Disclaimer: I do not own anything else except for my own creations and original content.

Note: This story is an AU, NOT CANON! Do not expect this to be completely in line with the books or series. Much of this is being rewritten and changed to fit my story, including things like time periods, events, and character portrayals.

"Talking"

"Talking / Whispering"

"Spell Casting / R'hllor Speaking"

A Game of Dynasties: The Cleric

Chapter 3: Attaining the Dawn

The sound of clashing steel rang out across the dry desert air as two groups fought against each other in a battle to the death. Their grunts of effort and cries of pain were intermittently broken by the sound of armored bodies falling to the ground with a THUD as the lesser numbered group worked together with practiced ease to bring the other group's numbers down one by one.

It was a sight no different than a hundred others that had happened over the course of the now-2 year long war.

But what made this skirmish different from others, was the fact that neither side fought for wealth or power, or even for ownership of lands or title.

Nay… as the ballads would one day recall when they sang of this very moment, both sides of loyal soldiers fought and died over a woman.

And not just any woman. She was Lyanna Stark. Sister of Lord Eddard Stark who now fought on one side of the skirmish; the supposed captive lady of House Stark, who was taken hostage in the early stages of the war and supposedly raped by the Targaryen Prince Rhaegar himself.

A sad fate for the northern She-Wolf who was beloved by all the North, and the one true love of the Usurper King Robert Baratheon. Though whether her feelings towards him were mutual was left up for interpretation.

This battle - though it was more of a slaughter really - would mark the last days of Robert's Rebellion. The two Kingsguard on one side giving their last breaths to defend the tower on their Prince's order, while the handful of soldiers on the other side fought to free Lyanna from her imprisonment and return her home to her family.

At least, that was the objective for some of them.

For Godwin, his purpose there at the skirmish was for something else.

Tower of Joy, Red Mountains of Dorne

Skirmish at the Tower of Joy, 281 AC

- Eddard "Ned" Stark -

Letting out a grunt as his sword clashed against the blade of Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ned realized with a growing sense of dread that he and his men were greatly outmatched in this fight, and that unless he somehow found a way to turn the tables on the two famously skilled Kingsguard, there was little chance for their survival against such superior foes.

Shifting his body to the side and bringing up his sword just in time to block a return blow from his opponent, he spared a glance towards the others as he pushed against the sword, granting him a moment's reprieve as he watched with sadness as two of his loyal bannermen were quickly felled by the skilled swordsmanship of the dual-wielding Ser Arthur Dayne.

The Sword of the Mourning proved himself worthy of his title as he blocked, parried, and dodged his way through four separate opponent's attacks. Deflecting each and every one of them with ease as he managed to cut across another's throat, causing a spray of crimson liquid to soak the ground as the man died choking on his own blood.

In the wake of seeing another of his bannermen fall, Ned pressed his opponent as best as he could, hoping to get the better of Ser Gerold so that he could go and help the others before they were all summarily killed off.

Eventually, after several more clashes, he managed to score a blow to his opponent's arm that weakened Gerold's hold over his sword. Creating an opening for him to stab the man through the neck as the wounded man struggled to raise his weapon in a token defense.

A mixture of blood and spit gurgled from Ser Gerold's mouth as Ned pulled his sword from his throat, and as his opponent's body crumpled upon the battlefield, he raised a shaking hand to wipe the heavy sheen of sweat from his brow as his chest heaved for breath.

The dry air only worsened his state, causing his already parched lips to grow more dry. And as he stumbled away from the body lying dead at his feet, he tried to wet them with his tongue, only to grimace as he tasted blood on them.

Exhausted, bleeding, and dripping with sweat from his fight with the now dead Lord Commander, Ned prepared himself with a fool's hope to face what would likely be a losing battle against the barely winded Arthur Dayne; who had already killed another of his men in the time it took to finish his own fight.

Taking stock of the battlefield, Ned knew their chances of success were hanging by a thread.

Of the half-a-dozen men he'd brought with him, all that remained was himself, the last member of his bannermen - a wounded man named Howland Reed who had taken a serious blow in the initial moments of the fight, and the youngest son of Tywin Lannister.

Woefully not enough, in his opinion, to try and bring down the seemingly unbeatable Sword of the Morning.

What hope he had of saving his sister began to dwindle as he lifted up his sword and prepared to rejoin the fight, memories of the last time he'd seen his sister dancing across his mind's eye as he went to meet his death…

Only to stare in shock as Howland Reed collapsed from his wounds, about to be set upon by Ser Arthur… when the famous Dawn was blocked mid-strike by the twin swords of Godwin Lannister.

The CLANG of steel meeting meteorite steel rang out across the sudden silence that descended upon them, and both Howland and himself watched on as the red and gold armored boy of near-16 summers stepped in front of the downed man. Placing himself firmly between the unstoppable force that was Ser Arthur, and boldly facing the man in single combat.

Watching as the young man who he'd initially cast doubt upon for offering his aid successfully save Howland's life, Ned regretting his earlier thoughts that the son of Tywin would prove to be no better than his elder King slaying brother.

In the wake of seeing Godwin courageously facing off alone against Ser Arthur in what Ned thought was a suicidal act of bravery, the Lord of Winterfell thanked the lad in his mind for his sacrifice, and pledged to honor Godwin's death the best he could should he survive the day…

Only to once again have his thoughts be proven wrong, as the younger man's skill proved itself capable of keeping up with his opponent's. The two clashing again and again in a decidedly even contest as they each wielded their two swords masterfully.

