Hope

by elizacamille

Hope

3. Chapter 4

Chapter 30: A Rutting Pair

Chapter Text

King's Landing was much as Lyanna remembered it; crowded even by night, muggy, and stinking of fish and feces and filth. The water of the bay lapped hungrily at the port as they left the war galley behind, black waves that fed on ships and men alike.

The Red Keep was a sprawling red spider with seven legs, sitting atop Aegon's High Hill. Inside it was bleached pale stone, with dancing shadows from flaming torches like men on fire.

Rhaegar's gaze was a tangible thing on her skin, filling Lyanna with a seeping warmth. She had a quick flash of his lips on her cheek in her mind, and could vividly recall the tingle he'd left on her skin - so much so, the phantom tingle tickled her even at the memory.

She didn't meet his eyes as she veered off to the Maidenvault, though as soon as his back was turned, she spared a look. Her heart thrummed oddly as he marched toward Maegor's with an unconscious Viserys in his arms. Around them, the castle was sleepy quiet, red and black-garbed soldiers milling about in hushed voices.

At the Maidenvault, a crawl of guards were stationed outside the giant iron-and-wooden doors that led inside. However, instead of the typical red and black of Targaryen, these guards wore armor of crimson and gold, their helms decorated with the dancing golden lions of House Lannister.

"Cersei Lannister has come to Court," Ser Oswell murmured the reminder near her ear before she could even ask.

Their cloaks looked like washes of blood down their shoulders, and their lion clasps glinted as if they growled. The Red Cloaks stepped aside for her and her Kingsguard, and Oswell cranked open one of the massive doors.

Inside, the first hallway was dim except for one small torch that was sconced outside one of the previously unused chambers in the Maidenvault. Stationed there was another stranger guard, though unlike the Red Cloaks outside, this man was garbed in plain armor.

He was a giant, though young, reaching well over six and a half feet tall, with long hair and a grim expression. The torch dancing fire near his ear played a sheen off the scarred ruin that was the left side of his face.

Lyanna shivered and immediately shifted her eyes down, a cold fear draining through her veins. The clang of Ser Oswell's armor at her back was a welcome sound, comforting even.

When they reached her chambers, Lyanna pushed inside quietly. Servants had already made up her room; the fireplace roaring red flames, the bed turned down, and sleeping clothes set out.

"I'll be right outside," Ser Oswell promised. Rhaegar had insisted a Kingsguard stay outside her door every night until the Lannister host had left the Keep.

Lyanna nodded and shut the door, enveloped in the warm light of her chambers. She immediately stripped off her traveling clothes and climbed into bed, reveling in the cool sheets against her skin.

That night, she slept fitfully, dreaming fever dreams that morphed from one scene into another with hot fluidity. She dreamt of hot desert suns glaring down on her, burning her alive as she screamed and screamed.

She dreamed of a mighty green-scaled dragon flying overhead, breathing flames of red and yellow and jade. His fiery breath made her strong, and together they knocked the sun from the sky.

In her dreams, she was a great white wolf with shining red ruby eyes, prowling a vast expanse of frozen tundra. Dead things made of ice and snow and nightmares walked carefully over the packed earth, their bright blue eyes as sharp as their crystal swords.

A boy with dark hair and a sword like red flames slayed them left and right, shattering the ice monsters as if they were glass. Two others were with him, both with hair of silver, and wielding swords of sharp steel: one like black fire, and the other a dark sister to it.

Suddenly time stopped, and the three children turned to stare at her. The dark-haired boy had eyes like black amethysts, so dark they looked grey-black, but when the sun caught them, they were a deep shade of magnificent blue-purple.

Of the two silver children, one had eyes like violet petals, soft and pastel. The other had a gaze of molten silver, eyes so light grey they seemed to glow as bright as Rhaegar's hair.

And when they opened their mouths to speak, the dark boy and the two silvers, only fire emerged, as bright and green as a wild dragon's flame.

Lyanna sat up in bed, struggling for breath as she regained consciousness to reality. Her fire had died sometime in the night so only blackness was left, crowding her with its unknown. She frowned, frightened tears pricking at her eyes.

She scrambled out of bed and grabbed at her favorite Winterfell cloak, dark blue wool and brown fur trim that still held traces of the North. It swung over her shoulders easily, and she hugged the sides to her chest before going to wrench open her door.

Ser Oswell was a beacon of white outside her room. "Princess, are you alright?"

"Yes," she mumbled, definitively not alright. The fear was palpable in her. Her mind's eye was still bright with her dreams, of suns and snows and dragons and a dark boy. "I'm going for a walk."

"A walk," Oswell repeated doubtfully. "Princess, it is the middle of the night."

Lyanna sighed deeply. "I just wa-" She stopped. What she wanted was Rhaegar. For some intense, inexplicable reason, she desired Rhaegar's presence, to bury her face in his silver hair and be smothered in his scent.

Instead she said, "I do not feel well, and I would like to walk it off. Alone." When Oswell continued to frown, she added, "I'll make it quick."

Oswell thought for a long moment before finally nodding. "Quickly?" He asked.

"Just a few minutes," she promised, slipping out of her room.

The hallway was as dark as it had ever been, the torch outside Cersei Lannister's chambers burnt out. The guard with the scarred face was no longer there, so the hall was empty save for Ser Oswell.

Outside the Maidenvault, there were few guards, one in Lannister colors and a handful in Targaryen. Lyanna strode away from their dark eyes, and toward the forgotten corridors near her secret cellar.

Her every footstep echoed a whisper off the pale stone walls, and the torches danced with their shadows. The further she walked, the freer her breathing came until she finally felt like the weight of her dream had been lifted.

She rested her head against the stone for a few minutes, soaking in the blissful silence, before deciding to turn back. But just as she did, there was a noise, a breathy gasp of a name.

Lyanna froze, looking on to where the corridor split in two. And there it was again, another gasp, then a low, long moan. Lyanna's eyes widened, listening. She contemplated just going back to the Maidenvault, laying in the safety of her bed till the sun came up.

That was, until a name was called out clear as a bell. Lyanna's heart was beating furiously as she crept toward the sound. It seemed to emanate from the room at the end, whose door was almost shut but for a small two-inch crack where a thin shaft of light spilled across the floor.

Lyanna's feet were quieter than mice as she ghosted toward the room, her approach overpowered by the chorus of gasps and moans and grunts. Her fingers curled slowly against the wall, and she bent her head to see through the doorway's crack.

Inside the room was bare, long forgotten and unused. On the floor, three fat candles were shining light. A few feet away, Ser Jaime Lannister was clad in only a thin tunic, his bare hips shifting almost violently against the backside of a woman - a woman on all fours like a dog, her head down and golden hair spilling all over the stone floor.

