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Lyanna giggled at Renly's enthusiasm. "There now, brave knight, have a care not to knock your castle over." Her warning went unheeded as the boy ran around, stick in hand, shouting commands at Brynden who hurried to follow them. Alys sat by Lyanna, as any self-respecting lady-in-waiting would. "Shush, my dear Alys. Should we distract our valiant saviours all hope is lost." At that the woman burst into peels of laughter. Lyanna followed suit. "Oh, what it is to be young and free!" She missed the days when she could do as she pleased and not be questioned on ever little detail.
Her third day at the beach was a success. Renly and Brynden had made fast friends, and seeing them together was almost like watching brothers standing side by side. They looked alike. Despite Alys being light-haired and possessing a pair of golden eyes, little Brynden had tresses of coal and eyes of deep blue. How strange a thing. "You must be very proud of him, Alys. Just look at the boy." He was good, hard-working and honest. "He's as fine as they come. I have no doubt that he'll turn out to be a good sort."
Alys looked to her lady with wide eyes. "I suppose so, m'lady. He helps me as best as he can and then some. I love the boy dearly, yet I also fear." A bastard was a bastard no matter how kind his actions or how sharp his wit. "Sometimes I wonder if I chose wisely in keeping him."
Surprise crossed Lyanna's face."I won't pretend to know your circumstances, Alys, but for all that he is still of your flesh." Then she looked at the boys once more.
"Aye, m'lady, he is. At least half of him." The woman shuffled slightly. "At times it is like living with a ghost."
Choosing not to question the woman further, Lyanna crossed her legs at the ankles and allowed herself to fall back against the sand. Her thought drifted to Robert Baratheon. A scowl touched her face. Lyanna was only grateful that the man hadn't joined them. Few things interested the stag and playing with children was not one of them. Robert liked to hunt and drink. Lyanna had known that. But still she'd thought that for his little brothers he would at least try to be different. Instead all she had witnessed were loud rebukes when one made a mistake and harsh insults should they cross him. Whatever difficulties the man was having, it was not right of him to take them out on the defenceless. He was not a bad man exactly, he was just a man Lyanna could never bring herself to grow find of.
Highly spiritual a being, Lyanna Stark had oft lamented the state of her universe. It seemed that all had forgotten that it was not the human that made his own path, but the gods that guided his hand. It did not matter; they did not matter. Not to men like Robert Baratheon. Lyanna wondered if she would have had a chance at happiness with some man in the North. Karstarks, Boltons, Glovers, Mormonts, Umbers, Manderlys, Flints. Could she have found a man to love there? Perhaps not. Although it was not for lack of trying.
Rhaegar reached for the quill, gracefully dipping the tip in black ink. He considered Jon's proposal carefully. "You would have me remove the girl from court, on what grounds?"
Shaking his head the older man explained yet again. "You needn't sent her off, if you choose to marry the Lannister maiden. My King, the real needs a Queen. You need an heir." Scratching his beard, Jon went on to say, "Cersei Lannister is from a good family, and she has beauty. She is capable of birthing you a son, surely."
"But?" Rhaegar cuts him off. Jon Connington is not fond of Tywin's daughter. This the king knows. The reason, however, eludes him.
"But she is much like her father, Highness. Give her a finger, and she will take the whole hand." The Lannister were something to behold in their hunger for power. Perhaps even more so since Tywin became the head of his House. Rhaegar nodded. "Find her another to wed, someone of high-enough rank to please both heart and mind."
"Who do you suggest?" Cersei was ever bold in her attempts to gain his attention, and Rhaegar, if he was truthful, had grown tired of the display. Of late he found himself avoiding the girl when he could.
"Lord Stark's eldest sons remain unwed." The North had sought ties to the South before. Rhaegar had hear word of such during his father's rule. "They would accept a Southron, perhaps even more gladly is shed brought with her a fat purse."
Rightly so, Rhaegar thought. His own marriage to Elia had been based on such considerations. Lord Stark would need to be sent a raven. However he could not order the marriage. "I may have a solution, my friend. A tourney is long since overdue." Provided, of course, that the financial state of the realm allowed for such an even. "What say you?"
"Aye, a tourney would serve well. But what occasion should be invoked?" Granted the people cared little for the occasion so long as they could lose themselves in a skin of wine, and the bosom of a wench, but suspicion was a dangerous thing.
"My friend, I am searching for a wife. What better occasion to meet her than a tourney?" He looked down at the blots of ink on a previously stainless paper. Something cold stole over him - a moment of hesitation. "Tell them it is held for the man I want to honour. To my Hand, Lord Lannister." Indeed, they would suspect nothing, and if he played his cards right, Rhaegar would have won more than one victory.
"As you wish," the other replied, falling in a bow. "I go to do your bidding."
