A/N: Hey all. Could use everyone's prayers right now, but things are looking good.

Some great stuff coming up.

Enjoy and comment!

Chapter 8: Crypts

"Di' ye' 'eel at home, Winter?" asked the stableboy, brush in hand as he ran it down the side of the Queen's mare. "Back in Winterfell, cold as shite rather dan south. Yet home."

The mare flapped her lips, making a slight neighing sound as she accepted the touch. Laughing, the stableboy continued his work. He remembered being but a lad when the Queen - then merely the She-Wolf of Winterfell, beloved by all - frowned as she mounted Winter and galloped south towards a likely wedding to Robert Baratheon. Now here she was, wife to the Targaryen dragonrider King. Bringing Winter back with the King's massive war stallion Moondancer, of whom had sired a half-dozen foals in the past twelve years.

Mother to the Crown Prince, as strapping a young lad as any in the North.

"He 'ooks 'ike a Stark, girl. Coulda grown up 'ere as onna Lord Eddard's kids… cept for da' purple eyes." That was a hallmark of the Valyrians… was why the girls were so damned pretty. His mates said it was the silver hair but no, it was the eyes.

Probs why the She-Wolf fell for the King.

That brought an errant thought to his head. "'Ay, girl. 'Da Queen Lyanna be quite close with 'da Queen Elia." He wiggled his brows lasciviously, mind in the gutter. "Think 'dey… ya know… munch fur?"

"You are quite a lucky man." The stableboy nearly jumped five feet in the air, falling and landing in a pile of hay on his ass. Stifling a giggle, Margaery Tyrell walked in, trying not to curl her nose in revulsion at the smell of shit, piss, and wet hay - at Highgarden, her servants had the horses saddled, shoed, and waiting for her outside the stables whenever she went riding. "If it had been Princess Rhaenys hearing you, you'd have been target practice for her spear-thrusts."

"I… I… I'm sorry… mi'Lady…" he stammered, at first from fear, and then by how… utterly pretty this girl was. Nothing like a wild northern beauty, exotic Dornish beauty, or angelic Valyrian beauty. Something altogether different, and spellbinding. "Won't… appen… uh, uh, uh… again…"

Margaery openly giggled. "You are quite cute." The boy had to be two years older than her, but he had that innocence castle-raised smallfolk possessed and by the gods, it was perfect for her purposes. "I think that you are one that knows a lot about horses and how to keep them."

Relieved at how the conversation was going, the stableboy couldn't help but smile. Eyes going from her sweet face to the tiny swell of her breasts underneath the gown. If he was in Highgarden with my summer gowns, he'd die of a heart attack. "Was raised… from birth to do 'dis… mi'Lady."

"So you know all the horses here?" She batted her eyes, just as her grandmother just began to teach her last time she had come to King's Landing. It had the desired effect. "From the ones ridden by the Lords and Ladies to the ones kept for… odds and ends."

A nod. "Aye, mi'Lady. I do."

"Good, cause my friends and I like to go on night rides. Do not worry, we're safe… I just wouldn't want to lose out on a fun time by having to saddle and shoe the horses. If you could do it for me when I need it." She approached him and kissed his cheek. "I would be so happy…"

The boy nearly collapsed in a heap of lovesick goo on the ground. "Aye… aye… just say the word, mi'Lady. I'lls get it done."

Another beaming smile and kiss on the other cheek. "Glorious." Striding out of the stable, she just managed to notice the boy's knees actually buckle as he sunk to the ground. Goofy smile on his face.

Hurrying back into the keep to escape the cold, no sooner had the door to the outside shut did a pair of firm but dainty hands grab Margaery and haul her into a supply closet. "Did you get it?"

She nodded. "Yes, Daenerys. The main stableboy agreed to prepare as many horses as I needed to ride. Poor lad looked like he was melting from me as if I were the sun."