As he watched on, unsure if his assistance would be of any use in the fight, Ned felt a surge of hope return to him as he witnessed what he thought was an impossibility come true.

Ser Arthur Dayne wasn't just being matched by Godwin's blades, he was being pushed back!

… …

- Godwin -

Fuck every single one of the people who were involved in choreographing the fight between Ned and Arthur in the HBO series.

Their mockery of a battle that took place between the two actors absolutely failed to show just what kind of monster Arthur Dayne is in a real-life fight to the death with two swords in hand, and right now it's taking everything I have just to keep up with my former mentor's skill as we trade blows, and not without injury.

Hissing through my clenched teeth as his blade manages to nick my side, I return the favor with a shallow cut to his thigh that manages to reach the skin underneath his pants, before having to hurriedly step back as his return sword-thrust came dangerously close towards my stomach.

The sharp tip of Dawn nearly managing to nick the chestplate of my armor as I back-peddle away in order put some distance between us.

"Not bad…" Ser Arthur pants out, finally starting to show some exhaustion despite having already battled five men on his own before now.

In a show of deft sword-handling, he twirls his swords around and uses their curved handles to his advantage as he wields the left one like a guard, while he keeps Dawn extended forwards in his right. "You've improved since our last sparring session." He observes with a certain proud gleam in his eye, as if this was just another of our sparring sessions.

Chuckling through my own heavy panting at the man's ability to be nonchalant even while we're trying to kill each other, I give him a smirk as I hold my swords outward, shifting my body slightly to the side so that my left arm is more forward and the right is near my waist.

The wound to my side pinches whenever I try to lift my right arm, so for now I keep it tucked close to my body for defense while I rely on my left for more fluidity.

"What can I say," I toss back as we exchange more blows. Forcing our swords into a deadlock as he catches my blades hilts in a move that makes use of his own curved hilts to keep me from pulling them back. "…I learned from the best."

With our swords now locked together, our fight devolves into a test of strength between us as we struggle to see who can overpower the other.

Something which I prove the better at, as I've grown since the last time we sparred thanks to a recent growth spurt that's put me solidly at a few inches above him, with a far more bulky body size that's more like an MMA fighter's compared to his slimmer, swimmer-like body side.

Pushing against him with a grunt of effort, I'm able to briefly knock him onto his back foot…

The same back foot whose thigh I managed to injure earlier.

And in a sudden change of our battle's tide, his unsteady footing grants me the reprieve I need to free my swords from his own deadlock, and land a solid blow to his left shoulder that forces him into dropping his other sword.

Now, with two swords against his one, the fight turns solidly in my favor as I begin hammering him with blows that cause his lone arm wielding Dawn to tremble under the combined assault. My size, strength, and desperation-infused ferocity gives me the advantage I need to finally get the better of him.

Until, with a last overhead swing with both blades, I manage to knock Dawn out of his hand.

"…"

"…you've beaten me." My former mentor says after a long moment of stunned silence. A small, fond smile on his face as he drops to his knees in exhaustion and defeat.

"You know what this means… the sword is yours, Godwin." He states, nodding towards Dawn as he closes his eyes and drops his head down to his chest. Revealing the skin on the back of his neck as he makes no move to stand, but stays kneeling where he fell.

Understanding what he wants, I re-sheathe my twin swords across my back and reach down to lift the famous blade off the ground. Nearly flinching in shock as the meteorite blade bursts into flames the moment my hand touches the hilt.

Drawing shocked gasps from the spectating Ned Stark and Howland Reed as they watch it happen.

"It was an honor, Ser." I say as I raise the flaming sword overhead.

"No, Godwin… The honor was mine."

*SWING!*

Quest Complete:

[The Student becomes The Teacher]

Objective: Defeat Ser Arthur Dayne.

Reward: Continual Flame (spell), Dawn

…

Continual Flame - Spell

A flame, equivalent in brightness to a torch, springs forth from an object that you touch. The effect looks like a regular flame, but it creates no heat and doesn't use oxygen. The flame can be covered or hidden, but it cannot be smothered or quenched by another's hand.

… …

After healing myself, Ned, and Howland of our wounds using Cure Wounds, Ned and I leave Howland there to check up on the bodies of the dead and see to it that they're made ready for when others can be sent to pick them up and return them to their homelands, as we make our way towards the tower.

It will be a while before anyone can come and fetch the bodies, but it's the least Ned felt he could do for them after they gave their lives for his cause.

With the preparations well in hand by a grateful Howland, who kept profusely claiming his debt to me, the two of us venture up to the top of the Tower of Joy together, where we come across a dying Lyanna holding a crying newborn son in her arms as she lies upon a blood-stained bed.

The taste of iron on the tongue and the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air; a bad omen for the She-Wolf's health… who seems oddly at ease with her death, despite it meaning her child will grow up without his mother.

Standing off to the side as the two siblings speak softly to each other, my mind wars against itself over whether I should interfere in her rapidly-approaching death or not.

On the one hand, saving her would mean getting Ned Stark's eternal gratitude, and that of the North's as well.

Not to mention how the new King Robert will react when he hears what I've done for the woman he loves.

But on the other… do I really want to mess with the already fucked-up timeline even more than I already have, just to give myself the chance at gaining more allies and benefits in return for keeping Lyanna alive to one-day be forced into marrying Robert, where she'd likely spend the next few decades forced into baring the children of a man she obviously doesn't love?

…Abso-fucking-lutely!

Quest Added:

[Savior of the She-Wolf]

Objective: Ensure Lyanna Stark's survival.

