A/N: Hey guys. Hope all is going well.
Hurricane Ian missed us, and of that I am very happy.
Enjoy and comment!
Chapter 20: Stags and Does
As soon as the wheelhouse finally stopped, the damnable contraption being less comfortable than an actual beatdown, the youthful Bella Baratheon heard the gasp of her elder sister. "Gods… the rumors don't do it justice."
Herself stepping off and thanking the gods above for solid ground beneath her feet, Bella took in the surroundings of the Red Keep. Seven hells, mare stop acting like a damned ninny. "Eh, doesn't look so special." She wished to say the former, but with her aunt Lynesse right behind her it was a bad idea. A sore arse as she was so close to seeing the one person she actually wished to behold did not sound promising.
The mare - so chosen for Mya considering her penchant for riding trousers and a tall, lanky build compared to her just starting to flower petite one - nonetheless gushed about it, her creamy lids fluttering shut. "Father, isn't the place beautiful? It must've taken decades to finish these sandstone walls."
"Quiet, child. You live in the strongest keep in the Seven Kingdoms. Enjoy it." Mya nodded, quieting down as the great Robert Baratheon decreed. "Let's go, girls. I won't have anyone delaying me."
Delaying you from seeing the Queen, no doubt. Pathetic. For once in his life, Lord Robert Baratheon wasn't drunk. Bella actually preferred him drunk because then he at least did the most ridiculous of stupidity that brought a hint of amusement to her life. Here, he was just intolerable. She shut her eyes, willing herself to get through the agony of the day. Just a few more hours, then you can see her.
"Hey." She felt a hand on her shoulder - that of her half-brother Gendry, smiling wanly down at her. "You can walk with me. I'll keep your spirits up."
She… did not frown at him. "Thanks." Gendry, Bella refused to hate him. The only one truly good to her besides her uncle Stannis.
"Weaklings," grumbled Edric, striding past them after their father.
Bella hated Edric, however. The children of Robert Baratheon, what a merry bunch are we. Made the children of Viserys I Targaryen look the pinnacle of filial love.
It was said that 'There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.' There was no such issue with House Baratheon, so they were all there. Her father the Lord of Storm's End and her uncle Stannis. Lady Lynesse served as the lady of the keep, her father still a notorious bachelor. Gendry and Edric were back and she and Mya were present, alongside their cousin Shireen. All that was left of their great house, not that Bella cared.
She was excited, her heart pounding as they made their way into the great hall. The Iron Throne awed some, but a fair face in the crowd was what caught all of Bella's attention. Mama… She didn't call out, but waved slightly. Her mother's beaming smile finally brought warmth to the second acknowledged daughter of Lord Robert.
What did impress her - a proper respect for her betters - was the royal family waiting atop the dias. King Rhaegar, ever imposing, upon the Iron Throne. Next to him were the Queens, a direwolf lounging between the King and his Northern Queen. Elia Martell was the epitome of grace, priceless jewels accentuating her olive beauty and burnt orange dress lined with black a well-put together mix of her birth and adoptive house. As for Queen Lyanna…
"Lord Robert," King Rhaegar stated.
As per course, Bella followed her brother and the rest of her family by bending the knee. Not rising until the herald banged a staff upon the stone floor. "Presenting, Lord Robert Baratheon, Ser Stannis Baratheon, Lady Lynesse Baratheon, and their family." Standing between the King and Queen Elia was Tywin Lannister.
Bella despised Tywin Lannister.
Rising up, she heard her father clap his hands. "Cousin, it is welcome to see you again!" He bellowed a laugh. "You and your most beautiful Queens. An envious man am I. Very envious."
She needn't be of age to know how embarrassing his informality was in regards to his standing in court, but even Bella never glared at her father with the level of hate as radiated from Queen Lyanna. The direwolf almost growled, but was stilled as the Queen brushed his fur. "I would speak to your King in a manner mindful of his status, Lord Baratheon," she ground out. Unlike Elia, Lyanna wore a dark black leather dress, fierce and accentuated by the three-headed dragon emblazoned on the front. Her sword, Wolfsbane, was displayed proudly at her hip.