Both Sansa and Daenerys shared a smirk. "Oh, you have such an effect on people, being pretty and all." The redhead knew Margaery was not at the same caliber as Daenerys… or others like Princess Rhaenys, her aunts, or her mama, but reality was reality. Robb wouldn't be melted snow slush around you if you were not.

"To think you were pudgy and piggy when young," Dany added, chuckling at Margaery's cross look.

"I was not… piggy." She grew into her looks. Everyone in Highgarden said. "Whatever, don't give me that look. I did what you wanted, so can I be absolved of this plot before I get in more trouble than I likely already am? Someone's gonna find out, though I won't tell…"

The dragon's glare that Daenerys gave her oddly paled before the wolfish snarl of Sansa. Had she been a direwolf like her Lady, her hair would've stuck up. "Listen, Margaery." The Red Wolf backed her against the wall. "You are done when we are out of this keep and following Jon and Ser Arthur. Even then, you will keep your mouth shut until they actually discover we are missing. Maybe and only maybe then can you tell anyone, and only if it is clear they won't be able to come and snatch us back or I will feed you to Dany's dragon. Do I make myself clear?"

Eyes shifting, Margaery looked to Daenerys, who had her arms crossed. "What she said, and Syrax gets hungry a lot."

"Alright, alright. I'll keep your secrets and stay on."

As if nothing had happened, Sansa and Dany's expressions were all smiles and bubbles again. "Wonderful." Grey eyes sparkled. "All is going well."

"May I ask though… why do you want so badly to go with Baelon? I mean, Arthur's the best knight in the Seven Kingdoms. No one can beat him, so what's the point?"

It was Dany who answered, not hesitating. "Because I and Sansa are to be his Queens… just like in our games." Her absolute certainty caused Margaery's brow to rise, especially at noticing how Sansa looked away, cheeks reddening ever so slightly - likely thought the lack of all but a single torchlight would hide it. Not from the Rose of Highgarden. "If he thinks he can go on an adventure without us there to protect him as Visenya and Rhaenys protected Aegon, then he's a stupid stupid idiot."

That caused Margaery to laugh, which only further stroked Dany's ire. "Sweet Daenerys, do you know what being a Queen means?"

"Um, yeah. It means we'll rule by his side, and burn the enemies of the Realm."

"And have his children."

"And…" Dany blinked. "Huh?"

"You do know that a Queen must bear children for the King. I think Sansa does, right?"

Sansa blushed further. "Aye."

Confused for a moment, suddenly Dany understood. It was now her face that went as red as a ripe tomato. "Right… I understand… gods…" She looked away. "Still going though. Won't change my mind."

"Neither will I," Sansa insisted.

Seems they likely still want to be his Queens, but are still too young to fully come to terms with it. Margaery decided to take pity on them. "Let's go see if they're serving midday meal in the great hall. This cold makes me famished."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Southerners."

Greetings,

If it's Ari or Sarella reading this, then all my love to the both of you.

If it's Quentyn… fuck off.

If it's Tyene or Nym… also fuck off.

Snorting, Arianne Martell shook her head. "Well, it's clear this letter is not a forgery. Obara was always so… good with words. So perfectly eloquent."

"As eloquent with her words as she is with her spear," Tyene giggled. "She truly captures you, Nym."

"You were told to fuck off too, Ty," replied her elder half-sister by several years, brushing a braid behind her shoulder and rolling her eyes.

Tyene, naturally teasing and seductive even at only two and ten, practically simpered. "Aye, but for different reasons. Me for my beauty, you for your… colorful personality and tendency to crack everyone that looks at you with any sort of desire with your whip."

"I'll crack you with my whip…"

"Enough, you two. By sweet Mother Rhoyne." Arianne was sure that with Obara heading to Bear Island, the rather vicious squabbling between her cousins would lessen. But Nym and Ty were keen to pick up the slack. "Anyway…"

Things in Bear Island are the same as usual - cold and wet. Wet and cold. The occasional wildling attack spices things up, but I yearn for when my dear Bear takes me to the Wall to see his father, and where I can sink my spear into more than a few scraggly wildling raiders.