Reward: Shield of Faith (spell)

Ceremoniously intruding on their moment, I ignore both Ned's and Lyanna's confused words as I lay a hand on both her sweaty forehead and the thin, sweat-soaked cloth shirt she has on - somewhat intentionally placing my hand directly on top of her chest and subtly fondling one of her small but perky tits as I begin using Cure Wounds.

Truly, there's not much to feel, even swollen from breastmilk as it is Lyanna will never be a busty woman. But with her and Ned more focused on the faint glow coming from my hands than the actual groping I'm doing, I figure it's a small reward to myself that neither will care about considering what I'm doing for them.

And if she does wind up actually caring…

Well…

I hope she prepares herself, because Robert will be a whole hell of a lot worse than me.

When the color begins to reshow itself on Lyanna's unhealthily pale cheeks, Ned's brain finally seems to start working again as he remembers what I'd just done for Howland Reed, and lets out a gasp of shock as he comes to the realization that his sister isn't going to die here.

His eyes stare up at me with a mixture of relief and gratitude as he watches me heal his supposed-to-be-dead older sister, not even noticing the fact that I'm getting a handful while I'm healing her, which has quickly begun to lose its amusement factor and now just seems weird without any reaction towards it.

"W-What?" A confused Lyanna asks, blinking in shock as the strength in her body and voice comes back to her, while not paying any attention to my hand that slowly removes itself from her chest. Allowing her room to test the renewed strength of her arms as she carefully sits up in her birthing bed; uncaring of the blood-soaked sheets and the drying blood caking her lower half as she looks down at herself in awe and befuddlement.

"May the Lord of Light watch over you," I say as I cast Bless on her after a moment's thought.

Just in case.

While the healing from Cure Wounds did its job, that doesn't mean she's out of the woods yet. There's still a long way to go from here to the North, where she'll be safe enough from any attempted assassinations by Targaryen loyalists or those looking to make use of her death to push their daughters/sisters/relatives towards the newly crowned King as marriage proposals.

So, until we get her back home, I'm not taking any chances.

"You saved her," Ned manages to get out between a half-choked sob that he struggles to get control of. "Th-…Thank you… I-…I am in your debt, Lannister."

Smothering a smile, I nod instead of replying to his proclamation before turning both Starks' attention to the elephant in the room that neither seems to have realized yet.

"We can speak of debts later, Lord Stark… Perhaps it's best if, for now, we focus on more important matters." I say, waving a hand towards the babe Lyanna put in his arms.

The two take a moment to finally catch onto my meaning, but when they do, their eyes glance down at the newly named Aegon before they widen in shock as the reality of their situation hits them.

"Ned!" Lyanna panics, her eyes wide with fear as she gathers the baby out of her brother's arms. Obviously aware of what having a half-Targaryen child means for its future with the new king sitting on the Iron Throne. "What are we going to do?! Robert will kill him if he learns who Aegon's father is?"

Not just kill, Robert will likely crush the baby's skull in his own hands once he learns that it's the "technically-not" bastard child of the man he hated above all others.

A man who he thinks stole the love of his love, and who he went to war against, and crushed an entire dynasty that had lasted for centuries over, for no other reason than to get the change to kill the man with his own warhammer.

Though… I doubt either of the Starks will be willing to correct him on the legitimacy of the baby's heritage, seeing as they'd have to first admit that Lyanna wasn't actually kidnapped, but went with Rhaegar willingly instead of allowing herself to be married off to Robert in the first place.

"Perhaps," I interject, drawing their gaze as I wave a hand in Ned's direction, "it would be safer for the both of you, if Ned were to take Aegon here and say that the boy is his bastard. Thereby protecting him from Robert's wrath, and allowing you to take him back safely to the North where you can keep an eye on him together, as your 'nephew'."

"I…" Lyanna pauses, her mind racing.

"…I don't know." She mumbles after a moment of though. "My son should know what his true name is. Who his father is… Would it be right to take that away from him? To make him a bastard… when he should be a prince?"

At her side, Ned glances at her torn face and back down at the bundle in her arms before he lets out a weary sigh. "No, it wouldn't… but it would keep him safe." Seeing his sister open her mouth to object, he adds on. "Safe enough to grow to an age that we may one day tell him the truth."

"But…"

"…fine." Lyanna sighs as her shoulders slump, unable to come up with a counter. Exhaustion at having given birth and the stress of the situation getting the better of her as she leans back against the bed frame. Still cradling Aegon protectively to her chest with one arm as the other hand gently rubs his sleeping cheeks. "Then what should we call him?"

Thinking for a moment, Ned is the first to answer as he replies. "Jon…"

"We'll call him Jon Snow."

Throne Room, Red Keep

Beginning of the Year: 282 AC

- Three Weeks Later -

"…in the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent." A broadly smiling Robert Baratheon proclaimed as he stood in front of the Iron Throne, freshly-forged crown firmly in place upon his brow, and looking like a man whose just won the world as he tapped the flat edge of an elegant sword's blade upon the shoulders of the person kneeling before him.

The red and gold armor of the golden-blond haired young man currently on his knees, freshly cleaned and polished of any remaining dirt or blood that had been on it from the battle at the Tower of Joy, now sparkled in the light coming through the stained-glass windows as the people of King's Landing stood in a crowd and marveled at the spectacle.

"I, Robert Baratheon, first of my name. King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm…bid you rise, Ser Godwin of House Lannister… The Lionheart!"

A roar of applause followed his booming proclamation, and the entire throne room felt as if it would shake as the people cheered on the first Ser to be knighted by the new King.