Terrible realization dawned as Lyanna took in the two lions rutting together. Cersei Lannister. Vomit rose to Lyanna's throat, threatening to spill as the golden twins moved together in passion.

Lyanna went to leave, but the sight of her movement caught Ser Jaime's eye. Cersei Lannister was oblivious, still moaning as her brother took her from behind, but Jaime looked Lyanna right in the face, his eyes like two dark emeralds, glinting with shock and anger and danger.

Without another second's hesitation, Lyanna bolted from sight, making for the Maidenvault. She raced down the dark, twisting hallways, feet pounding over stone to the time of her heartbeats.

But it was the sounds of pursuit behind her that made Lyanna's legs pump faster. Her skin was crawling at Jaime's presence at her back, his lion's speed an even match for her wolf's paws.

She itched to look behind her, to see how close he was, but she pressed on, knowing that if she slowed just a bit, it could mean something bad for her. She kept waiting for lion's claws to wrap around her arm, to wrench her back and skin her head to heel, but it never came.

Relief had never been so sweet as when she caught sight of Ser Oswell waiting outside the Maidenvault. He took in her breathy arrival with a confused grin, and opened the door chivalrously. His eyes did not shift behind her, indicating Ser Jaime had given up his chase of her.

She tried to regain her breath as Oswell escorted her back to her room, heart and mind twisting sickeningly as she remembered the way the twins' curling hair burned the same golden color.

This time when she went to enter her room, she stopped and turned. "You'll be out here all night?"

Oswell frowned slightly. "All night." He paused. "Did your walk help?"

She nodded, plastering an unconvincing smile on her face. "It did. Good night, Ser Oswell."

"And you, Princess."

When Lyanna tucked back into her bed, she fell asleep instantly once more despite the scene of incest in her thoughts, her mind slipping back into a feverish colored dream. Though this time there were no suns or dragons or snow. This time she dreamt of a pride of hunting lions, all with silver manes and purple eyes, feeding on stag and wolf and trout alike. Except for one, one lion who was the biggest of them all, with golden fur and a stare like emeralds.

Lyanna woke as exhausted as when she went to rest, the high sun glaring fiercely down on her. Her dreams had kept her sleeping until midday, and the heat rattled fiercely through the air. She climbed out of her bed, dressing in a simple gown of grey before lifting the latch on her door and wrenching it open.

Her heart flew to her throat and she immediately went to slam her door closed, but a white-gauntleted hand stopped her. Ser Jaime was resplendent in white steel, his golden curls spilling over his collar and his cat-green eyes glittering.

"Good morning, Princess."

Chapter 31: Sword for Silence

Chapter Text

Jaime had never seen the little she-wolf look so frightened before; her chin was always held high, obstinate and strong, but never weak, no. Until now, with his hand holding open her chamber door, ensuring she could neither run nor hide.

"Good morning, Princess," he said cat-quiet, watching the way a million and one thoughts played through her eyes. They were pretty eyes, he realized, clear and grey like pewter finery.

"Ser Jaime," she returned hesitantly. She clenched her jaw, and defiantly met his eyes. Her shackles had risen, and her fangs were coming out.

He still remembered the look on her face when it had appeared through the crack of the door in the forgotten wing of the Keep last night, shocked and repulsed at the sight of the golden twins together.

As if the silver prince wasn't a product of his own parents' incest.

Then again, Princess Lyanna did not seem so fond of Prince Rhaegar as every other maid and lady in the Seven Kingdoms were, Cersei included. Hells, the princess still lived within the Maidenvault instead of Maegor's where her princely husband could have easier access to her.

And judging by the distinct flat of Lyanna's stomach, he doubted Rhaegar was making much use of her.

"I think we should have a talk, Your Highness," he murmured, stepping closer. The inside of her chambers smelled sharp like apples, sweet and lovely, not so different than Cersei. Jaime shook off the thought.

"No," she said, "I don't think we do. Ser Oswell should be waiting for me." She made to leave, but Jaime stepped in front of her. Lyanna frowned, looking up at him; she was a very pretty girl, almost as beautiful as Cersei, although Jaime thought no one held a candle to his twin except for himself.

"Ser Oswell," he said, "is with your prince. I offered to watch your chambers until you woke."

The color drained from Lyanna's face and she finally seemed to become aware of the golden-hilted sword at Jaime's hip, shining and deadly-sharp. Her clear grey eyes swiped left, then right, and quick as a snake, Lyanna lunged away and picked up a rusted kitchen knife long forgotten.

Jaime almost smiled at her moxie. If he weren't so concerned about what she'd seen, he might have even admired her, in that way he admired Cersei's strength.

"Put that down," he said to her.

Her eyes flicked down to his sword. "No, I don't think so."

He smirked. "A little butter knife won't be able to pierce Kingsguard armor."

She smiled sarcastically. "No, but it sure can poke out one of those pretty green eyes."

He ignored the compliment, and cast his eyes down in a look of faux innocence. Then, as soon as her hand dropped an inch, Lyanna's guard eased just a bit, he struck. His hand swiped out, seizing her wrist so that she dropped the knife immediately; before she could take her other hand to him, he grabbed that one too, destabilizing her.

She struggled hard, growling and fighting against him. She was skin and bones, but not frail. Her shouts turned to screams and Jaime was forced to take one hand to cover her mouth, but as soon as he did, her freed hand went to his golden hair, yanking terribly.

"Ah," he groaned, bringing her spine close to his chest. "Stop, stop!" He might have worried for their volume if he didn't know the Maidenvault was completely empty; Ser Oswell was gone, and Cersei as well, going to pay her respects to Queen Rhaella.

He'd only been so lucky that Cersei hadn't seen Lyanna the night before; as soon as Jaime had seen the peeping princess, he'd pulled out of Cersei and ran to go after her. But then Lyanna had reached safety before Jaime could catch her and he'd had to return to Cersei feigning ignorance, pretending he'd only seen shadow play from the candles rather than an actual person.

It was the first secret he'd ever kept from Cersei, lying about them not being caught and not naming Lyanna.

He wasn't even sure why he did it. It wasn't as if he held any allegiance to the little wolf girl, or her family. He respected the prince certainly, but to Lyanna he had no loyalty besides what his Kingsguard vows demanded of him.

"Stop!" He yelled a third time when her fingers curled into a thick lock of his hair. "Quit struggling and I'll let you go." At this, she struggled harder, wiggling against him, her apple-scented hair smothering him.

"You're going to hurt me!" She shouted, fear quivering in her voice.