In other news, young Oberyn is a big brother. I've given birth to two nieces for you, young Arianne Mormont and Bethany Mormont. No, I did not name them after any of you, my dear sisters. Unlike you, Nym or Ty, I actually like Ari.

Fuck, it's fucking cold.

Obara Mormont, Lady of Bear Island.

Hand over her heart, Arianne was beaming. "Two more little babes, this time girls… and one named after me."

"You must be thrilled," Nymeria said sarcastically. Obara, Lady of Bear Island for several years now, had been obviously fecund. Whelping three babes now for her husband, Lord Jorah whom she was oddly besotted with. And him with her, desperately so if he was the same man that journeyed from the North to Sunspear for the wedding. "Gods, I would've expected Obara to be a mother like I expect cousin Rhaenys to be a Septa."

Tyene smirked. "Face it, Nym. Once Aunt Elia truly settled into her life as a fierce Queen and Targaryen babe-whelper alongside Aunt Lya, it became all our destiny to be the same."

A snort. "Me? Never. I'm never settling down like some sighing maiden."

"Oh, Nym. You'll be one of those happily-married airheads gushing about your husband by the end of the year."

"Take that back," Nymeria challenged.

"No," was Tyene's reply.

"Take that back!" she yelled louder.

"No!" Tyene yelled just as loudly before Nymeria jumped her. The girls collapsed on the ground, rolling around, pulling hair, and trying to rub their faces in the dirt. "You're gonna lose, Sand."

"Take it back or eat dirt, Martell."

Rolling her eyes, Arianne rolled the letter back up and tucked it into her sash, leaving her dear cousins to their spat. Only one bore her name, Tyene legitimized just as her mother and her full siblings by virtue of Aunt Ellaria being Oberyn's official paramour - Nymeria remained a Sand until she married like Obara. It always brought amusement to her to see them squabble, but the day was hot and the voluptuous young woman wished to simply retire for the day - and avoid her father lest he try to force her to marry yet again.

Plenty of men tried to romance the short yet buxom, olive-skinned beauty - but all were lacking. Knights and Lords and foreign dignitaries that never gave Arianne the time of day when she was young, pudgy, and flat-chested. Truthfully, the comely young ladies swimming about the water gardens drew her attention more. Or the strapping male guards such as her childhood companion, Ser Daemon Sand.

Or her cousin Rhaenys that one time. Gods, Arianne was far older than her, but Rhae dominated that encounter.

The heir to Dorne wasn't as physically rambunctious as the offspring of her uncle Oberyn or aunt Elia, but Arianne Martell drove her father to distraction all the same.

"Princess."

"Dear Princess."

"Princess Arianne."

Everyone gave her deference - not a surprise, for those of Sunspear and the Water Gardens adored the adventurous beauty. They called her the rebirth of her grandmother - dear Aunt Elia held a different sort of willowy beauty, though she was no less beloved. Arianne remembered her time as Elia's Lady in Waiting… More accurate to call myself Lyanna's. Her father would've blown his top had he found out she mostly attended the Northern Queen, though Ari had no problems.

Her Aunt Lyanna was the sweetest person, and just as adventurous as her or Rhaenys.

Mayhaps Rhaenys gets it from her.

Walking amongst the paths between the various pools, surrounded by trees and vines bearing exotic fruit, Arianne plucked an orange and greedily peeled it back. Sucking on the juices inside to quench her thirst. Oh, what a wonderful peace. Not a war to be found in the Realm since that of the Ironborn, in which she lost her dear uncle Lewyn. A good man, but no longer did she have to suffer loss.

Hopefully it would continue that way, Westeros charting into the most stable period since the reigns of Jaehaerys I and Viserys I under the steady hand of her Uncle the King and aunts the Queen. Though a nagging feeling inside her made Arianne skeptical such a peace would last…

"And what do you wish to bother me with now, brother?" Arianne shifted her eyes to beyond a cluster of thick bushes, My father.