It was a powerful statement by Robert, seeing as his dislike of the Lannisters was already becoming known. Yet his apparent approval of the one Lannister who helped save his betrothed gave spark to a wildfire of whispering rumors surrounding what it would mean for the future of the Crown and its ties to the most powerful and wealthiest of Houses in Westeros.

More importantly, they gossip focused on the main topic of the event… That of the future of the newly proclaimed "Lionheart", and what it all had in store for the boy who just celebrated his 16th Name Day.

To have gone from being next in line for the Lordship of Casterly Rock, to being replaced by his elder brother and left to fade into the background as everyone had expected, only to then rise again into the limelight as a knight.

And not just any knight at that! But the one who defeated the legendary Sword of the Morning himself, and saved the life of Lyanna Stark while he was at it.

Said acts were no small feat, and the people of King's Landing, including many of the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, would be talking about this spectacle for months and years to come, as they watched the youngest son of Tywin Lannister rise from his knelt position and turned to the face the crowd. Flashing a handsome smile that left many of the younger ladies blushing, and a few of the older ladies smiling coyly as they batted their eyelashes at the dashing new knight.

The future certainly looked brighter for the young lion… That much was certain to all in attendance.

… …

- Godwin -

Hiding my grimace behind a look of pride as the Robert finishes his ceremony, I let out a small breath of relief as the weight of the Seven finally stops bearing down upon me from the religious power behind the anointing words he unintentionally used.

Plastering a fake charming smile on as I rise to hide my discomfort, I turn to face the crowd with a straight back and march down the carpeted path that leads out of the throne room with as quick a pace as I can get away with. All the while letting my Shield of Faith drop as soon as I cross the double-doors that close ceremoniously behind me, feeling the weight of the Seven disappear entirely as I breath out a heavy sigh.

Shield of Faith - Spell

Protects you from the divine force of other deities by shielding you in an invisible bubble of protective faith that's powered by the divinity of your chosen patron.

Honestly, as much as I enjoy the powers that R'hllor is giving me with each act I perform in his name, the fact that I've now been made away of the presence of other gods and goddesses of different faiths that are alive and well in Westeros besides him, leaves me incredibly nervous for the future now that I've gotten my first taste of what it's like to be under their scrutiny.

As much of a struggle as it was to kneel there and be "blessed" by a group of seven gods that sees me as a "heretic", I can only count myself lucky that the ceremony hadn't taken place in the Sept of Balor - the religious center of the Faith of the Seven, and the gods' stronghold that's as close to their divine realm as possible, and would likely kill a practitioner of a different faith (such as myself) should I ever set foot upon its hallowed grounds.

Going forward, I'll have to be careful about entering places of faith that are not Red Temples belonging to R'hllor and his Red Priests and Priestesses.

While some might not outright smite me for my choice in patron, the gamble I'd be taking isn't worth whatever benefits I could possibly get out of interacting with them and their followers.

Taking my time to shake off the effects of the Seven's presence, I make my way through the Red Keep and out onto the busy streets of King's Landing as dozens of people stop to greet me or cheer for me as I pass them by.

My new status as a knighted Ser might have only just happened, but the news of my return from the Tower of Joy and the survival of Lyanna has been spreading throughout the Seven Kingdoms ever since that day, and the people in the richer districts surrounding the Red Keep that hadn't been able to join the ceremony are taking the chance now to try and introduce themselves or curry some sort of favor with me.

Many women, both young and old, make subtle and not-so-subtle passes at me as I take a walk through the city, marveling at the reconstruction that's been done in such a short time since the sacking.

In any normal situation, I would have already agreed to at least one or two of their offers, if only to ensure people still view me as the lustful younger son of Tywin who many aspiring and scheming members of society can have dance to their tune with an offering of tits, wine, and pussy.

…which, while somewhat of a ploy to keep them from looking too deeply into my behavior, isn't entirely an act.

There are a lot of semi and mildly attractive women in Westeros, and with the last three weeks having been spent traveling from the Westerlands, to the mountains of Dorne, and then up to King's Landing, I haven't exactly had the time to destress myself with a woman's attention.

…When I return to Casterly Rock, I'm fucking the shit out of Cersei.

I don't care if the whole castle hears us, or if even just Tywin finds out about us and has a heart attack, I'm never going this long without a woman's touch again.

Blatantly ogling a woman who flashes a rather large pair of breasts my way, I toss her a wink and commit her large brown areolas to memory before I stop off at the Street of Flour and grab some food. If I can't get my dick wet, I can at least get some food in me after having been made to stand and kneel in the Throne Room for what felt like an eternity.

Quickly finding a small quiet place to sit, I eat a quiet meal by myself as I watch the people go about their days around me.

"…this place reeks of shit." I mumble through a mouthful of bread.

When you hear the characters from the show say that you can smell the shit from miles away, they aren't joking.

King's Landing's waste management and sewer systems are in desperate need of being reworked to better accommodate the massive expansions that the city has undergone in the centuries since it was first conceived.

Obviously, whoever built the original sewers never intended for their construction to be used for such an overpopulated number of people. Approximately 500,000 by some estimates. And that lack of future planning has left the capital with an almost pungent aroma that you frankly can't get away from unless you leave the city entirely.

"My Lord," a voice calls out, cutting into the serenity of the moment.

Turning away from my people-watching with a sigh as I put down my half-eaten bread, I face one of my House's soldiers who bears a red lion sigil on his armor instead of a gold one, proudly displayed for anyone to see.

What was once the sigil of the rebellious House Reyne, has since become the personal sigil of my own private guard within the Lannister Army.