"I won't," he promised, "but you have to stop screaming and fighting me!" She was squirming like a fish out of water in his arms, but she was starting to still or tire or whatever else, until finally she quit completely.

Jaime hesitantly removed his arms from her and took a step back, careful of claws. Lyanna hurriedly bent to swipe her butter knife, and swiveled, holding it out. If anything, his grabbing of her had made Lyanna stronger and angrier, like a hornet.

Jaime met her eyes boldly. "You saw me with my sister."

"Your lover you mean," she spat like a viper.

Jaime clenched his jaw. He didn't want to hurt the princess, quite the opposite actually. Ser Arthur Dayne, Jaime's hero, wouldn't kill a young girl - but Arthur Dayne wouldn't be fucking his sister either. But what choice did Jaime have? Allow Lyanna to spread word of his and Cersei's trysts, killing the respect of the Lannister name forever and exiling the twins in the process?

No, he couldn't have that.

"Lover, sister, they are one and the same for me," he admitted shamelessly.

"You're disgusting," she murmured sickly, inching away from him.

Jaime huffed smugly. "I don't need to remind you who your husband's parents are. House Targaryen was built on incest."

"And yet you are no dragon," she quipped.

"No, I'm not," he sighed. There was a long, tortuous pause as they stared each other down. "So, what are we going to do about this?"

She was wary again, those wild animal eyes widening. "What do you mean?" Lyanna gripped the knife that much harder.

"I mean," he said, "you saw something you weren't supposed to see, and now we need to do something about it."

She grimaced and straightened up. "I'm not going to tell anyone if that's what you're on about." And she seemed sincere, face crumpled in confusion, as if she couldn't understand why Jaime would assume she would tell.

"Let's not play games," he sighed tiredly. He should have known being with Cersei in the Red Keep was a dangerous game, but she'd looked so beautiful and he wanted to be inside her after so long a separation.

"I'm not playing games," she affirmed, "I'm not going to tell anyone your...secret. Why would I?"

Jaime laughed condescendingly. "To drag my House through the mud, to-"

"I don't want to drag your House through the mud," she cut him off heatedly. "I don't care about your family."

He studied the little wolf, that dark hair so unlike Cersei's, that pale milk skin so unlike Cersei's, those stormy eyes and fire and small, sinewy body. And besides that, her utter and complete innocence to courtly games - so unlike Cersei.

"You're not going to tell?" He repeated doubtfully. If he was more like Cersei, he'd kill the girl and be done with it, just to be sure her little mouth would stay shut. But Jaime didn't want to hurt the princess, and he wanted to believe she'd keep her word.

"How many times do I need to repeat it?" She snapped. Lyanna seemed so young then, a child almost, even though she was sixteen, the same age as he and Cersei.

Jaime swallowed down his prickled ire. "Fine then, it seems like we're in agreement. You're not going to say anything because you didn't see anything." He went to leave, done with their conversation.

Her voice stopped him in his tracks. "Oh, Ser Jaime, I never said we were done."

He swiveled on his feet, eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

And then she did it. She smiled, intelligence keen in her eyes, and he saw Cersei in her, the part of his twin that never failed to light a fire inside him. "I require something in return."

He cocked his head. "In return for what?"

"For my silence of course." She seemed cocky now that she seemed sure he wouldn't hurt her.

He laughed incredulously. "You're blackmailing me?!"

She seemed to realize she'd won. "I like to think of this as an exchange of goods."

He frowned, itching for his sword, itching for Cersei. "What do you want, money?"

She scoffed. "Do you know who my husband is? I hope you're better with a sword than you are with your mind."

He brushed off the slight, and asked, "Sword?"

She nodded. "I want you to teach me how to properly wield a sword."

He laughed. "No, no way."

Her face crumpled. "And why not?"

"Do you know who your husband is?" He repeated her words mockingly back to her. "The prince won't appreciate me teaching his wife to wield steel."

"The prince," she intoned, "will never know."

His jaw slackened. "You want me to keep a secret from my future king, from my Kingsguard brothers?"

"From everyone," she clarified.

"Are you insane?"

"Quite sane," she replied. "Your skills for my silence."

He clenched his jaw. He should have known it wouldn't have been so easy as to demand her silence for nothing in return; she was smarter than he'd given her credit for.

But then he thought of Cersei and how much he loved her, how much he'd do to protect her. "My skills for your silence," he agreed, turning away again before she could extort more from him. When he got to the door, he looked over his shoulder. "First lesson is tonight."

Chapter 32: Keep Your Crown Up

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The great stone statue of the Father loomed above Rhaegar in the Sept of Baelor, staring down upon him with inimitable scrutiny. Though it was naught but a statue of stone and jewels and finery, Rhaegar could feel the Father's judgement, that unshakable justice in those unseeing eyes.

He wondered if the gods would see his deed as honorable: removing a tyrant from the throne, or unforgivable: stealing away his father's birthright.

The Great Sept was scarcely populated, only a few ladies here and there, with a smattering of squires and knights and maidservants at the Warrior and Mother and Crone.

Cersei Lannister was a beacon of sunlight kneeling at the Maiden, her golden hair spiraling down the back of her crimson gown. She lit a candle and bent her head to pray, the very image of maidenly devotion.

Rhaegar waited with Ser Arthur at his shoulder for Lady Cersei to finish her prayer. The crimson shawl in Rhaegar's hand seemed to burn his skin, as if the scrolls secretly tucked inside the silk were on display for all to see.

Witness my treason, it screamed at him, witness me, betrayer of kin. Rhaegar closed his eyes to stave off the mental image of his life's blood painting the sept's plaza and Lyanna's head rolling after him.

That particular nightmare would become reality if the shawl got into the wrong hands.

Because Lord Tywin Lannister had finally, thankfully agreed to give Rhaegar his support in the prince's pursuit of the crown. Thus far, Rhaegar and the lion lord had communicated via riders, distrusting of ravens' trustworthiness and liability. Birds could be shot down, intercepted, and he could not afford for his plans to go awry before they even began.

Thus why Cersei Lannister had come to Court. Lord Tywin had sent his daughter to retrieve the siege plans Rhaegar had drawn up for when the time came; the lion maiden was a perfect messenger, no one willing to question her presence at Court. And the shawl was a way to conceal his traitorous plans.

Once everything was in place - namely, procuring an heir, though thinking about that sent both ice and fire down his veins - all Tywin had to do was wait for Rhaegar's secret message: a raven-bearing parchment that would read "goldroad".

Then, chaos would begin.

Cersei finished her devotion, gathering her skirts in hand before she stood. The crystal towers threw rainbows through her hair, splicing red yellow green blue on the silk of her gown.