Queen Lyanna was a warrior, and ready to draw the blade if need be. Father, don't be stupid.
Her uncle was the smart one, even Bella could admit. "My apologies, your Grace. We are only excited to be able to be your guests and restore proper ties between our two houses."
Robert clapped Stannis' back. "Exactly. My boys have learned much here, and it is time that their bonds to the crown extend further as it should!"
Rhaegar was quiet, Lyanna simmered, but Elia cleared her throat. "That is something we can all agree on. House Baratheon has always been loyal to House Targaryen and it is best to stay that way." She clapped her hands. "We shall resume this tonight with a proper meal. Until then, let us rest."
Her brothers and sister jumped at the chance, as did Shireen. Bella's knees and buttocks did long for a soft bed, but she wanted something else. Which was gained when Tywin pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Come with me, young one." He nodded to Stannis, her uncle giving his tacit approval. Bella would be safe in the hands of House Lannister. "I'll take you to your mother."
Practically bouncing, Bella followed Tywin around two corners till the long-lost beauty came into view. "Mother!" Bella ran to her.
Tyanna Rivers embraced Bella closely. "My daughter… you look so beautiful. They've fed you well." Tywin, it seemed, had left mother and daughter to themselves.
"I hate it there, mother… can I come live with you." Hearing her sigh, Bella grew angry. "It's his fault. He won't let me live with you."
Her mother peppered her head with kisses. "Come now, have not anger or bitterness and let's spend our time together." Bella couldn't be told twice.
"Good morning, your Grace."
Tying knots in the ropes holding the unfurled sails as the morning winds, Aegon turned to see the smiling Sylva Santagar - one of his cousin Arianne's ladies in waiting. "Good morning, Lady Sylva." He pulled one of the ends of the rope, tightening it about the hold bolted to the deck of the ship before turning around. "May I be of service to you?"
Sylva clasped her hands together, fingers weaving. "Just curious - was unaware that a Prince of the Realm was required to perform duties as a sailor?"
He shrugged. "My duties are reserved towards my lessons - to which I must continue - and sparring with my uncle. This… is just for the relaxation." He tied the last knot, proud of the sail affixed to the ground as the wind unfurled it powerfully. "Something about the sea. I can't help but feel called to it."
"As opposed to the air?" As if confirming her question, Tessarion roared. The she-dragon skimming the surface of the ocean for fish. "I certainly would be aloft as much as possible had I possessed such a beautiful creature."
Aegon grinned, watching Tessarion. Connecting to her, feeling how happy she was amongst the calm waters of Shipbreaker Bay. Something quite uncommon for this time of year, the sky with only thin wisps of clouds rather than the storms that brought the Stormlands its name. "I fly as much as I can, aye. However, there is just something about the sea… I mean, look at this view." He gestured with his hands.
Lady Sylva chuckled merrily. "Aye, that is quite the view laid out before me. One I could simply drink up like a fine wine."
Opening his mouth to reply, Egg's gaze shifted to her… only to notice that Lady Sylva had no observation of the bobbing waves. Of the coastline of the Rainwood awash in green and illuminated by the sun. Instead, Sylva only had eyes for him. Eyes that were… quite searching. A gesture that he recognized easily. One that Asha made him intimately familiar with.
Lady Sylva wanted him. From how she bit her lip, brown eyes glittering, she wanted him quite badly. Skin swarthy and figure voluptuous even as her age was closer to his own than to Viserys', Aegon… found himself reciprocating.
"Tell me, your Grace," spoke Lady Sylva, her expression quite sultry. "What is it like, riding a dragon?"
His brow rose. As double a meaning as I could ever bear witness to. Egg smiled in return. "Well… I would say it is quite exhilarating. The feel of your heart pounding in your chest, the dragonfire swirling in your vision."
Lady Sylva's eyes shut, her pretty nose inhaling deeply, as if to steady her. "I would think there is much danger involved… considering it is a dragon one would be riding."
Smirking, Aegon leaned over the railing just as she did, mindful of how her breasts were pushed out for his viewing pleasure. "The danger is only illusory, as long as the dragon knows exactly what he's doing then all that happens is the most… thrilling of rides."