"The Royal Fleet is preparing to set sail in three days' time. Their commander, Stannis Baratheon, has already made preparations for the siege, and will reach his destination by the end of the week…" He lists off, relaying his report in quick order before asking, "Shall I have The Prowl make ready to cast off?"

Before I answer him, I pause for a moment to look at the red lion on the front of his armor as I think back on how it came to be.

As it turns out, once a House has been completely wiped out and there's not a living member of the bloodline left to claim the sigil as theirs, it becomes meaningless and anyone can take it up if they so choose.

Seeing as I have the whole "faith of the Red God' going for me, and the Reynes are all dead to the last man thanks to the efforts of my father, I felt it was only appropriate that I take the sigil of a red lion for myself and use it to differentiate my own loyal soldiers from the rest of the bannermen who follow my father, now that things are starting to become more complicated back home.

While my own sigil has become a golden lion surrounded by a flaming heart, to honor R'hllor and give myself a unique sigil that won't be mistaken for my family's - which is how I was got the name "the Lionheart" in the first place. I use the red lion sigil for those bannermen who have seen my powers and have taken to following the faith of R'hllor; recognizing me as Azor Ahai reborn and following my every command fanatically instead of my father's.

…Tywin knows what I'm doing, of course.

There was no way he would miss the formerly dead sigil now being worn by some of his bannermen when he's as paranoid as the best of them.

But with how important my ability to transmute gold is to the family, and how much my efforts have improved our family's reputation after Jaime's kingslaying cast some shade over us, he's allowed me to continue building up my own personal force without impediment knowing there's little he could do to stop it from happening that doesn't involve a potential schism being created within our House and our bannermen.

I might not be his favorite child right now, but his obsession with creating a dynasty for our family has held back any current actions he might want to take to get me back in line.

Sucks for him.

At the rate things are going, I may have to plan his "untimely" death one of these days if I can't figure out another way of getting the Lannister army under my control that doesn't involve patricide.

As of now, the number of soldiers I have in my Lionsguard - a rather dumb name, I know, but I can't be bothered to think of a better one - has grown solidly to well over 150 men who are ready and willing to die in my name. But while those numbers make for a perfect small taskforce and personal guard, they're nothing compared to the 20,000 men that our House can call upon.

"Inform the men," I nod. Taking a last bite of my meal, I stand up and stretch out the kinks in my body as the sound of my armor clinks together in my ear. "We leave immediately. Make sure the supplies are prepared, and inform the men to get as much food in them as they can. We have a rough sail ahead of us, and I won't have them slacking off just because they're hungry and forgot to eat."

Getting a nod from him before he turns around and hightails it back to the port, I follow behind at a much more sedated pace as I plan out this next move of mine.

With Robert's Rebellion now "technically" at an end, there's only one more task I need to take care of before things settle down for the next few years until another major event takes place… and that's the Assault on Dragonstone.

Now, I know it's stupid to get involved with more Targaryens after I've already stuck my neck out for Elia and her children, and now Lyanna and her son… but come on! It's Daenerys we're talking about, here!

How can I turn down the opportunity to get a life-debt from the future Mother of Dragons herself, when it's so easily achieved with just a single stop off at Dragonstone before Robert's fleet arrives to sack the place?

Sure, she might not even be born yet. But by the time she's legal enough in this world, I'll barely be in my thirties.

Back in my old life, that was practically nothing compared to some of the other age-gaps that people shrugged their shoulders at.

…am I currently downplaying the danger this risky plan of mine is, and focusing more on my more lustful thoughts, just to keep my nerves from getting the better of me?

Obviously.

Every time I stick my neck out, there's always a chance that my next move could get me killed because I tempted fate one-too-many times. But without taking these risks, and building up a collection of debts I'm going to need to call on later, I stand exactly zero chance in hell of defeating the Night King and his armies when the time comes.

So, in spite of the loud voice in my head telling me this is another bad idea, I make my way down to the port without stopping as I prepare to do another dramatic thing that'll change the future of this world.

The timeline can go fuck itself at this point.

I'm the one in charge now.

Dragonstone, Blackwater Bay

- Two Days Later -

The sound of thunder boomed across the sky over Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, as lightning danced across the dark clouds gathered above the massive grey-stone castle.

Heavy rain and terrible winds battered against the immovable fortress, as the people within its hold weathered the effects with a growing concern as the storm grew more terrible by the hour. The strength of it was unlike anything they'd seen before, and many worried that it was a dark omen of the days to come.

Many great pyres were lit around the castle to help guide others through the dark, stormy night sky as not even the moon's light provided any help in navigating around the land. The light from their flames casting long shadows over everything, causing the black banners of the Targaryen household to stretch down like ominous spider legs that nearly touched the ground despite being several stories up along the ramparts.

It was not a pretty sight, by any means. But Dragonstone was never meant to be as majestic as Casterly Rock, or as tranquil as Highgarden. It was a seat of power, belonging to the reigning House who took the Seven Kingdoms by sheer force of might… and its appearance reflected that fact.

Unfortunately, with the decline of House Targaryen to a few scant members who were now spread out across the Seven Kingdoms (Dorne, Winterfell, and Dragonstone), the people who occupied the castle were no longer the same staunchly loyal subjects that once kept the place maintained.

And with the Dowager Queen Rhaella and her son Viserys now occupying the keep, having fled the wrath of the Baratheon King, those who surrounded the Targaryens whispered amongst themselves in preparation to take them hostage and make them offerings to be made to the new Baratheon King in exchange for sparing their lives.