A chuckle. "You know me so well." Uncle Oberyn.

For some reason she peeked through the bushes rather than announce her presence, gazing upon the sight of her uncle leading her father through the colonnade, Doran smacking his cane against the marble path. "Speak to me, not in riddles or japes, please… I am in too much pain for japes."

"I think you need a trip to Oldtown… or enough coin spent to bring Oldtown here…"

"No, please speak." Her father's gout grew worse by the year, and only being in hot baths or in the Water Gardens helped. He refused to see any maester but the one in Sunspear, who while was competent was not overly skilled in such diseases. It drove Arianne to distraction.

Oberyn shrugged. "Fair enough. I wish to bring Prince Aegon to foster here."

Doran looked curious, as did Arianne, though the heir felt excited. Egg is coming here? She loved her nephews - all of them. Mayhaps he's grown as desirable as his sister. Arianne chuckled to herself, hoping she'd never change, lest become boring. "Aegon, but he is but three and ten… and sickly. Why not Rhaenys?"

"You do not visit King's Landing, so you have not seen him grow into a powerful young Prince. I wish him to learn how to be a man outside the trappings of his Keep… and Rhaenys is fostering in Winterfell this year."

Arianne watched as her father cursed. "That sister of ours… it isn't enough she raises those Stark children for herself, but seeks to make our nieces and nephews Starks as well."

"Enough, brother. Do not start with that."

"Why shouldn't I? You know it's true." Her father's dislike of the Starks was clear to Arianne, and it extended to her cousins much to Arianne's sadness. "Rhaenys is all Stark apart from the sexual predilictions she inherited from you, while Daemon… Daemon is a weakling. Named for two Rogues, yet utterly weak."

"You fail to mention Alyssa, or Viserra."

"Alyssa is Lyanna Stark reborn, while Viserra… I know not of her yet, but the fact of the matter remains that we have our own blood shunning House Martell while those that insult us by existing try to coopt House Martell for themselves."

Was he referring to Baelon putting their sun on his personal sigil? Arianne found it endearing. Father feels the opposite. Not once did he ever see Aunt Elia since the aftermath of the Rebellion, and the reason was due to Baelon and Lyanna. Oh, father.

"Which is why you should want Aegon to come here."

Doran waved Oberyn off. "Fine, fine, let him come. But I will see to him myself to determine if he's as much a son of Dorne as he is a dragon."

Arianne ducked away, heading back to her quarters. Egg was coming… she was excited.

To imagine that one of the many smallfolk that were servants within the household of House Stark would be serving the Targaryen Kings, Queens, Princes, and Princesses, most would've been skeptical. The idea of a royal progress reaching Winterfell wasn't out of the realm of possibility, but for one of their own beloved she-wolves being Queen? For one of the sweet Princesses to foster with them or one of the wolfsblooded Princes ending up as the King of the Seven Kingdoms?

Incomprehensible at first… a matter of great pride once it digested. And thus the servants waited on the kindly dragons with gusto. Adding a flourish they wouldn't give to all but their favorite Starks. "And 'ere we are, your Grace. The best ven-son from Ser Rodrick and Ser Jory's 'unts."

Smelling the finely cooked meat, roasted to a fine golden brown with thyme and its own juices, Rhaegar nodded. "Thank you. It looks delicious."

"Aye, thank you, Marta," beamed Rhaenys, mouth watering.

"Thank you," spoke Aegon to the young woman, rather pretty and drawing his budding attractions - not that he was in any way ready to go about them.

But Marta only smiled at him before gushing over Rhaenys. "We're all 'cited to 'ave you live 'ere in the castle, Princess. Absolute delight!" With that she scampered off, leaving the three Targaryens to dine.

It truly was as delicious as it looked, Rhaegar savoring the taste. "This is wonderful, my children."

"Why is Baelon not here?" Egg asked, slowly eating.

"He is busy training with Ser Arthur," was the answer. "But this was by design. I wished to share my lunch with my two eldest."