"And…" Sylva licked her lips. "Is Tessarion well-trained?"
"You know her name, I see."
"I know everything of which I have… a keen interest in." She looked him from head to toe. "So, is she well-trained in the arts of dragonriding?"
Aegon's smirk widened, himself eying Sylva most obviously. Undressing her with his eyes as he used to do to Asha. "I would put her up against Valyrax, Syrax, or the Sunrise Dragon himself, and believe me - that is saying something." Sylva seemed to shudder in place - oh, if Asha could only see him now.
Before he could make any further move - or she could - the sound of his cousin interrupted the matter. "Sylva! I sent you to gather my laundry quite a while ago!" Storming onto the deck, she quirked her head at the two of them as Sylva sprang back, a blush on her lips. "Am I… interrupting something?"
"The washerwomen are still busy with your dress, Princess. I shall go check on it now." While shooting Egg one last seductive look - a promise for later should he wish to be available that she was more than receptive for a proper ride - she scurried off and left the cousins to their own devices.
Watching her dart off, grabbing one last glimpse of her ass, Egg scowled and glared at Ari. "Must you have interrupted?"
She scoffed. "I did you a favor. At the present moment you would not be able to find any sort of time to properly explore… everything that Sylva has to offer. And believe me, she isn't the sort you'd want for a five minute rut in some closet." Catching Aegon's put out look, she laughed. "Besides…" Ari sauntered to his side, shorter than him even if she was seven namedays older. "I wouldn't have such worry if in the small chance I did ruin your time with her."
Egg rolled his eyes. "And what sort of confidence in me would you have in that regard?"
"Most notably the looks every woman aboard this ship besides myself and our aunt Ellaria gives you, maidens and married matrons both." Egg blinked, flabbergasted. Ash said they'd throw themselves at me, but still… Perhaps he still thought of himself as that sickly youth no one looked at except with pity. At best. "Not just women, men too."
He blushed. "No they don't."
"Look at that one, right there." Egg's head swiveled around to see a common sailor - a boy barely Rhaenys' age, if that. He lugged around a bucket in his hands but his eyes were on Aegon. He flushed red and scurried away, but there was no doubt that the glint in his eyes had been the same as Sylva Santagar. "Umm… I still don't believe you."
Ari laughed. "Doubt me at your own peril, but if you enjoy both a thick cock and wet cunt, that lad there isn't half bad. Luscious, creamy lids, toned muscles, and the finest ass in the…"
He held up his hands. "Please, do not speak it."
She reached out and chucked him in the cheek. "If not me then ask our uncle. He's experienced it all… and don't defile my ladies in waiting until after their duties are complete. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble when as your cousin I should be enabling your naughty behavior."
Aegon was left staring at her retreating form, utterly left in a jumble of thoughts.
Damned if that young sailor's shaggy curls and muscular figure hadn't looked as good as that of Lady Sylva's perfectly feminine attributes. Mind swimming, he merely hurried towards the other side of the carrack. Knowing one of his uncle's guards would be up for a morning spar to clear one's head.
"I feel ridiculous."
Daenerys could feel Jon's eyes boring at her profile, undoubtedly with that self-satisfied grin upon his face. "I don't see why," he replied in that smug manner. "Truly, is it so awful to protect one's fair skin from the harsh gaze of the sun?"
She rolled her eyes at the teasing lilt of his slight northern accent. Normally Dany loved it, but despised when his wit turned on him. "Forgive me if I don't wish some dirty straw… thing to mar my beautiful hair."
A sigh. "Larra…" The pseudonym on his lips felt wrong. Dany much preferred when he used his pet name - ever since she could remember he had been there, with her name. Later, Sansa chose to use it as well, only making it better. "Arrogance doesn't suit you, and I recall fairly your preference for a Winterfell ale than a sparkling wine from Lys." He had here there. "I'd rather see you in rags than burned all over."
"Ah, Ser Arthur has all the luck." Daenerys chuckled, reaching down to rub Moonlight's fur - the direwolves growing rapidly enough so that she didn't have to lean down to do so. "Swarthy skin of Dorne, already raised under the light of the summer's sun… perhaps it should've been Rhaenys that accompanied you, while the two of us remained in Winterfell."