For a time, Rhaegar had thought the lioness might be his wife. With Tywin as Hand and a close friend of his father's, it almost seemed inevitable for House Lannister to marry into House Targaryen.

But then Aerys' mind began to drift deeper and deeper into madness, and his and Tywin's relationship bent bent bent until it broke irreparably, and Rhaegar was no longer an option for little Cersei.

Though he was not immune to her beauty, all golden looks and green eyes, Rhaegar could not help but think that the lioness could not compare to his winter wolf.

"My prince," Cersei intoned, dipping into a smooth curtsy. Her heart-shaped face was light gold, and bright with those startling green eyes.

Rhaegar nodded, offering her his elbow. "My lady." She wound her arm through his, tucking appropriately into his side. Together they walked toward the Maidenvault where Cersei stayed, Ser Arthur trailing them.

They were silver and gold, dragon and lion, but he found himself wishing for thunderstorm eyes and snow white skin. At the great carved doors of the Maidenvault, guards in Lannister crimson and gold milled about, as well as Ser Jaime in Kingsguard white.

The golden twins smiled at one another, but made no conversation as Rhaegar, Arthur, and Cersei slipped through the doors. Scarred Sandor Clegane immediately opened Cersei's chamber door for them, shutting it softly behind them afterward.

Rhaegar handed over the crimson shawl carefully so as not to crush the papers beneath.

"Is this the gift for my lord father?" She asked sweetly. Cersei's cunning eyes told him she was not oblivious to what lay beneath.

"It is, my lady," he replied.

Cersei smiled, a white crescent moon streak across her mouth. "I'll be sure it goes to his hands, and his hands only." Cersei would be leaving for Casterly Rock immediately now that she had the siege plans.

"Thank you, my lady. Your House's service to me is unparalleled and extremely appreciated." Rhaegar thought of Jon Connington's pleading words, his warning to the prince that lions always expected something in return for any favor, big or small. Lannisters always pay their debts.

"House Lannister always follows strength," Cersei smiled, her green eyes glinting. "And I would do anything for my future king."

Rhaegar's heart raced in guilt and anticipation, both in response to his plans of deposing his father. If the gods were on his side, within a year, he'd be sitting on the Iron Throne with Lyanna at his side while his father lived out the remainder of his life on Dragonstone.

"Please send your father my regards," Rhaegar softly requested, taking her hand to kiss.

"Of course," she replied, dipping her head in deference, though never dropping those green eyes.

Ser Arthur went to open the door, and Rhaegar slipped away with one parting smile of gratitude. He looked down the dim hallway, sighing wistfully at the sight of Lyanna's doorway. He might've tried to visit her if he didn't know she had plans to share her midday meal with his mother.

Rhaegar tore his eyes away from her chambers and ghosted past the scarred Sandor. Outside the Maidenvault, Ser Jaime stood straighter, his golden hair curling at the collar of his white armor.

Ser Arthur waited until they were a good distance away to ask, "Do you trust the Lannisters?"

Rhaegar sighed gently. "No," he said, "but into the lions' den I go anyway."

"Oh, tart!" Beth exclaimed around a mouthful of oranges, her face screwed up at the sour taste.

Lyanna grinned and unpeeled a few more slices for the hungry little orphans at her feet; they stared up at her with wide, haunted eyes, their gaunt bodies thin beneath the rags they wore.

No sooner had she unpeeled them did the children steal them from her, running away with squeals of glee at their treats. Lyanna's smile widened, and she was glad she'd thought to bring back a bag of Dornish oranges from the Water Gardens.

"I must be honest with you," Beth began, "I did not think you would be back, Your Highness."

Lyanna frowned. It had been weeks since she'd last snuck to Flea Bottom, having traveled to and from Dorne in the interim. "I did promise, didn't I?"

Beth smiled softly. "You did. But promises don't tend to hold much water around here."

Lyanna swept her eyes around - at the crumbling walls, the starving children, the dirtied rags the orphans wore, the air thick with stink. "I keep my promises. And I'll be back tomorrow with more food. And coin as well."

Beth looked on the verge of tears. "Princess, that is too much."

Lyanna held up a hand. "It is nothing. But I will do all that I can."

Lyanna left soon after, leaving behind the sack of oranges and a few of her old dresses for some of the older girls at the orphanage. She crept back to the sewers, trekking through miles of filth and dirt and darkness, until finally she was back inside the Red Keep.

Her muscles screamed at her for the rigorous journey, too sore from her nightly lessons with Jaime. More often than not, she ended up on her ass as the lion stood over her, smug and triumphant. She couldn't wait until she was proficient enough with a sword that she put Jaime on his ass.

Lyanna dropped her skirts down from where she'd tied them, and made her way back toward her chambers. She'd planned to meet with Rhaella soon for a midday meal, and she'd need to change before eating with her.

But just as she had turned the corner, the Maidenvault in the distance, she froze. Cersei Lannister, the incestuous golden girl, was inexplicably on the arm of Rhaegar, Ser Arthur behind them.

With a sink of her heart, Lyanna realized how beautiful they looked together, the silver dragon and golden lioness. The thought made Lyanna scowl.

Cersei and Rhaegar slipped into the Maidenvault together, but only Rhaegar and Ser Arthur came out a few minutes later, the Lady Lannister left inside.

Lyanna frowned, wondering what business Rhaegar had with the Lannister girl. It was a thought that haunted her even as she made her way into her chambers, changing into a clean dress, and then went to Maegor's Holdfast where Rhaella waited for her.

The queen must have sensed something was wrong with Lyanna because as soon as she saw her, Rhaella asked, "My lovely girl, what is the matter?"

Lyanna blinked, as if finally coming to. "Oh, nothing," she murmured unconvincingly. She took an empty seat at the table, breathing in the scent of the small cucumber sandwiches.

"Oh, sweet thing," Rhaella sighed. "A mother always knows when her children are bothered. And you are my daughter now."

Tears sprang to Lyanna's eyes instantly and she wanted to bury her face in Rhaella's neck, to be held like a little girl would be held by her mother.

Instead, Lyanna asked, "Will Cersei Lannister be here long?"

Rhaella frowned. "I am unsure, darling. I do not even know the reason she is here, but I assume she will leave soon."

Lyanna nodded absently, twirling her knife.

Rhaella studied her for a long while, and it made Lyanna's skin pebble with goosebumps. Finally, the queen said, "When I was younger, Cersei's mother was my lady-in-waiting. Joanna Lannister was her name - a beautiful, golden lady if there ever was one.

