally, Aerys stated that the lesson had concluded for the day, and sent the boy to retire to his bed, happy at the unexpected paternal attention he had received.

However, once he was gone, Aerys' mood soured as he tried to convince himself that he should call upon Rhaella in her chambers. He truly did not want to and tried to remind himself of his duty as a dragon.

I am a dragon. It is only right that I lie with my fellow dragon. Aerys imagined himself as a great dragon, descending from the skies and courting his mate with claws, teeth, and flame, as a dragon should.

His meditation was broken when his attention was caught by Ser Gerold. To Aerys' relief, there was someone to see him, and he was saved the task of calling up on his wife for the time being.

The door opened and Ser Oswell entered.

The kingsguard who had disappeared months earlier after leaving King's Landing with his son bowed, and explained that Rhaegar had sent him to ask a question on his behalf. Ser Oswell seemed reluctant at first, but at the king's command confirmed that Rhaegar was in Dorne with his Stark lover.

"Your Grace, your son apologises for any difficulties he has have caused by taking Lyanna Stark as his lover. He has heard of the fate of Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark, and understands that this has caused upset in the Seven Kingdoms. However, he believes he knows a way to once more bring peace under your rule."

So, Rhaegar admitted that he had made an error in taking his Joanna, but he had thought of a way that the situation could be rectified. The idea that such a thing could be fixed sent a streak of jealousy down Aerys' spine.

No, there was no way to fix this situation other than the crushing of the resulting rebellion. If such a thing could be fixed, he would have thought of it and taken Joanna Lannister from her family long ago.

"Prince Rhaegar seeks to remind you of the Targaryen tradition of taking more than one wife that used to be practiced in the past, and begs your permission to marry to Lyanna Stark. He believes that this would appease the north and the new Lord Stark—"

"No! There will be no second marriage," Aerys shouted, getting to his feet. "He has been irresponsible, leaving me, his father, to deal with the mess he has caused. Finally, once I have dealt with the matter, he crawls out of the woodwork to ask me to revive an ancient tradition, to allow him to marry his Stark whore. It will not be. I forbid it. I will not pollute my house with wolf blood. My son has a wife—he should do his duty and sleep in the bed that has been made for him."

As I have done these long years, Aerys added mentally. If I could have taken a second wife, practiced polygamous marriage, I would have had Joanna. She would have been mine and I could have been happy, but no, I did my duty and married Rhaella, though I did not want to. Rhaegar cannot have that which I could not.

Or was this the beginnings of a conspiracy? Rhaegar had already brought about the rebellion by selfishly taking Lyanna Stark. To take a second wife would be an insult to Elia's family, the Martells. Was this the prince's plan to take the Iron Throne from under him? Firstly, he had turned the North against him, yet he would placate them by marrying one of them.

He might find it more difficult to calm the Baratheon boy, but maybe he did not intend to—maybe the plan was to allow Lord Robert to rebel, and would gladly see Lyanna Stark's former betrothed dead. Next, if he was allowed to take a second wife, he would put the loyalty of Dorne in a precarious position.

Or maybe his daughter-in-law's kinsmen were aiding his eldest son, despite the fact that the Crown Prince had insulted his wife and her family with his actions. He had always been of the opinion that the marriage he had arranged for his heir had been a happy one, but perhaps he had been mistaken.

He had honoured the Martells by breaking the agreement to wed Rhaegar to Cersei Lannister, but now they were harbouring the prince. Their allegiance should be to him, not his inconstant son. Steps would need to be taken to ensure that they remained loyal. He would keep Princess Elia close—and the half-blood children she had bore.

And in case his son should turn out to be as treacherous as he currently suspected, he would go to Rhaella's room. He would father a daughter to marry Viserys, and if Dorne joined the rebellion, he would crush Elia and her offspring, and ensure that he had a more suitable heir waiting in the wings, with a line of pure-blooded Targaryens to continue his line.