"Now that's quite an unfair advantage." He shrugged. "Wouldn't learn as well as I would with Rhae bossing me around the way she does."
Dany smirked. "She does boss you around as if she's the future Princess of Dragonstone."
He smirked back… "As do you, but at least I can beat you in a fight." He chuckled when she glared at him, sticking out her tongue.
Oh, it was quite nice to be alone with Jon. Love Sansa though she did, sometimes it was best for that one on one time. She and Sansa had that in Braavos, and now that they reached the second of the great Free Cities of Essos it was her turn with her beloved nephew. The future King she would be Queen for.
Pentos was… as different from Braavos as could imagine. The city of canals held quite a resemblance to that of Westeros, albeit with its own unique flair that added just the perfect level of exoticism. Separated though by the vast wasteland that the Andals had abandoned for greener pastures across the Narrow Sea - ruled by bandits, small hamlets of farming and fishing, and the occasional grand Dorthraki raiding force - the Free City of Pentos brought an altogether alien culture to it.
It reminded Dany somewhat of Dorne, though the language spoken here was as butchered a form of Valyrian as she could conceive of. Gods, is this even the same language? Trained by the finest instructors in the language of her ancestors, the flowing beauty of her Valyrian speech was as distinct from this as this was distinct from Ghiscari or Dothraki. Certainly those in the great manses populating the hills jutting out into the sea northwest of the central metropolis could speak the proper High Valyrian, but Arthur insisted on shunning those regions. They would stay among the smallfolk, recover their supplies, and then sail for Lys. Even if it meant… staying among the smallfolk.
Not that Daenerys minded, but… "Thank Tessarion we are to leave soon," Jon remarked, the specter of the coming Dothraki attack Drogo warned about lighting a fire on Arthur's plans - he and Sansa at the docks securing transport while the two of them patrolled the marketplace for inexpensive meals - gesturing towards a gathering of builders. "Can't stand that sort of slavery."
Dany shook her head. "Lys will be worse, and there is no slavery in Pentos. Only bondsman labor." A shouting man with a whip suddenly flogged a slacking laborer, the bondsman collapsing in the dust as his back erupted with red gashes. Making Dany wince, leaning into Baelon and hiding her eyes from the sight. "Not that it seems to matter."
"Let us leave this sight."
Please… I don't want to see this anymore." Even the Penoshi version, far tamer if the stories were to be believed than those south of here or across Valyria in Slaver's Bay, brought Dany great pain. The dark side of humanity that she was sheltered from within the walls of the Red Keep, the shores of Dragonstone, and the far more protective fires of her House's dragons.
It was sobering.
But even here alone in the Free Cities, dressed as a common smallfolk bastard, the protective embrace of her nephew was something Daenerys could always count on. "There isn't anything we can do in this moment, Dany. Let's take our minds off of it."
Slightly callous, but the truth. If she wished to try and free the bondsmen now… a slit throat and violated cunt would've followed. "Aight, let's find something to put a smile on our faces. It's not like we have any dearth of stands or inns to find a proper meal from… and these little land-dragons will eat anything, am I right, wee furballs?" Crouching down, she nuzzled both Moonlight and Ghost, her nonsensical babbling of affection causing their tails to go wild and many onlookers to spare their glances. Some amused, some annoyed.
"Hey." Jon's call drew Dany's attention. "Look over there."
Following Baelon's arm, she came upon an… "A street performer?" The burst of a fireball did make her flinch. "A fire dancer then." Through the crowd they could see her twisting and weaving about the roadway, gestures as graceful as she herself looked lowborn and dirty. The flames extending out of her hands while also curving close to her in spirals and rails. The mastery… almost magical.
"Come, let's check it out." Shrugging, Daenerys followed her nephew. "Why not?"