"She was just as beautiful as the Lady Cersei is. Tall and golden with those Lannister green eyes." Rhaella smiled sadly. "She was my closest friend."

Lyanna was enthralled by the tone of the story, wondering where this was going. All that she could remember was Aerys' comments to her at that horrid dinner before they left for Dorne, where he remarked how much Lyanna reminded him of Joanna Lannister. Suddenly she didn't want to know where this story was going...

"Aerys liked her too," Rhaella said lightly, "though not in the same way that I did. I turned a blind eye to many of my husband's infidelities, but I could not support him turning my ladies into his whores."

Lyanna was surprised at the sudden fire in Rhaella's voice. She'd never seen the queen so vibrant, so passionate. Lyanna wondered how many of Rhaegar's infidelities she would have to turn a "blind eye" to.

"Joanna was a good and kind friend to me," Rhaella said, "but even lions cannot deny kings. Cersei Lannister has only seemed to inherit her mother's beauty - everything else is her father. And Tywin Lannister is a man of far too much cunning and questionable loyalty."

Lyanna swallowed heavily. "Do you think that...Rhaegar is like the king in-" She stopped to breathe. "That way?"

Rhaella smiled gently. "No, my lovely girl, I do not. Rhaegar is more like me than his father, thank the gods." The last part she murmured quietly.

"But," Rhaella continued, "there might be trials and tribulations in your marriage one day that have you questioning yourself, as well as your position. When Rhaegar becomes king, there will be more women than you can count wishing to cast you from his side and put themselves in your place."

Lyanna's heart fumbled then raced. Her throat felt dry as a bone.

"But remember, my beautiful daughter," Rhaella said with her chin held high, "you are a princess of House Targaryen and Stark, and you will one day be queen. So even when they push you, they can never take your crown."

Notes:

I am very sorry for this chapter's delay. I have been sick with kidney problems, and could not write. Hope you enjoyed!

Chapter 33: A Wolf's Wrath

Chapter Text

"It's getting worse, Rhaegar," Jon Connington murmured darkly, his eyes far away.

Rhaegar hung his head, the smell of burnt flesh and bones heavy in his memory. The screams of those maidservants had been horrific, inhuman shrieks that echoed throughout every stone wall in the Red Keep.

The maids had stolen some velvet finery from Maegor's, but were quickly caught by some guards. Aerys hadn't even bothered to call Court, finding it sufficient enough that Rhaegar, Jon Connington, the rest of the small council, and all seven Kingsguards were in attendance.

And they watched the two maidservants get strapped to Aerys' new device, a contraption of wood shaped like a crooked finger so that they could be strung up by a rope noose, unable to escape from the firepit placed beneath their feet.

They'd burned alive within minutes, their flesh and muscles melting like butter off their skeletons, leaving behind only charred remains of bone and teeth.

"You have to move your plan up early," Jon implored him desperately, "this can't go on any longer. The realms will revolt before long, and your House could face extinction."

Rhaegar sighed, raking his hands through his hair. There was too much on his plate: his prophesied three children, overthrowing his father, falling for his wife... "I can't, Jon. Not yet. Not until I have an heir."

"And is the girl barren?" Jon demanded. "Why is her belly still as flat as the day she arrived at the tourney?"

Rhaegar clenched his jaw, maintaining silence. He did not want to talk to anyone about his lack of consummating the marriage, least of all Jon Connington who seemed to harbor a deep dislike for Lyanna.

In Rhaegar's quiet, Jon frowned, his eyes widening. "Is your marriage even valid?" He asked quietly, though Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell heard anyway; they looked away.

Rhaegar looked up, sighing. "Not in the eyes of the realm."

Jon exploded. "Seven hells, you have to be joking! It is your right as her husband, as her prince, as her future king, to bed her. She should be grateful that she will bear your children!"

There was suddenly a knock at the door, breaking up the tension of the conversation. The men silenced and Rhaegar called for the door to be opened, thankful for the distraction. The wood of the door squeaked as it swung open, and Lyanna filled the doorway.

She was stunning in a dress of jade gossamer silk, the sunlight of the morning glowing beautifully upon her. Her dark hair was wild and wavy about her shoulders, and her grey eyes were bright and clear.

"Oh," she said in surprise, looking around the room, "was I interrupting something?"

Rhaegar went to stand, to insist that she hadn't interrupted anything, but Jon Connington's stormy thoughts were stoked in her presence. "You," he said with accusation, "are an ungrateful little brat!"

"Jon," Rhaegar said, meaning to stop this hellstorm before it began.

But Lyanna was quicker, marching inside so that the door shut loudly behind her. "Excuse me?" Her grey eyes rolled with storm clouds, deadly and dark.

"You are a woman grown, sixteen, married, and yet still a virgin?" Jon Connington laughed incredulously, a touch manic. His red hair stood on end like a frightened cat.

Lyanna's grey eyes flew to Rhaegar, anger evident, before going back to Jon Connington. "That is none of your business!"

"It's my business what happens to this realm," Jon retorted, "and your petulant little maiden act is going to drown us all in fire."

Her face was properly confused as she was still ignorant to Rhaegar's plans of deposing his father, but she persisted. "Yeah? Well you can take your thoughts and shove them right up your-"

"Stop," Rhaegar sighed, "please." He stood from his chair.

Both Jon and Lyanna whirled on him, twin anger sitting on their faces. Their chests heaved from the power of their argument, and the air was thick with tension. Arthur looked positively bursting with something to say, but Oswell just seemed uncomfortable.

"You should find a mistress," Jon Connington said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Someone to bear you the heirs you need."

Lyanna scowled deeply. Rhaegar said, "Jon, stop."

"Oh, no, don't stop on my account," Lyanna cut in. "On second thought, just get a second wife. Or better yet, set aside our marriage!" Lyanna was in a dangerous mood, a winter princess coming back with a vengeance.

Rhaegar's heart went to his throat. The entire situation had spun out of control and he needed to fix it. He'd thought that they had made tremendous steps since Lyanna's days of wishing their marriage to be annulled. And Jon had unraveled all their progress with a few biting words.

"Perfect solution!" Jon shouted with manic glee. "Cersei Lannister could be your queen. Gods know you will owe the Lannisters enough."

Lyanna frowned in confusion, but the idea of Cersei as queen had her indignation back front and center. "Fuck you."

"Now I can see why you haven't consummated," Jon said unkindly, "I don't blame you for not wanting her."

Rhaegar could swear that he saw fire dancing in Lyanna's grey eyes when she quipped, "Oh, like you?"

Rhaegar flew to his feet, inserting himself at her insinuation, knowing just how angry Jon could get when that subject was broached.