Relaxing in his chair, Rhaegar threw the quill away from his hand. He did need to seriously consider finding a new wife. Dorne may have accepted the ruling of a woman, the other kingdoms would not. Male heirs were needed. Better yet if he found a bride at the tourney. A bride that was not a Lannister maiden with flowing golden lock and mesmerising green eyes. The real problem was Tywin.
It was no secret that his own father had loved the Lady Lannister when the woman yet lived. His own, crazy father has lusted after his Hand's wife, and none had dared point out the immorality. Least of all his own mother, too taken with care of her younger son and her new-born daughter.
Apparently Tywin's lady died giving birth to a horribly deformed child. A dwarf. The boy was almost of an age with his sister. But seldom did Tywin talk of the boy. He much preferred extolling the many virtues of his daughter and the sure hand of his son. Tyrion Lannister was an afterthought at best, and one of a bitter kind if any was to be asked. Joanna Lannister had left quite a storm in her wake.
A knock on his door provided distraction. Rhaegar bid whoever it was to enter. In came Arthur Dayne, a friend of his met through his deceased now wife. "Arthur."
"I saw your friend in a hurry. What have you done now, good King?" A peculiar being, Arthur Dayne had felt deeply for Rhaegar's wife."Has the fair lady Lannister succeeded in convincing you of her love? Alas, poor girl. She is to be pitied."
"Not at all," Rhaegar laughed. "I shall not marry her. You know my stand on this. But you are more than welcome to her." By the looks of him, neither did he desire the woman. "You too will need a wife soon. Have you not given thought to it?"
Glancing downwards, Arthur cleared his throat. "Elia asked me the same after Rhaenys was born." Violet eyes met a pair much the same. "I see her still when I close my eyes. All that blood." The memory stole over both. "Why ever did you allow me to stay?"
"She was always happier in your company." Whether Elia had loved the man as more than a brother, Rhaegar was not concerned. Yet he'd noticed her smile widening just so at his approach, heard her laugh in the other's company, and as his love for her was not a thing of passion, her turning her attentions upon another did not wound.
"You…," Arthur allowed the surprise to seep in his word, "did you ever consider me your rival? When it came to Elia?"
"Nay, that I did not." A few words, so simple. That was all it took. "You brought her comfort. Something which I could not give her for all I tried. I knew I could not love her as she deserved. I could be Prince to her, husband, brother, friend. But lover. Not I."
"Nor I." It was quite the first time Rhaegar had heard that. He leaned in, a curious look on his face. "So say you? I thought for sure she loved a man from the way she sighed so heavily when she thought herself unobserved." She had loved, but not him, nor he her.
"That she did." But the lord said no more. It appeared that Arthur would disclose no more. "Tell me, who shall you marry?"
"A maid that does not go by the name of Cersei Lannister." Arthur's knowing smile prompted a grin for the King. "Would you care to offer me advice on this matter?"
"I say you pick the first one that strikes your fancy. It is unusual for your instinct to fail you."By far the most truthful words of the day. "And yet, choose not of Dorne or House Tyrell."
Another Queen of Dorne would not appease the lords. They all waited for the King to come in his need for a woman and choose one of their daughters. Many were they that dreamed of being Queen. Silly girls with feathers for brains. They knew not what it entailed and yet they desired it above all. As for House Tyrell, the fact that Dorne held little love for them was no secret either. They would take it as an affront if Rhaegar replaced Elia with a Rose maiden. Surely there were other options available to him. Rhaegar needed not a beauty; but a wit, and someone trustworthy. Was he asking the gods for the impossible?
"Wise of you," Rhaegar answered. "Now, I require your word that you shall make an appearance at the tourney."
"You wish me there in case the horde of unmarried maiden decides to hunt for dragon scales." They would hunt either way. "But I shan't refuse else I fear you'll name me coward, when you yourself tremble at the thought of it."
Instead of admitting to it, Rhaegar looked away. The sun was yet upon the sky, but not for long. Again that chill crept down his spine. Was it a warning? If so, against what? Silence fell over the room and its occupants. Yet words were not always needed. As both men had something to contemplate, it was quite enjoyable to be left with one's thoughts.
His thought found Elia once again. She had told him to look for another wife before her death. Rhaegar had been too busy caring for her to give much attention to her words. What could he have done then? Search for another wife when the flowers had not yet wilted on her final resting place. Oberyn would have likely poisoned his wine for such an act.
And speaking of Elia's young brother, little had been said of him. His sister's death had been a great blow. Rhaegar was aware that they were close, both in age, and as companions. He would have to issue an invitation for them too.
"Can you not tell me a happy tale?" Lyanna asked.
"Happiness is for dreamers and their dreams," Old Nan replied. The North had stories aplenty, but most ended in death. "Have you learned so little?"