The performer turned out to be… a rather striking Valyrian woman. Her silver hair was tied up in a loose ponytail, drab brown dress fitting over a slender figure. A young boy almost Jon's age with similar features albeit masculine played the flute, adding a serenade to the performance. "Now, for the final trick." Damn, they had only caught the tail end of the performance. This wouldn't last much longer then. "Imagine a great and glorious past, when the dragons flew upon the earth."
"The dragons do fly, cunt!" someone jeered from the crowd. Dany looked for the asshole, but couldn't find him,
Stride unbroken, the woman chuckled. "The time of Old Valyria, where hundreds to thousands of the magnificent beasts called the skies their home. These were not gentle beasts, but dangerous ones, able to take upon all that could challenge them… but in the hands of their riders and with the majesty of the gods themselves, beauty went hand in hand with the danger." Closing her eyes, inhaling deeply, she moved her hands in a wave, body undulating until…
Gasping, Dany was suddenly faced with a slender, orange-red dragon of pure flames that seemed to erupt from the woman's hands. Sweating, she guided the figure with wide swings of her wrist and arm. It circled and danced above, making a figure eight and spitting out sparks from its maw.
"Unbelievable," murmured Jon. Dany had no words - she was speechless.
And then it was over, the woman bowing. "Thank you, thank you." Coins tossed into a basket by her side, it was clear her haul was not enough as she deserved for such a performance.
While the crowd mostly clapped - some jeering, though they were in the minority - Dany's furious clapping was interrupted by Jon nudging her side. "Go, approach her."
She tilted her head on him, brows furrowing quizzically. "What? Why?"
"Sansa's retelling of your… conjuring is vastly like her fire magic, or at least an untrained version of it. Perhaps she'd be willing to train you."
"Are you mad?" Dany shook her head. "That's some common mummer pulling off tricks, nothing more." Approach some stranger… for something that I don't even know if I can do? Sometimes it was just so surreal. Daenerys knew she could bond with dragons and survive walking through flame - her mind had to be playing a farce upon her, thinking that she could manipulate flames. "It's not worth it."
"I think it is," Jon insisted. "Look, if she turns out to be a mummer then it's on me, not on you. But you should take the chance." While Dany was about to scoff, suddenly she was nudged by an insistent furry snout. Moonlight, eyes almost a void of darkness as she stared up at her, nudged her again. A low whine leaving her maw, pleading. Intention obvious.
She rolled her eyes. "Ugh, fine." Turning, she began to approach the stage as the crowd dispersed, the show clearly over. Away from Jon, her annoyance changed into… apprehension. What if this person was truly a fire maege? She did have the silver Valyrian hair, albeit a darker hue than hers, along with eyes of a warm amber rather than purple. Some Valyrians had the bond with dragons, while some held other forms of magic.
The stories of her glorious ancestors were well known by her.
Getting close, Dany studied the woman as she packed up. She was dressed quite shabbily, dress dirty and hair frizzy. It was as if she hadn't bathed in weeks, and yet this did little to hide her beauty. She rivaled her own muna in beauty, though in age she was closer to Elia in age. "Excuse me," she squeaked, blushing. But drawing her attention.
"Al, get everything in the sack so we can go," she ordered the young boy before turning towards Daenerys. "Kessa?" the woman asked. "May I help you?"
"Ummm…" What could she say? "How did you do that?"
The woman chuckled. "Oh, a conjurer never reveals her secrets." She winked.
Daenerys narrowed her eyes at the deflection. "I can tell that those were real flames."
"Of course they were. Would you think I wouldn't use the real thing? I promise danger." A smile as yet another burst of fire emerged from her palm, albeit it disappearing quickly. "I shall be here again tomorrow if you wish to see the entire act, young one."
"I can do the same," Daenerys blurted out.
The woman's smile disappeared. "You… no." She shook her head. "You're with them, aren't you? One of Crow Eye's!"
"With who?" Crow Eye? Who the fuck is that? Dany was confused, but suddenly the woman darted off, the boy following. Both looked like they could defend themselves, but fled anyway. Her long legs giving a powerful stride, disappearing around the corner. "Hey! Come back!"
Jon bounded to her side. "Well, what happened?"
Daenerys grunted and kicked at a stone in the road. "Nothing. I tried to talk to her but it was as if she saw a spirit and fled." Disdain covered her fair features. "Likely a mummer anyways."