"Any time with you is treasured, kepa," Rhaenys answered, looking at him with the same awe she gave when a decade younger than the five and ten she was now. "Yet truly, what brought this on?"

A nod, Rhaegar leaning forward. "You are coming of age before you know it, and I wish to expose you to the matters of the Realm. Rhaenys, you will be fostering with your Uncle Ned at Winterfell, which means there will be much in the ways of duties that you shall be helping him with."

"This pretty face was built for diplomacy," she beamed.

"In the only way a pretty face can," smirked Egg, only to be kicked underneath the table by a very long leg. "Oww!"

"Shut up, valonqar. I heard that."

Rhaegar shook his head, trying not to laugh. "Enough, hatchlings. Enough." They were silent. "And Egg, I received a raven from your uncle Oberyn." He looked up, excited. "At his invitation, you have been offered a chance to foster the next year at Sunspear and I accepted his offer."

"Sunspear… oooh, lucky you."

Studying Rhaenys, he didn't see his sister being sarcastic. It was an honor, but… Aegon felt uneasy. "What's the catch?"

Rhaegar stopped mid-chew. "What do you mean?"

"Kepa, I feel honored, but there must be some catch. I am not Baelon, I don't get blessings without consequence." Something he learned long ago, when he was truly hobbled by his injuries. Even that in which let him live led to recurring rashes that left Egg stuck in medicinal baths for hours.

He'd learned that long ago, but Rhaenys reacted harshly. "Ungrateful!" She threw a roll at him. "How dare you!"

Egg's temper flared. "That's below the belt." He threw a roll of his own. "Shut up, Rhae!"

"No, fuck you! How dare you be jealous of Baelon!"

"Well why not?!" He never spoke of it, Baelon being the younger brother that anyone would die for, but that was just it. "He's my younger brother, yet he's the King! He's the beloved! What am I but a crippled boy!"

"You were saved, Egg. You were on death's door and Tessarion granted you life through Maester Qyburn. Show some…"

A raised hand from her kepa cut Rhaenys off. "Please, dearest daughter. Allow me to speak now," Rhaegar offered politely. Scowling, Rhaenys crossed her arms, still glaring at Egg for his ingratitude in speaking about Baelon in such a manner.

Meeting Rhaenys' stare head on, Aegon didn't look at Rhaegar. Knowing he'd crumble under a sustained assault from both of them. "You need not speak, kepa. I know what you will say."

"I don't think you do."

"Kessa, I do. You'll speak of how I neglect the blessings I have and risk another Dance with myself playing my namesake - Aegon, Second of His Name."

But Rhaegar shook his head. "No, you're justified in feeling jealous." At those words, both his children stared at Rhaegar in shock - Egg with confusion and concern while Rhaenys just gaped in what looked like betrayal. Best to nip that in the bud. "I will not say it is a good feeling to have, and you should rightfully be ashamed at holding ire at your brother who has done nothing but love and admire you." Egg lowered his head, closing his eyes at that. "But your feelings are not malicious, they are the fault of myself."

"No, kepa, don't say that…"

"They are, largely since I fear I've neglected you in my desire to train Baelon for his eventual rule. A strong, smart, strapping Prince you've become, someone that any father would be proud to have and as of yet I haven't truly recognized it as I have with your brother and sister."

A tear fell from Egg's lids. "Kepa… no. You're a wonderful father. I'm the one proud to call you kepa."

Rhaenys was close to tears as well. "As am I."

Lips forming a tiny smile, Rhaegar clasped his hands together. "Of your love and devotion, I am glad. My kepa… demons consumed him and as such he was unable to be the man that I needed him to be. Strive did I to provide for all of you what I was denied, and it heartens me to see that I succeeded somewhat." Rising. Rhaegar went towards a case left in the corner of the dining chamber. "But somewhat is not true success, and it is time to rectify that. You are a Prince of House Targaryen and my eldest son, Egg. Not a King will you be, but your destiny is out there and it shall be glorious. Thus I must grant you a symbol of how I believe in you, how the world should believe in you, and why you should believe in yourself."