A plan that was rapidly set in motion once news that Stannis Baratheon was sailing with the Royal Fleet towards Dragonstone had reached them.

Just beyond the coast of Dragonstone, unaware of the plans being made, a longship built out of thick sturdy wood and painted crimson-red with a roaring golden lion's head on the prow, bearing massive crimson sails decorated with a golden lion surrounded by a flaming heart, rocked in time with the rampaging waters as a small rowboat sailed away from it and towards the castle's shores.

The ship, known as The Prowl, stuck out predominantly amidst the chaos of the sea due in part to the fact that it was manned by a crew of unwavering soldiers that moved about the deck with precision during the storm despite its fury.

Despite the chilling winds and freezing spray of the seawater, thanks to the unnaturally red and unquenchable pyres onboard the ship, they were as warm as could be and their steps surefooted even as the longship rocked and swayed dangerously. The faith they had in their commander, and the Lord of Light watching over them, was unshakable enough that none had hesitated in manning the deck, even as the waves crashed high enough to drench the deck.

Their mission that night was one of great importance, and every single one of them played their part as best they could while they awaited their commanders return, stalwart in their belief that he would succeed.

Though a few wondered to themselves exactly how their commander planned on succeeding…

After all, Targaryens were a difficult people to deal with at the best of times…and these last few days had certainly been anything but for the declining House.

… …

- Rhaella Targaryen -

There were many things the Dowager Queen expected to see when she stepped into the throne room of her family's ancestral castle.

Stannis Baratheon at the head of an army sent from King's Landing to kill her and her children, as well as any remaining loyalists to her House, was one such thought.

Perhaps even Robert Baratheon himself, come to finish the deed with his own hands after he'd murdered her eldest son on the battlefield and had her husband killed by his own Kingsguard, was another.

But the youngest son of Tywin Lannister, surrounded by a small guard of Lannister soldiers bearing red lion sigils, offering to help her escape before the Royal Fleet arrives?

That was not something she had foreseen coming.

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, aghast at what the handsome young man had just told her while discretely clutching at her heavily-pregnant stomach that was being rather unsettlingly painful today.

"You're not safe here, Queen Rhaella." Godwin repeated himself, stressing his words as best he could to get across his message. His emerald eyes pointedly flicking towards the loyal Targaryen soldiers around the room as he spoke. "The garrison here is no longer under your control, and the Royal Fleet will be here within days. You must get you and your son out of here before it's too late!"

Frowning, the Dowager Queen brushed a few locks of naturally-white hair from her face as she stared down at the man across from her, sitting gently upon the hard black-rock throne that her ancestors before her had ruled from. The silver crown gently fixed upon her head glinting in the candle-light as her violet eyes glanced around the throne room for a brief moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing through them.

…there were fewer guards posted than there used to be.

In fact, there were less than half of the men there than were supposed to be present.

Had been, ever since she arrived, Rhaella realized.

Originally, she'd just assumed that they had been repositioned near the outer walls in preparation for a siege. But now that he'd spoken it aloud, however, she could see the way her own guards shuffled nervously at his declaration. A wave of fear dancing up her spine as she realized just how unsafe her and her son might be, surrounded by who she thought were loyal men.

"Be that as it may…" she said after a long moment. The twinkle of fear in her eyes quickly smothered by a lifetime of skill at having to mask her true feelings in the presence of others.

A gift from having been married to her insane, sadistic older brother for decades.

"Dragonstone is the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, and has been that way for centuries. It is a fortress that has withstood sieges countless times before, and will do so again if need-be." She proclaimed imperiously, looking every bit the Queen she was as the golden-haired man opposite her grimaced at her words. Whether his warnings were true or not didn't matter, duty demanded that she stay and defend her home. "As the last of my bloodline left, I will not abandon my home to let it be ransacked by the Usurper and his men."

Seeing the sag of defeat in Godwin's shoulders as they slumped ever-so-slightly, Rhaella made to offer her thanks to him for his efforts when a sudden, terrible pang of immense pain came over her. "Thank you for your offer, Ser Godwin… but as you can see, it is not necessa-AH!"

Flinching forward as she hunched over upon her throne, Rhaella clutched at her pregnant belly in agony as another sharp pang happened, the others around her jumping in surprise as she felt herself beginning to go into labor at what had to be the worst time possible.

"G-Guards!" She called out, barely managing to keep some royal propriety about her as she climbed out of the throne on wobbling legs. "Bring me to the midwives, quickly!"

… …

- Godwin -

There are times where I admire the people of Westeros for their unflinching loyalty to duty.

…And then there are times where I want to smash my head into a wall when that same sense of duty seems to override their common sense and force them into sacrificing themselves for no fucking reason!

Still… Rhaella going into labor has created an opportunity for me.

Already, I can see how the guards are reacting to the coming baby as she's carried off to her birthing room, and even without my knowledge of this world's history and what's to come, I can tell that there's something going on with them that's happening outside of the Queen's control.

Maybe at one point in time these men were loyal to her and her family, but now that their supplies are running low and they're starting to go hungry without fresh shipments being sent from the capital, loyalty is beginning to mean a whole lot less to them with hunger clouding their minds.

"Prepare yourselves," I mumble just loud enough for my men to hear, all ten of whom silently acknowledge my command as they grip their swords and prepare to fight our way out. "We move once the child is born."

The Dowager Queen might not be willing to abandon her home in the face of duty, but when Daenerys is born and these "loyal" guards suddenly turn on her to take her and her children hostage as bargaining chips, I imagine she'll come to feel differently about my offer.