"Lyanna and I are married," Rhaegar affirmed, "and no one is going to repeat what was revealed in this room." He looked at Jon when he said this, now wary that he had revealed Lyanna and he had not consummated.

"You're just going to let her get away with this?" Jon asked incredulously, face red. Ser Arthur leveled a stern look at Jon, unhappy that the Hand was overstepping with both the prince and princess.

"Oh, should he rape me, Lord Connington? Would that make you happy?" Lyanna demanded sarcastically.

Jon clenched his jaw. "No, but-"

"Then keep your nose out of my business. Otherwise, get used to it." Lyanna turned to Rhaegar. "If it's kinship you seek, I'm sure the Kingsguard can relate to how it feels to never be inside a woman." Then, her mouth twisted cruelly, and she spared a glance across the room. "Or even perhaps Lord Connington."

She turned away before Jon could strike her, for which Rhaegar was supremely grateful. He didn't want to have to physically defend his wife against his close friend. Lyanna slipped out of his room, angrier than winter, and Rhaegar wondered just what kind of storm Jon had just gotten him into.

Lyanna seethed in her room, positively boiling with anger. She'd just gone to Rhaegar's room to see if there was any spare coin he might have been able to give her for the orphanage; she'd planned on making up an excuse about shopping in the city, but Jon Connington, Hand of the King, had ruined everything.

Treating her like some bitch because she hadn't bedded down with Rhaegar, implying she was ungrateful and a snot. He's just angry the prince won't love him back, Lyanna thought unkindly, wishing pain against Connington.

She stewed in her anger for hours, watching twilight descend on King's Landing as she played through Jon Connington's words in her mind again and again and again and again.

She thought of how he so casually proposed infidelity to Rhaegar, of a new wife. Lyanna recalled an image of Lady Cersei, and how stunning the Lannister lady had looked on her silver prince's arm.

Lyanna wanted to claw her own eyes out and rip the skin from Jon's stern red face, wanted to sink her fangs in his skin and tear him limb from limb. How dare he embarrass her like that in front of Rhaegar and Arthur and Oswell, airing her sex life - or lack thereof - for all to hear.

She was humiliated, and upset, and filled to the brim with violent, uncontrollable anger. She got to her feet, swishing the thin jade silk of her skirts behind her like the trail of a river.

She wrenched open her chamber door, startling Ser Jaime in the process. "Ready for your lessons?" He murmured sarcastically, but shut his mouth when he caught the look on her face.

"No," she spat, hearing the clank of his armor which meant he was following her.

"Where are you going?" He asked as they left the Maidenvault.

Lyanna wasn't sure what she was doing; all she knew was that she was wrathful and she wanted to find Jon and Rhaegar. She stalked around the Keep, checking every corner and room, until finally she and Jaime walked over the drawbridge into Maegor's, where Ser Jonothor was posted at its entrance.

She felt like a wolf, her blood singing, her strides purposeful and brutal. Her boots echoed against the stone floor, enough so that when she turned the corner and saw Rhaegar speaking with a group of men outside his chambers, they all looked up.

Jaime was still behind her, but slowed when he saw her destination. Of the men Rhaegar was speaking with, Lyanna recognized four: Sers Arthur, Oswell, and Barristan, and the red-faced, red-haired Jon Connington. Jon's face folded in resentful irritation at the sight of her approach.

Rhaegar just looked...concerned and happy. His pale face was open with the smallest of smiles, his indigo eyes wide and shining. Lyanna's heart did a double thump as she aimed for him, her legs bringing her closer and closer to him, so close, too close...

She wrapped her hands at the back of his neck and pulled his face down to hers. Their lips met in a spark, like a lightning strike blazing through her skin. It was all at once painful and incredible, like the feeling of falling in a dream. Her veins rushed blood through her system, adrenaline and pleasure warring each other.

It was like she was underwater, the sounds of the other men's voices muddy and incoherent. She felt high and mighty, her mind too disordered to properly relish in the fact, the feeling of kissing him.

As far as first kisses went, it was...well she didn't quite know. Rhaegar was her first ever kiss, and she was so strung out on energy and adrenaline that she forgot to actually feel him.

Rhaegar seemed utterly frozen for about three seconds and then he snapped into motion, gathering her in his arms so that she wilted into him like summer grass to the wind. What had begun as a seemingly innocent kiss quickly morphed its way into something hotter, a kiss that was tongue and teeth and burning, burning, burning.

Fire erupted in Lyanna's belly, little tendrils of surprise and pleasure bursting through her. But this kiss had a rhyme and unfortunately, Rhaegar was not the sole benefactor of her actions.

She pulled back from his mouth and dropped down from her toes, briefly catching the stunned glaze in Rhaegar's eyes, before turning to Jon Connington, whose leathery face was beet red in anger and tilted into a sneer.

Lyanna recalled his earlier words: "Now I can see why you haven't consummated. I don't blame you for not wanting her." Judging by Rhaegar's reaction, he sure as hells didn't hate that kiss.

She casually rubbed a thumb over her bottom lip to wipe away their kiss, all the while maintaining eye contact with Jon.

She enjoyed the play of his hate on those stern red features, relishing in the fact that she'd managed to kill two birds with one stone - show her husband and the Hand what she was made of.

Then she cocked one brow as if to say What now? and then she strode off, a satisfied swagger to her step from besting the griff.

How did that taste, Jon?

Chapter 34: Secrets No More

Chapter Text

Rhaegar felt like he'd been dunked in ice water, doused in oil, and set aflame with wildfire. Every nerve ending in his body was razed with ravenous desire, his blood boiling with it.

He watched Lyanna go long after she had disappeared, staring down the long hallway like a struck fool. It was as if he was underwater, slowly emerging until finally the voices around him became clearer and clearer.

"Your Highness," they said at him. "Prince Rhaegar."

Rhaegar blinked, noises flooding in at him. "You all may go," he said dismissively. Only Ser Barristan was required to be at Rhaegar's side that night, having been assigned guard to him.

"Ser Barristan," Rhaegar said over his shoulder, ignoring the curious looks the men gave him as they slowly dispersed, as well as the furious one Jon Connington shot him.

Barristan straightened up, his white armor clinking as it shifted.

"Let's go." He wasn't sure what he was doing; all he knew was that he wanted to see Lyanna and now.

Rhaegar and Barristan walked in relative silence from Maegor's and over to the Maidenvault. Rhaegar was lost in his head, trying to remember the way Lyanna's lips had felt on his, so soft and so warm.

But trying to grasp onto that memory was like trying to see through murky waters with his eyes open. The harder he tried, the quicker it drained from his mind until finally he wondered if he'd imagined it altogether.