"One more dead king, and I will suffer no more stories from your mouth." Lyanna winced at her own voice. She ought not to speak so harshly. "Surely there must be at least a few ending that bring tears of joy and not of sorrow to my eyes."
"Shall I tell of the bridge over the Trident then?" The crone sat herself comfortably in a chair by the fire."I promise this end will not bring tears to your eyes, unless you cry out of joy."
Old Nan knew well enough that Lyanna avoided crying when she could. The girl was everything her dear mother had been and more stony still. Lady Lyanna kept her emotions hidden deeply within her bosom. For one so young, she knew too well that particular art. And yet she wept for a hurt horse and for the Prince frozen when he'd failed to save his beloved. She wept when the High King cursed his daughter, bold and witty, to fall for the first creature in her path, and cried even harder when she fell for a butterfly, which died in her hands.
"Speak not of Enydae and Sydor, or Salla and brave Irsol. If you must tell me about the fool and the Peach tree, but nothing of death tonight."
The fool and the Peach tree was a beloved tale of the common folk. It was full of bawdy references and lacked refinement, yet it brought a smile to the lips of the listener. If only for the fact that its hero was a fool, unlikely to go against his nature and find himself in the middle of a tragedy. It was an old song turned pose, as sometimes it was impossible for those not born bards to remember all the verses. Lyanna herself remembered the action clearly but not the fine words, though she'd heard the song enough times in her father's halls.
"Nay, child. I'll tell you about the ridge over the Trident. This story you've not heard yet, I'm sure."As was her custom the old woman stared in the fire for a few moments. Anticipation started building in the room. Lyanna settled under the covers when beady eyes turned to her again."Like that, little one. Best hide under those covers while you can." Sometimes such words poured out of her mouth. Lyanna had learned to ignore them.
"Begin you story, or speak no more." Her grace often failed her when she was impatient. "Go one. Tell your story."
"What you hear is more a memory than a story. For it did happen in truth." 'Tis is what was said of all stories. Lyanna waved her hand. "Patient child. Valyria did not rise to power in one day, or did the Targaryens take the Westeros in a matter of hours." A brief pause. "Now, the Riverlands are not unknown to you, and the Trident is a friend, old as time that river. But what do you know of the magic of old? Nothing."
"Enough to know 'tis but a story," the girl retorted.
"As you say. A King, now wise, nor particularly good, one day, seeing as his spouse gave no child to him, made a pact with the fae of the East. They would give him a child, and he would build for them a bridge over a running water of their choosing. The King accepted. Stupid fools knew not that he'd sealed the fate of his kingdom in his folly."
"How so?" Lyanna asked. "A King needs an heir."
"Aye. But the fae are a naughty folk. They keep their word only as much as they think will suffice. In this they did the same. The King received a child, indeed, once the last stone of the bridge was laid. But what a child!"
Did she not mean heir? Lyanna leaned in. Nan continued. "A beautiful child, with skin as white as fresh snow, and golden, golden hair – a gift from the followers of the sun – and eyes the colour of honey. Yet she was not what the king had wanted. A child, aye. But a girl she was; as sure as mine own name, 'twas a girl they gave for his work."
Lyanna giggled. She has expected that. "Good! He deserved it."
"In his anger, the King took the child and demanded an explanation. The fae fluttered their wings of summer rays. They tittered. They laughed at him. They danced around the wide-eyed child, whispering in her ears. One by one they touched a finger or a toe, a hair of her head, a cheek of smooth skin." A sudden cough interrupted the story. Nan recovered quickly though. "So the King decided he would break the bridge for their betrayal and the child's blood would stain the stone steps."
"I thought you were telling me a happy story," the young woman protested.
"Happy. Happy," Nan parroted. "But what the King did not know was that the his own Queen had taken a liking to the child. Devising a plan, she took the girl and wrapped instead a skin filled with wine in her place. She gingerly covered the skin in silk and gave it to her husband, telling him to throw the babe before it could wake and cry, so the folk may not know of the cruelty. And so the man did. Upon his wife's word he rode to the bridge and threw the burden in his hands as far as he could."
"And the little girl?" Lyanna had almost jumped out of the bed.
"In this time the Queen placed the babe in the arms of a scullery maid, telling her to care for the child as if it were her own. She gave for that gold and silver and promises…"
Cersei stroked her long hair, a smile on her lips. She looked in the glass. Her smile widened. "He smiled at me today," she whispered excitedly to her reflection. "I know he likes me, I just know." After all, no man could resist her. Cersei leaned back in her chair. She would be Queen. She would he Rhaegar's wife and give him many, many strong sons and beautiful daughters.
"Has he, indeed?" Tywin asked. It might have been pride on his face. Cersei could not tell. "Then why does he not speak more than two words to you?"
"His wife died, father. Perhaps he fears bringing me injury." In her mind it made sense. "He is almost ready. I know it. Give me a little more time."