Her nephew gave her that same look, as if looking right through her. "Do you believe that?"
Truthfully, Daenerys couldn't be sure. Not as if it would matter anyway. What was the likelihood they would ever run into the woman again?
"I feel stupid."
Bella watched her mother giggle, producing a hairbrush from the vanity table. "Hold the mirror steady, Bella. I cannot go about my task without it being level."
She did as instructed, only to wince as the tangles in her locks were tugged out one after the other. "Ouch… that hurts… fuck…"
"Bella!" The girl quieted down, wincing at the scolding of her mother. Only she or uncle Stannis could make her feel a sense of shame. "Where did you learn such language?"
"Papa says it all the time."
Tyanna Rivers rolled her eyes. "That man…" It was no secret that the paramour of Tywin Lannister disliked the Lord of Storm's End. Mayhaps without the passion and intensity of the Queen, but it was up there. "He was the bane of my existence from the moment he walked into my life, and now he's the bane of my sweet daughter."
"I hate him," Bella said, though far more emotionally than her mother. "He's a pig and his whores always treat me like some annoyance. I want to stick a knife in his neck."
Her mother sighed. "He's still your father. I hate him too, but as the Lord of Storm's End he's a man with more respect than he deserves."
"I guess." It was just so damn confusing, sometimes. Why did he have so much power? Why wasn't Uncle Stannis the Lord of Storm's End. Bella on occasion hated the world, or hated her father, or cried or raged at the unfairness of it all. "What should I do, mother?"
"Do what I do… feel nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Aye. Let it all wash over you, and you'll end up in a position in which to truly finish off those that have wronged you. I am in that position, paramour to the Lord Hand."
Tywin Lannister. "I hate him too."
Tyanna Rivers nodded. "So do I, Bella dear. So do I, but his coin pays for my silk dresses and diamond necklaces. There's always a give and take, and it's up to you to determine what you can live with."
Always a give and take. "Thank you, mother."
She kissed her forehead. "Any time, dear."
Preparations complete, Bella was allowed some time in the gardens so long as she didn't screw up her hair or dirty her dress. Unlike Mya, she never had that problem. The rough and tumble play wasn't for her. Naturally, solitude was her refuge and she endured it well. Gendry had plenty of friends from his time here, and she supposed Edric did too, not that she wanted to meet either set. Gendry's would be boring and Edric's would be… gods, she shuddered at the thought of his friends.
Mya's would be either too stupid or too wild for her taste either. Lynesse was her only true friend back in Storm's End, but her aunt would be busy helping uncle Stannis deal with whatever mess their father did.
I still wanna stab him with a knife.
"Hi!" Frowning, she turned her head and was greeted with a… gorgeous pair of grey eyes. "What's your name?"
A young kid, maybe two namedays younger than her. Such bothered her and she would've probably shoved him to the ground… but the Targaryen dragon on his doublet stopped her, as did the eyes. He was a kid, but those eyes on an older boy would've been gorgeous. "Bella of House Baratheon, you?"
"I'm Rickon Targaryen."
She knew the protocol and curtseyed. "My Prince."
He chuckled. "Don't do that. Muna says we're not before the throne or in the great hall."
Queen Elia and Queen Lyanna. Bella didn't understand it, for if she were Queen she'd want everyone to bow to her all the time. "Taking a stroll, Prince Rickon?" she asked.
The Prince nodded. "Just playing. Either that or watch my brother and sister read." He shook his head. "Boring."
She smiled, chuckling. "Aye, very boring."
"Lady Bella?!" Her aunt. "There you are," Lynesse said. "Come along, your uncle wishes for you to join him…" She noticed Rickon and curtseyed. "If it is alright with his Grace."
"Uncle? You mean Lord Robert?" Bella nodded. "You don't want to know what my munas say about him."
Her aunt erupted in merry laughter, and Bella couldn't help but snicker too. She liked very few people, but Prince Rickon was turning out to be one of those few.