Rhaegar swept into the Maidenvault with swift determination, the heavy iron doors creaking ominously. His determination, however, was cut short when he rammed into a small, warm body. His hands instinctively grabbed at the soft flesh of a waist, holding the body still.

In the dim evening light of the Maidenvault, it was difficult to see much, but Rhaegar could make out the surprise painted all over Lyanna's pretty face.

Her full mouth was parted, her grey eyes wide and shocked. Her pretty silk dress was gone and in its place, she was dressed in skintight riding pants tucked into tall leather boots, and an oversized black tunic that Rhaegar had a sneaking suspicion was his from his wedding day - the same one he'd given her to sleep in after helping her out of her wedding gown.

"What are you doing?" They both said it at the same time, falling into awkward silence after. The air was so thick, he felt like he could cut in with a knife.

Rhaegar eyed her outfit once more, feeling heat bubbling up inside him. The leather of her leggings was so tight it was like a second skin, lining the curves of her legs sinfully. His tunic hung loose on her frame so that most of her collarbones were exposed, pale flesh burning silver in the dark.

He frowned. "Where are you going?"

Her eyes flashed around suspiciously as she searched for an answer. "Just for a walk," she eventually said.

"Dressed like a Night's Watch recruit?" Rhaegar quipped.

The corners of her mouth quirked up involuntarily, but Lyanna quickly killed her amusement. "Just wanted some air."

"Lyanna," he said patiently, "where were you planning to go?"

She fidgeted under his scrutiny but locked her jaw nonetheless. "A walk."

Rhaegar turned his chin a fraction near his shoulder. "Ser Barristan, could you please leave us?"

The knight didn't spare a moment before whisking away to exit the Maidenvault, leaving Rhaegar and Lyanna in the silent darkness. He sighed heavily, his chest sinking as if an anvil had been lifted.

"Lyanna, the truth please. I don't want any...secrets."

Lyanna stared up into his eyes, apprehension and skepticism heavy in her expression. Her teeth ran over her full bottom lip, worrying it until it turned a becoming shade of red, ripe like an apple. He wanted to lean forward, kiss her again, only it would be his decision this time...

"You'll be angry," she murmured suddenly, casting her eyes down.

A thousand possible solutions for his anger ran through his mind, but he could find none that Lyanna would do. "I won't."

She looked up at him beneath her lashes. "Yes, you will. And then you'll take it away from me."

He frowned, suddenly worried. "What is it?"

She shook her head lightly, clutching her small fingers into her borrowed tunic sleeves.

"I won't take it away," he promised, putting two fingers beneath her chin and lifting her face.

Her jaw clicked as she shifted it, her wolf's eyes studying him for any signs of deceit or trickery. When she found none, she blew out a long breath, clenching her eyes shut.

"I was going to sneak out," she whispered guiltily.

Rhaegar's brows knitted together. "Sneak out?"

She frowned, looking up. "Yes."

"Where?" There was no way for her to get out of the Red Keep without going by a guard of some sort. Unless she had bribed one somehow...

"To Flea Bottom." Her tone was meek.

Rhaegar's jaw dropped. "Flea Bottom? You were sneaking out to Flea Bottom?"

"Have been," she corrected him. "Several times actually." By the end, her voice was thin and wispy.

Lyanna was so small and thin, and though she was fiery, she couldn't defend herself against the potential scum that stuck to the bottom of King's Landing.

"What-" He stopped, unsure of what to ask. "Why?"

She swallowed in fear. "There's this orphanage there and they need a lot of help, so I've been sneaking out, bringing food with me, playing with the kids." Rhaegar finally noticed the large sack wound around her hand, lumpy and probably filled with food.

"How did this even come about?" He asked.

She sighed, leaning against the wall, the back of her head smacking against it. "I was exploring the Keep one day, the day I missed Court actually..." She sent him a contrite look. "I found this cellar, and I went in it. And...just kept going until I emerged at the sewers at the bottom of Flea Bottom, miles away from the castle."

It was too much for Rhaegar to take in at once. His pretty little lady wife, exploring his castle, exploring the dregs of his city, wandering defenseless where thieves and rapists and lustful men roamed by the thousands.

"And you found an orphanage?"

She nodded. "This little girl fell down, so I wanted to help her home." She paused. "It turned out she didn't have a home. I helped her back to the orphanage though, and then I met Beth, the woman who runs it."

Rhaegar shoved his hands in his hair, frustrated and disbelieving, yet somehow overcome with such awe that his princess was doing a kindness with no such expectations for recognition or retribution. His heart swelled at the idea as much as his mind rebuked the dangers of it.

"Do you-" She said into the quiet, stopping suddenly.

Rhaegar looked at her, beautiful in black like Danny Flint born again. "What? Do I what?" He prompted.

She swallowed a gust of breath. "Do you...want to come with me? I could show you."

"To Flea Bottom?"

She nodded.

"To the orphanage?" He asked for clarification.

She nodded again eagerly, coming out of her shell more now that she sensed he wasn't going to immediately ban her from ever going again, or lock her in a room, or whatever else.

He wanted to refuse, to tell her she could never venture out to Flea Bottom alone again, to never put herself in that danger. But then she was looking up at him with such hope, and he remembered the fire she had ignited when she kissed him for the first time only a mere half hour before, his blood singing for her.

"Okay," he said before he even made his decision.

Her grey eyes popped open. "Really?"

He sighed, exasperated but strangely anticipatory. "Yes really." At least he would be with her. And Ser Barristan, if something happened to either of them.

Her face bloomed with a smile before her eyes flicked down. "You'll want to change your clothes then."

He looked down at himself. A silk tunic embroidered with his sigil, woolen pants, a doublet of velvet. "Why?"

She grinned mischievously, like a wolf going in for the kill. "Because we're going through the sewers, and the people of Flea Bottom will strip you of that silk before we ever make it to the orphanage."

All Rhaegar really wanted to do was kiss her again, or maybe even ask why she'd done it, if it was only to get back at Jon...but if he could get her to smile like that, Rhaegar would have done anything in the world.

It was another half hour before they left the Keep. Rhaegar had hurriedly explained the situation to Ser Barristan, who kept the same visage of calm the entire time though his eyes sparkled a bit at the princess' moxie, and then they both went to change clothing.

Rhaegar donned a grey tunic, black pants, a plain hooded cloak, and riding boots that had seen better days. And as per Rhaegar's order, Barristan had stripped himself of his Kingsguard armor and changed into plain street clothes and a billowing cloak that could easily conceal the sword strapped to the knight's hip.