Eyes widened as the King turned, Aegon seeing something sparkling from the light of the hearth resting in his kepa's hands. "What… what is that?"

"That's Red Rain…" murmured Rhaenys, her fingers pressed against her mouth.

Nodding, Rhaegar bid Aegon to stand, which he did on trembling feet. "Aye, Red Rain. Taken off of House Drumm during the Battle of Lannisport - the second battle, to be specific. As I did with Breakspear before I presented it to Rhaenys, it was in my custody until someone came to be worthy of it. And worthy you are, my son."

He was shaking from the weight of it all. "Kepa… no, I am not ready."

"Yes, you are." That was his sister, rounding the table and enveloping him in a hug. "Forgive me for my words, but you are ready. Not as good as me but a mighty warrior in the making."

Even in his astonishment he rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the encouragement, sister." But he reciprocated the hug, the two eldest children of King Rhaegar Targaryen reconciled from their spat.

It almost drove Rhaegar to tears, but he refrained. "This is to be your blade, Aegon, and hopefully the blade of your future line as Blackfyre is for Baelon and Breakspear is for Rhaenys… and Wolfsbane is for Visenya." Oh, she'd definitely adore that blade. Egg couldn't help but smile at that. "Therefore, it is your right to name it." Out went the blade, offered to his son.

"Truly?" Egg felt this couldn't be real, the blade pressed into his hands.

"Do it, valonqar," insisted Rhaenys. "Something befitting a Targaryen blade."

Scratching his chin, Egg gazed out the window. Thinking long and hard, which proved to be more difficult in practice given how heady everything turned out to be. A Valyrian steel blade for him. His own great blade for his line. Aegon looked at the blade, it feeling already like an extension of his arm. Watching the fire in the hearth glint off the polished steel… "Fyrefist."

"Fyrefist?"

He reddened. "It is stupid, I know…"

"No, my son. It is perfect."

"Fucking straight, it is," whooped Rhae. "I shall seek to spar with our Valyrian blades one day, valonqar." That made Egg laugh, the blade already feeling right in his grip.

But his father again surprised him. "Hand me the blade, son."

"Kepa?"

"Please." Egg complied. "Now, kneel."

The implication was not lost on Aegon. "Kepa… I…"

"Do it, Egg!" Rhaenys insisted, herself simpering with glee and joy. Wordlessly, Egg complied, long silver hair framing his tanned face.

His eldest son's new blade clasped in his hand, Rhaegar pressed it against Aegon's left shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior… I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father… I charge you to be just." He raised his sword to Egg's right shoulder.

Aegon knew not what to think. At three and ten, given such an honor. A year later than Baelon, but how many knights were ordained at a mere three and ten? In the corner of his eye he could watch Rhaenys' radiant smile, a smile that would undoubtedly be shared by his munas. By his siblings… especially Baelon. Both of them, knights of the Realm.

"In the name of the Mother… I charge you to defend the Innocent."

He truly felt glorious. Mighty - yet also the weight of responsibility. I shall not become Aegon, Second of His Name. I shall become the greatest warrior, a proud Prince loyal to my kepa and valonqar. His destiny, not as King but as the greatest of Princes.

It felt right.

"Arise Ser Aegon of House Targaryen… Knight of the Seven Kingdoms." Rising, Rhaegar handed him back Fyrefist, which he sheathed and fastened round his waist. Grinning like mad, he embraced his father tightly, followed by Rhae's slender arms. Their kepa chuckled warmly and enclosed his arms around them both.

"Alright… where are we?"

"Give me a sec," insisted Rickon, holding the lantern close to the sarcophagus - a design not in any manner different than the one before it, nor the statue any dissimilar to the last. "By Tessarion, the carvings of a hundred years ago are horrible. No detail at all."