Making sure to remember the direction that Rhaella is carried off to, I wait alongside my men as we're left alone in the throne room with a handful of guards who are now watching us with open hostility in their eyes.

Apparently, they don't like the idea of me absconding away with their meal ticket.

A tense silence fills the room, only broken intermittently by the echoes of Rhaella's cries as she goes into labor, and the howls of the raging storm outside that's getting worse by the hour.

A brief moment of uncertainty passes through me out of concern for the wellbeing of my men who I left manning the Prowl, before it settles down with the knowledge that they're at least somewhat protected by the Bless that I put over each and every one of them before we'd set sail.

Eventually, after an hour has passed and the tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife, Rhaella's cries are finally joined by that of a newborn baby's own wailing.

"…now."

In a flurry of motion and the sound of metal ringing against metal, I use Thaumaturgy to kill the torches and candles in the room while drawing both swords from my back - one of which is now Dawn - and lash out at the nearest guard as my Lionsguard do the same.

Despite their best efforts to stop us, my men and I are better armed and better trained, and with the sudden loss of light catching them by surprise, the guards quickly fall before our blades in a massacre that soaks the dark stone throne room with puddles of blood.

Hearing a ruckus from the floors above, coming from the direction where Rhaella was carried off to, I flick the blood from my blades and prepare myself for more fighting as my Lionsguard form up around me. "Quickly men, to the Queen!"

As one, we march our way through Dragonstone's interior, killing any and all guards who get in our way as the sounds of struggling and the fearful shouts in Rhaella's voice draw near.

Until eventually, after leaving a trail of bodies in our wake, we reach her birthing room where we come upon the scene of her huddled against the back wall with a trail of blood soaking the bottom half of her dress that leads towards the blood-stained bed, with a newborn cradled gently in her arms as tears trickle down her lovely pale-skinned features.

Surrounding her, six Targaryen soldiers brandish weapons in a semi-circle as a seventh holds a sword to a small white-haired boy's neck. The look of fear and confusion in the boy's violet eyes as clear as day, matching that of his mother's as she begs the men not to hurt him.

"STOP!"

Freezing them all in place with Command before anything else happens, I quickly take stock of the situation and light up Dawn with Continual Flame before ordering my men to gather around the frozen stiff guards in preparation to take them out.

So long as none of us directly harm them, anyone caught under my Command spell cannot break out of it unless they have some type of magical powers of their own. And seeing as I'm the only magic user in the room, that means their stuck there stiff as statues waiting for my men to get into position.

Wielding the flaming Dawn in one hand, I reach out with the other to grab Viserys from the seventh soldier as we all act as one. The sudden act of harm causing the spell to finally break and granting the guards their freedom.

Only for their freedom to be short-lived as they're immediately run through before they have a chance to react. Giving me time to pull the young boy out of the way and stab the man holding him through the chest while he still reels from his shock.

"M-My thanks, for saving us." Rhaella says weakly as her legs begin to shake. Adrenaline and a mother's strength the only reason she's able to stand right now as she holds the newborn Daenerys close to her chest while a fearful Viserys runs towards her.

"I-If your offer is s-still available, I w-would be grateful to a-accept it o-on b-behalf of my children and I-I-I..." Her voice trails off.

Seeing her about to collapse from blood loss, which would likely see her dead in the next few minutes, I rush across the room and scoop her up into my arms before she falls. Casting Cure Wounds to prevent her from bleeding out.

Turning to face my men as they gather back into rank and file, I thank my many hours of training every day for the strength it gives me to carry both her and the baby as I command in a clear and urgent tone.

"…Form up!"

Onboard the Prowl, Blackwater Bay

- A Day Later -

- Rhaella Targaryen -

Slowly waking up to the sensation of being rocked back and forth, the salty smell in the air and the sound of creaking wood told her even before she was fully conscious and cognizant, that she was now onboard a ship instead of back on land at Dragonstone.

Not entirely sure if she was still dreaming or not, Rhaella allowed herself to be slowly lulled back to sleep by the sounds of the ocean's waves coming from outside. Before, in the moments between her return to slumber, a rush of memories came flooding back to her.

Reminding her of everything that had happened up to before she passed out, as her violet eyes snapped open in a blind panic as she shot up into a seated position as the bedsheet crumpled down at her waist. Revealing that she was still clad in the same blood-stained gown she'd worn as she went into labor, and adding a fresh wave of panic to her already stressed mental state as violet eyes searched frantically for her children.

"Calm yourself, my Lady." A calm, soothing voice said from her left. Drawing her attention towards the far side of the small room she was in as a calmly smiling Godwin stood before her in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest in a relaxed manner as he motioned with his head towards the space next to her. "Your son and daughter are both safe and sound..."

Blinking at the sudden bit of information as her heart pounded in her chest from her panic, Rhaella turned to her right and felt the tension leave her body as she saw the two heads of white hair cuddled up asleep on a smaller bed next to hers. Their little bodies wrapped in a fresh set of blankets as the baby Daenerys made small noises in her sleep.

"My children…" She whispered, a feeling of hope for her House's future rekindling within her as she reached down to gently caress their heads soft enough not to wake them. "What… How can I repay you for this… this act of kindness?" She asked as her eyes stayed fixed upon her children, as if afraid they might disappear should she look away. "House Lannister is no ally of House Targaryen, and yet… you risked yourself to save us."

Sparing but a single moment to look back at him, her brow wrinkled in confusion as she asked, "Why?"

That was the one question that kept ringing in her head.

Why had this stranger, the son of the man who betrayed her husband and sided with the Usurper at the end of the war, suddenly decided to turn against both his House and his King in order to save her and her children?