"As much as you wish," he replied. "I know it is a task that takes effort." Alas that did not stop him from being disappointed with the King's lack of passion when it came to his daughter. She was a woman not many could ignore and Tywin had hoped that given the obsession the Mad King had had with Joanna would have triggered some inability in the son to resist his daughter.
Cersei was her mother's very image. Tall and slender, with a head full of golden curls and the most amazing green eyes. She was beauty incarnated. So how come Rhaegar took one look at her and found her lacking. He has thought that after Elia Martell – who had not been exceptionally pretty or especially endearing – the boy would appreciate a wife with beauty.
Thinking about Joanna always brought a host of memories upon his that he could not easily tolerate. Joanna had been the love Tywin never thought he'd find. And there she was, breathing again through their children. Cersei and Jaime. Joanna, Joanna, more dear to him than a mountain of gold. More dear than his position. More dear than his own life. How he wished she'd stayed. He would have forgiven her anything, everything.
But now there was Cersei. Now there was Jaime. They would carry on the legacy. House Lannister would continue on proudly. The Lion would not fade, not with such fierce cubs. Cersei only needed some more time to convince the king of her adoration.
A small lion for the throne. The thought would lift even the spirits of the dead.
"When does my brother return? Cersei asked, her face frowning. "He's been gone so long."
Bonded as twins, the two were inseparable. Tywin indulged her curiosity. "He comes, daughter. I won't be long now." Joanna had feared the closeness between brother and sister. Tywin had laughed softly, assuring her that it was better like that. Cersei would always find help and protection in her brother. "Give him time."
"I have given him enough time," she answered sullenly. To her it felt as if her own brother was avoiding her. And for what had he left her? For the monstrosity her mother had birthed before dying.
Aye, no better word existed for the strange, sickening creature that was her youngest brother. Tyrion Lannister was, simply put, a dwarf. Not a miniature man, cute and childlike. But a twisted imitation of a human, with a big head and too small body. How that had come out of her mother, Cersei honestly did not want to know. But she dearly wished her brother did not give the creature so much attention.
What could she do? Jaime had a soft heart and he could not help but pity their brother. She supposed she ought to wait patiently for his return. When he did come back they would finally be together. They could walk the gardens and be with one another all they liked. Two halves of the same whole. It hurt to be apart from him. The only thing that kept her going was her own ambition. And yet, it still upset her, even if she did not wish to let it show. In a perfect world she would not need to hide her love for him.
Targaryen wed brother to sister for hundreds of years. And Cersei was not likely to take her brother's seed. In all their years it had not happened once. She was careful. Jaime too. No problem would ever expose them. And if did, what? If others could get away with this supposed abomination what stopped her and her brother? The Faith of the Seven? The gods were absent. Had they been there, her life would have been another. Had the gods cared enough, her mother would have still been with her. They would all be happy. She would have no need of Dragons and others. The Lion would sit the throne proudly. In a perfect world. But her world was not perfect.
The soft summer rain beat against the wood. Cersei scowled thinking al the mud. The skirts of her dress would be stained if she was not careful. And she had planned to take Jaime with her for a walk, away from prying eyes. "Damn this rain." Again the scowl.
Tywin smiled. Indeed, she reminded him of Joanna. "Your mother disliked the rain too." The sun had always looked better, nestling its rays in her curls. Joanna had been a creature of light, that nobody could deny. Her children seemed to follow her in that. Her sweetness and his wit. So perfect a combination. "On the morrow you will need to wake early."
"The King goes hunting?" Curious. Rhaegar Targaryen did not hunt.
"Not al all," Tywin answered. "But I would like you to be present for your brother's arrival. He brings with him a surprise."
Now Cersei was sure she would not be able to sleep a wink. It stood on the tip of her tongue to ask what he spoke of. But she held herself back. She would find out in a few short – rather long in her opinion – hours. Jaime could not arrive fast enough. Cersei smiled at her reflection.
"Of course. I miss my brother dearly, and would like nothing better than to greet him." In a manner of her own, away from the eyes of all. But that she did not say. Some things her father did not need to know. "I shall see you come morning."
That night Cersei tossed and turned. She had predicted it. Yet she could not avoid it, just as she could not deny that her heart jumped at the mere though of seeing her sweet brother again. How lonely she'd been without him. The bed felt so big in his absence. "Jaime, come! Ride faster," she asked. But not her brother. Nay, she prayed to the stars.
They were thousands. Surely they could bring word to her brother. And he would come. Fast as the wind on his horse.
Sleep eluded her. Cersei played with the corners of her coverings. "It is simply too long until morning." Yet she had nowhere to go. She sighed and closed her eyes.
A/N: The title comes from a song "El Rey de Francia" (the King of France). You can find it on YouTube in many amazing interpretations.