"Muna got only the best to carve grandfather and uncle Brandon," Visenya replied. "And don't speak of the Valyrian gods down here… the Old Gods know." A gust of wind blew through, making them all of them shiver.

All but Lann anyway, the thick-coated lion only looking bored as he tipped over errant rocks with his paw.

Rickon grumbled. "Fine fine… uh… this is Barthogan Stark, it says. Who's that?"

"Barth Blacksword," Daemon replied, remembering the book he'd read about their muna's house. "Fourth born son of Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell during the Blackfyre Rebellions."

"Fool," huffed Joanna. "He could've given his support to Daemon Blackfyre to overthrow that fat oaf."

Visenya gave her cousin an incredulous look. "Are you kidding? Supporting that traitor over a trueborn Targaryen?"

Joanna scoffed. "He was handsome and dashing that looked like Aegon the Conqueror. Daeron was a fat, weakling that gave away the Realm to the Dornish."

"Please, let's not fight," said Domeric, holding up his hands to try and pacify them… but there was no pacifying the dragonwolf or the wolflion.

"Nothing justifies treason! Especially if it's that monster Aegor Rivers that starts it and nearly tore the Realm apart."

"I don't speak of Aegor, I speak of Daemon. A man denied his true love." Joanna sighed, twirling around. "Refused the heart of his half-sister, the first Daenerys…"

"Second Daenerys. First was Jaehaerys I's daughter…"

"Shut up Daemon," Joanna hissed before continuing "...for a treaty with the Dornish with lenient terms that the Dornish didn't deserve… at least that's what our Dany tells me."

Biting her lip, Senya looked at her feet. "Never thought of it that way…"

"Guys!" Rickon's voice carried through the entire length of the crypts, echoing and ringing in their ears. "Less chatting, more searching. See, I found Cregan Stark's tomb." The Old Wolf was famous the world over for his conduct during the Dance of Dragons, and with the low lantern-light illuminating Rickon, the Prince's northern features made him look a splitting image of what Cregan had to have looked like.

Daemon on the other hand, doubly exotic with his silver-hair and tanned skin of a hybrid Valyrian-Dornish, trembled - yet not from the cold. "Sister, brother, Dom, cousin, let's just get out of here."

"Ugh…" Senya scoffed. "Not this again. Stop being such a craven, Dae. Where's your sense of adventure?"

Wishing he was back in his room with a nice cup of hot cider and his favorite books, Daemon just shook his head. "I like adventure, just not with something that would make muna or Uncle Ned take a switch to our backsides."

Domeric chuckled, the cluster of them following Rickon as he turned left down another cavernous tunnel through the ground underneath Winterfell - the final resting place of the King's of Winter, Lords of Winterfell after them, and their families - and if old enough, their loyal direwolf companions. No lions, but none of them had married Lannisters of Casterly Rock before. "I wouldn't worry about Lord Stark. He's harmless. It's Lady Stark to worry about, for she's Lord Tywin's son."

"Lord Tywin destroyed the Reynes…" he trembled.

"Stop scaring my stupid brother," giggled Senya. "Just find our way to something." Rickon leading the way, it was up to the others to look among the sarcophagi for something where dragon eggs could be hidden. Cregan's tomb revealed nothing - which was surprising. "Gods, where could they be?"

"Where could what be?"

A sudden new voice made all the children scream, Rickon, Dom, and Visenya going for their daggers while Joanna hid behind one of the tombs… and Daemon hiding behind Visenya, though he drew his own dagger. But the arrival turned out to be. "Arya?"

Short even for her age of but five namedays, Arya trundled out of the darkness - followed by little Nova, the cub scampering at her father and starting to swat at his mane. "What is you doing?" she asked, curious. "I wanna help."

Joanna was not amused. "You little insect! Get out of here before I spank you silly, horseface!"

"Don't call me horseyface!" If Arya didn't know what that meant, she did know it was negative. "I wanna help. Please please cousin?"

Kneeling before her, Rickon set a hand on her shoulder. "Arry, it's dangerous being here. I think you should go back."