Strumming his lyre, the minstrel's voice serenaded the packed great hall of the Red Keep with a powerful rendition of an old song of Westeros, one about the Targaryen Conquest. An old one, thanks to the return of the dragons it had experienced a spike in popularity alongside Jenny of Oldstones, written by the King himself, and the Rains of Castamere - considering the inspiration of the tune was now Hand of the King again.
Seated on the royal chair overlooking all, King Rhaegar I Targaryen idly fiddled with a gold dragon. One of the newly minted ones produced at the treasury building on the street of steel. His auroch steak and potatoes had been reduced to a single bone upon his plate, joined by an apple core and empty mug of milk. Better for the stomach, Qyburn had said. Spirits, whether wine, mead, ale, or hippocras, were reduced to one or two servings thrice a week.
He understood it, but gods he would like a drink right now.
"I must say, the mints do capture most of your likeness," his beautiful Elia remarked next to him. Leaning in to meld her slender body against his. "But they lack the true essence of what makes you such a handsome King." Elia kissed his neck, making him relax.
Finally a smile curled on his face, headache lessening as he kissed the crown of Elia's head. "Thank you for that."
"A good husband deserves compliments from his wife," Elia replied, kissing him again, this time on the lips. "Now, what troubles you?" He sighed and gestured to his left. From how Elia pursed her lips and sighed herself, it was clear she understood.
Truthfully, it was obvious.
Lyanna's plate was empty, the northern Queen clearly too upset to be hungry. Her steely gaze, wolfish with those grey eyes narrowed, lay upon the laughing Lord of Storm's End. He looked to be having a grand old time, mug constantly refilled with either ale or mead from Goldengrove while his strength and still rather dashing ruggedness attracted a pretty serving girl to sit on his lap and listen to his every word. Sure, he was still a bachelor but the whole matter was embarrassing for a Lord of the Realm. At least keep it behind closed doors, Robert.
Rhaegar was too exhausted by the task of ruling to remember the Demon of Stony Sept and his pure rage in trying to cleave his head open, but Lyanna clearly refused to forget. The King had seen that look before. Lyanna wore it when riding at the Ironborn at Oxcross. "My love," he murmured, voice sweet and soft.
"I should kill him now when I have the chance," Lyanna hissed back, though only her husband and wife heard it.
Sighing, Rhaegar placed his hand over her fist. Feeling Lyanna tense, though she relaxed as he pulled her close to him. "This attitude does not serve anyone," Rhaegar told her.
Facing him finally, Lyanna let out… a half-snort half-sigh. "He won't change. He's the same man that allied with your father to try and kill you. That tried to take me for himself."
"And it is clear the gods have determined where you belong, she-wolf," Elia said, leaning over Rhaegar. "The swords of the Kingsguard and the maws of a half-dozen dragons protect you, Lya. Try to enjoy yourself."
That seemed to reach her. "I suppose." She took Elia's hand and kissed it, then kissed Rhaegar's cheek. "The most attentive husband and wife I have."
"How beautiful you are? Such makes us attentive." Lya smacked his shoulder, followed by a giggle. Her mood improved.
Which was a welcome development, given who approached the royal table. "Your Graces." Ser Stannis bowed, his toned but slight build quite the opposite of Robert but no less imposing. "If it may please you, may I have a moment of your time?"
Rhaegar leaned back, but it was Elia that answered for him. "You may have a moment. Please sit." Gesturing to a seat across from the royal family for just this sort of thing, Rhaegar was thankful the children were in their chambers and not present. This feast would be home to politics rather than mere merriment and in their tender age it was best to control what they witnessed. As for Stannis, he was the one Baratheon respected by all factions in Westeros.
His presence meant that they wished for something, and Rhaegar steeled himself to see what it was. "Speak, Ser Stannis. I will hear out your petition before me."
Stannis nodded. "I mentioned in my letters of the desire for Robert and I to negotiate a marriage between Lord Davos' heir and my niece Mya. Do we have your approval of such a match?"
Lyanna said nothing, while Rhaegar glanced at Elia. At a nod from his Dornish Queen, Rhaegar smiled slightly. "We grant our approval to begin negotiations, but such a betrothal and marriage can only occur if Ser Davos and his family agree with your assessment. I shan't force him to approve… I hope you understand."