By all rights, he had no reason to help them. Gods, he had every reason not to!

…and yet he had.

"Because…" He said with a soft smirk that hid an amusement only he understood, "the Lord of Light showed me what would happen to you if I didn't. And no one, least of all you, deserves to suffer such a terrible fate."

Pausing as her fingers brushed the hair out of Viserys's sleeping face, she blinked.

The Lord of Light?

She'd heard rumor that the youngest son of Tywin wasn't a believer in the Seven, and that he followed a Fire God from across the Narrow Sea.

But to proclaim that he had seen their fates before they happened?

…Well, she'd heard stranger things from her eldest.

She was grateful all the same.

"…What becomes of us now?" She asked after a long moment, her violet eyes meeting his emerald as an indecipherable emotion passed between them.

There was a debt now between their two Houses, one that could be used in any number of ways should the young man in front of her decide to call it in, and honor would demand that she be compelled to obey it. No matter what it was.

However… for the safety of her children, Rhaella knew she would do anything.

"Now?" He parroted rhetorically, never once moving from his spot even as his eyes dipped down to the blood-soaked ankle-length dress she had on, and the noticeable swell of her swollen, lactating breasts that began soaking the material with her milk.

Causing a flushed dusting of red to darken her pale cheeks, even as she tried to pretend like it wasn't there. "Now, I bring you and your children to Dorne." Godwin stated with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes that seemed to always be there, as if he enjoyed watching the shock that crossed her features. "Elia and your grandchildren are waiting for you there, alongside the Martells, to take you three into hiding so that Robert can't get to you."

…W-What?

Elia was alive?

When she'd heard the news that King's Landing had been sacked, Rhaella was certain that her son's wife wouldn't have made it out alive. Let alone with two children slowing her down if she even tried to escape.

But… as her eyes narrowed onto the little smirk Godwin had as if he read her mind, she realized that the reason Elia and her grandchildren were alive… was likely the very same reason that she and her own children were alive as well.

…Which meant she now owed the young man even more than she already did.

… …

- Godwin -

Honestly, at this point I feel like if I tell her that I also saved her son Rhaegar's last child by Lyanna, I'm pretty sure Rhaella may decide that she's duty-bound to drop to her knees and pleasure me right here and now after saving so many members of her family when I didn't have too.

Something a large part of me really wants to do, if for no other reason than to see her swollen, lactating breasts wrapped around my cock as her violet eyes stare up at me while I cum all over her royal face.

I'm sure a splash of white - or if I'm feeling adventurous, gold - would look amazing on her pale, aristocratic features.

…but as tempting as that sounds, I should probably figure out exactly what Cersei's and my new relationship is before I try taking any women to bed.

The last thing I need is to wind up forcing Cersei into betraying me for another man because she caught me with my dick in another woman, when it could have easily been avoided with a single conversation.

I don't plan on becoming another Robert Baratheon; cuckolded by my own woman and unknowingly forced to raise another man's children all because of a wandering dick.

While my Cersei currently hasn't dealt with the things that made her into the vindictive, conniving woman that she was in the series… that personality is still in there somewhere, just waiting for me to fuck up and bring it out of her.

"We should reach Dorne in a few days," I say as I uncross my arms and turn to leave the three Targaryen refugees alone for a while. They'll need time to come to terms with everything that's happened, and I'm not one to linger around during emotional moments. "You should get some rest; you've been through a lot recently."

Quest Completed:

[Dowager Dragon-Queen Down on her Luck]

Objective: Prevent Rhaella Targaryen from dying at Dragonstone.

Reward: Lesser Restoration (spell)

Without waiting for a response, I leave the small room at the back of the ship behind and make my way back up to the deck, watching with a keen eye as my Lionsguard move about with trained precision to keep the Prowl on course for Dornish waters as the sun warms down upon us as if the storm was a thing of the past and not something we'd been dealing with until an hour ago.

This'll be the first time since I sent Elia off with her children that I'll be interacting with Dorne again, and I can't help but wonder what they'll have in store for me upon my arrival. There's no telling how they'll respond to everything that's happened, but I'm placing my bets on their response being at least somewhat better than how they treated the Lannisters in the show.

If not, I'll just toss Rhaella and her children onto the port and set sail immediately back to Casterly Rock before the Martells can try anything.

Lesser Restoration - Spell

By touching a person, you can heal them of any disease or condition currently affecting them. Whether they are blinded, deafened, paralyzed, or poisoned.

Well, now… that could be very useful.

- END -

Author's Notes:

And that's Chapter 3!

It's crazy how quickly I can go from just barely 2k words in and struggling to want to write, to having almost 10k words done in a single writing session after getting through the trickier conversations.

It's so easy for me to write the more important moments of the story, but when I get to the slower, more casual bits, I suddenly find myself with writer's block and a lack of drive to write what will turn out to be maybe a few hundred words before I'm back in the better parts that I can write out easily.

At least the ideas for how to expand this story just keep coming, and I'm not lacking on focus for where I want this story to go and what I want to see played out along the way. I already have the next 6-7 chapters mapped out in my head, I just need to get them all typed down and fleshed out a little more before I post them.

I'll likely be posting 1-2 times a week, depending upon if a chapter is a little bit shorter than others and I can get it done sooner. But that's nothing set in stone just yet. It's the holidays, which means I'm busier than ever with work and only just recently got some time to do a bit of writing.

Also! Happy Holidays, everyone!

Hope you all are still liking it so far! Thanks for checking out my story!