"No."

"Arya, you're not staying here," insisted Visenya.

"But I wanna."

"No, that's final. You're going back."

"If you make me go back, I'll tell mama and papa you down here." Arya grinned, a five nameday old girl having outsmarted all of them.

"Let's all go up," Daemon advised. "We're not supposed to be down here."

"Gods, Dae, you're such an Aenys."

He blinked. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me. If cousin Baelon is the Conqueror Reborn, you're Aenys Reborn, a feckless craven."

Visenya giggled. "She's kinda right, Dae."

"Shut up, Vis!" Daemon yelled, cheeks reddening.

"Make me, Aenys," Senya shot back, only for Daemon to cry out and leap on her, the two siblings starting to roll around together on the floor as they slapped and pulled each other's hair.

"Yay!" Arya clapped her hands. "Fight fight fight!"

Rickon, groaning, gestured to Domeric. "Get them apart! I can't deal with this right now!"

Nodding, Domeric dove in. getting scratched and hit but managing to cleve the two Targaryens apart. "Come on, you gotta stop this!"

"I'll kill you, Vis!"

"Aenys couldn't kill a smelly poor fellow!" Visenya shot back.

"Both of you, shut it!" screamed Rickon. "We've gone too far!" That managed to shut up all of them, anger or dejection changed into worry. "This is Edwyn Stark, the second to last King of Winter."

"King of Winter… we overshot and landed before the Conquest." Daemon shook his head, nursing a rather painful scratch Visenya had done on his shoulder. "That should be Torrhen Stark right there, the King who Knelt… let's double back and see if maybe Cregan hid something…"

"What Lann doing?"

Following Arya pointing to Lann, the normally lazy lion trotting towards the sarcophagus that held the former King turned Lord Torrhen Stark, feisty little Nova scampering after him. "Kitty kitty kitty," Arya giggled, following on swift feet. "What you find?"

Daemon was right after her. "Arya, don't run from us." If they were dead now, they'd be charred dragon fodder if they emerged out of the crypts without Arya. But the lions waited right before where the tomb joined the stone wall of the cave behind it, pawing at the wall. "I think they found something," he called out.

"Let me see," Rickon elbowed his brother aside, joined a second later by his twin. "Watch over Arya." Daemon sighed and did so, holding their jittery cousin. "There's something written here. 'Oh Starks of time to come, know that if the Pact occurs again, that salvation is behind these walls. I never regretted what I had done, knowing my kin would never harm the North, nor family's future was anything but assured.'"

Visenya furrowed her brows. "What could that mean?"

"I dunno, but I think there's a hidden aperture down here…" Pushing hard, Rickon budged the stone. "Help me here!" Senya and Daemon joined him, shoving the aperture until it finally gave way.

What they witnessed after… "By the gods…"

Within the secret outgrowth of the cavern was an undiscovered hot spring, water glittering from what seemed to be a thousand tiny gems embedded in the grey walls. It stretched out at least several hundred feet, something quite necessary for contained within… "A dragon. There's a dragon buried here!" Visenya gasped. "It has to be the size of Vhagar or Vermithor, so it can't be Vermax…"

"Jackpot!" Rickon whooped and waded into the water - which was warm. "We found it!"

Seeing it, Visenya squealed with glee. "I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!" Eight dragon eggs rested in a clutch right in front of the massive skull of the deceased dragon, their scales firm and leathery, still clearly alive. "They're warm! Still warm!" Visenya cried happy tears.

"Are you seeing this?" Daemon asked, finding a jar of steel embedded in an alcove of the wall, an inscription still legible underneath it. "This is Valyrian steel…"

"Stop fooling around and help us, brother!" Rickon shouted at him. "We've got our dragons! They're gonna be ours!" Sighing and picking one of the oval spheres up… pure grey with black stripes, damned if it didn't feel warm to Daemon.

A/N: More dragon eggs!

And yes, Aegon was going to be knighted by Rhaegar all along :)

Till next time.