"Aye, I understand, your Grace. And thank you." He made no attempt to leave. Stannis wanted something else, and by his rather… withdrawn demeanor, it was not something any of them would take lightly. By the way his eyes flickered to Lyanna half the time, he seemed most afraid of her reaction.
The Northern Queen picked up on that. "We don't have all evening, Ser Stannis. Do be out with it." Rhaegar fought the urge to wince at Lyanna's gruff tone. A diplomat she was not, her tongue better dictating battle orders or… other matters best confined to the bedchamber.
No choice but to comply before him, Stannis took a goblet and gulped from it. Clearing his throat. "Allow me to be bold, but there is no secret that as distinguished the alliance between House Targaryen and House Baratheon is, recent history dating back to the reign of Aegon V Targaryen to today has been rather… strained to say the least."
"To say the least would be correct," Elia interjected before Lyanna could undoubtedly say something far worse. The three of them, they complimented each other well. Had they been alone Rhaegar would've smothered both his Queens in kisses. "It is only said longevity in the alliance between our houses and the respect we hold for you, Ser Stannis, that we are being so generous. So please tread carefully."
A nod. "I ask this not without reservation on my part, but I believe it would be quite helpful to the relations between our houses and enlightening for the Crown Prince… to offer on behalf of my brother an invitation for Prince Baelon to foster in Storm's End for a period of six moons to a year."
Rhaegar could truly say he didn't expect that. "Foster my son and heir? Are you serious, Ser Stannis."
"I am quite serious, your Grace. I would never offer such without intending to follow through."
"There is no way in the seven hells that I let your brother have my son," Lyanna spat just as a servant brought a fresh mug of milk for the King. Rhaegar ignored it as he watched Stannis intently, two goblets of wine destined for others in the great hall. "Peace between our houses that there is, but I do not trust the same great Lord to give hospitality to our son as his brother sought to end his life before he was born."
"That… was unfortunate, my Queen, and I apologize yet again for his conduct. Renly was a… young and impressionable boy manipulated by someone older… Forgive me, I won't make excuses." Stannis looked to Rhaegar. "Your father and my father were friends before the madness gripped him, your Grace. Whatever resentment plagues this generation, I ask that you not let it harm the new one."
Silent, Rhaegar felt the stares of his Queens upon him. Stannis made… a compelling argument. Storm's End is very close to here, something he couldn't say of any other keep of a great house… Mind heavy with thought, Rhaegar absentmindedly reached for the mug to take a drink of the frothy, fresh milk…
"No!" In an instant a hand smacked the mug from Rhaegar's hand, milk spilling all over the table as Stannis leapt back, Elia pushing back while Lyanna's hand moved to her blade.
"Get back!" bellowed Ser Barristan, his sword drawn. "Back, Tarly!"
Sure enough, the culprit was young Samwell Tarly, his eyes wide and portly chest heaving. "Samwell, you fool! Get away from the King now!" hissed Lord Randyll. "Now!"
"But father, the milk," he insisted, eyes flickering from the King to the blades pointed at him. "It was poisoned."
"Poison?!" exclaimed Elia.
Randyll rolled his eyes. "Apologies for my fat fool of a son, he…"
Before the Lord of Hornhill could finish, a choking gasp rang out as Lord Tytos Blackwood collapsed at his table. Guests rushing to him. "Fetch a maester!" demanded a guard.
"Mother! No!" screamed another.
"Bella!" That was Stannis, hurrying to a woman supine upon the floor as a young girl hugged her and screamed.
Barristan leapt into action. "Seal off the chamber! Protect the King!" Without Blackfyre, Rhaegar endured Brightroar and Wolfsbane drawn protectively around him as the merry feast erupted into chaos.
A/N: That happened, unfortunately. Sam saved Rhaegar.
Beforehand we got some insight into the Baratheons. Bella learning stuff from her mother.
Credit to my friend WrathofAvarice/GreedofRage for the characters of the fire maeges. He created such wonderful characters - I'm just using them with his permission :D
Be sure to comment :D