Then, Lyanna had led them to her secret cellar, deep into the forgotten part of the Keep that went mostly unused. Rhaegar could barely keep his surprise contained when she led them inside, past a secret opening that would not have been seen for all the useless crap laying about everywhere.

She led them through dirt trails of hard ground, winding pathways where bits of stray timber slept, down slopes where water rushed, and finally into the shallow waves of the sewers. Miles and miles of journeying through complete darkness except for the two torches they'd brought that had been quickly snuffed out.

Lyanna, Rhaegar, and Ser Barristan waded through the filthy waters, sloshing the sewers all over their boots until they emerged to a small river where they could clean their feet. They did so quietly, splashing leather through river water, the darkness of nightfall shrouding them from any curious onlookers.

"Look," Lyanna murmured in awe, tapping his shoulder.

Rhaegar looked up. The moon was heavy in the dark sky, its face swollen with pale silver light. The capital was alive in a frenzy of noise and light, bright with candles, feverish with the sounds of men japing and women laughing and children squealing.

And up atop its famous hill, miles and miles away, was the Red Keep, a pale red spider with seven legs.

Chapter 35: Adventures of the Crown

Chapter Text

"Your friend is nice," Rhaegar said as they slipped out of the orphanage into the chill of the night. He immediately pulled the hood of his cloak up to conceal his silver hair.

Lyanna smiled. "She is." Beth had been all at once surprised, awed, and partially love struck when Lyanna had arrived to the orphanage with Rhaegar in tow. Lyanna didn't think that even Elia Martell had looked so starry-eyed when presented with the prince.

And when Rhaegar had bestowed a full coin purse to Beth, Lyanna was sure Beth's baby was going to be born right then and there.

"You were kind to give them that coin," Lyanna mumbled, embracing the cold wind that whipped her skin.

"It was important to you," he offered simply, gracing her with a winning smile. He studied her for a long while as she looked out into the street wistfully. "Have you ever been to a tavern before?" He asked suddenly, randomly.

Lyanna scoffed. "No. I left the taverns to my brother, Brandon, and his friends."

"How about we prolong our secret trip, and I show you a taste of King's Landing at night?"

Lyanna raised a brow. "What do you know about King's Landing at night?"

He spared her a mischievous glance. "More than you would think, Princess."

The tavern Rhaegar led them to was a lovely place, alive with music and dancing and laughter and drinks. The tables were filled with patrons and whores, serving wenches twisting throughout taking orders.

They'd found a little high-topped table in the corner and had ordered three jugs of ale, even though Ser Barristan had refused.

"That whore is staring at you, Barristan," Rhaegar chuckled suddenly, hiding his mirth with the lip of his jug.

Ser Barristan colored immediately, ducking his chin to hide from the sultry red-haired woman. Lyanna wanted to laugh; Barristan the Bold could slay Maelys the Monstrous singlehandedly, could infiltrate Duskendale to save a king, could kill the leader of the Kingswood Brotherhood, but blushed when a whore looked his way.

"No, she is not," Lyanna retorted out of pity for the white knight.

Rhaegar cocked his head, the drink long having colored his pale skin. "Oh, really? How much do you want to bet?" The drink had also loosened his tongue much to Lyanna's intense pleasure.

Lyanna chuckled, rolling her eyes. "I'm not betting with you."

Rhaegar cocked a brow. "Scared?"

Something in Lyanna's blood boiled with the need to accept a challenge, no matter how silly. "You're on. If she approaches Ser Barristan, I'll..."

"Chug the rest of that drink," Rhaegar inserted, tipping his almost empty jug at her full one.

Lyanna snorted softly. "Fine, and if she doesn't approach, you have to go sing outside with the minstrels." There was at least a dozen musicians outside, competing with one another for who could sing the loudest, the best, the prettiest, and a large crowd had gathered to watch them go at it.

There was some sort of self-satisfied glint in Rhaegar's purple eyes when he nodded, like he was winning either way, and Lyanna didn't understand it, but she forgot it as soon as his palm smoothed into hers for a handshake.

Barristan chuckled throatily at the both of them. "What kind of Kingsguard am I to allow the crown prince and princess to drink and gamble in Flea Bottom?"

"It's hardly gambling," Rhaegar argued, "since I'm definitely going to win."

Surprised happiness at Rhaegar's boldness lit up Lyanna's eyes. "Oh, I can't wait to hear you sing, Your Highness. It will be a song for the ages."

"Well actually," Ser Barristan said, leaning in to mock-whisper conspiratorially.

"Hi there, handsome." The red-haired whore appeared out of nowhere, draping herself over Ser Barristan like an alley cat. The dress she swore was sheer and hardly more than a shift, and when she moved, it seemed like it might fall right off her.

Lyanna's jaw dropped, Barristan froze, and Rhaegar looked smug and on the verge of laughing at the same time.

"What's a lady got to do to get a man like you upstairs?" The whore purred, trailing a finger down his chest.

Barristan sputtered, fidgeting beneath her touch with obvious discomfort. "Oh, I don't- uh, no I-"

Before she knew what she was doing, overcome by sympathy for the uncomfortable Kingsguard, Lyanna cut in. "He's a eunuch!"

The whore, Rhaegar, and Barristan looked sharply at her, each one plagued by their own expression: Rhaegar in amused intrigue, Barristan in bafflement, and the whore in intense disappointment.

Lyanna bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. "Yep, nothing but air down there, so unless you like that sort of thing, you'd have more luck with me. Or one of those men over there."

The whore sighed loudly, threw a sad look at Barristan, and slunk off like a kicked dog. "Princess!" Barristan gasped like a little maiden scandalized.

Lyanna giggled into her ale. "What?" She shrugged. "I felt bad she wouldn't leave you alone."

"You should feel even worse," Rhaegar noted with humor, "because you also lost a bet. Drink up."

"You're no gentleman," Lyanna chuckled, smiling at Barristan quickly before tipping her jug back. The ale tasted metallic, like sucking on a copper coin, but she gulped it all down and slammed her cup down with satisfaction.

The serving wench immediately came over to fill her jug back up. "My princess drinks like a sailor," Rhaegar laughed into his cup.

"Oh, shut up, stupid," Lyanna retorted, the ale warming her blood. "My prince has no honor."

Rhaegar frowned, humor still glittering in his eyes. "How so?"

"Challenging a royal lady to chug her drink," Lyanna scoffed, affecting a snooty Southron accent. "Scandalous I tell you."

Rhaegar's grin was wide and predatory. "How can I make it even then?"

Lyanna tapped a finger to her chin in mock-though. "If you go through with your punishment as well. Sing outside in front of all the minstrels and crowd. Then my honor will be restored."

Rhaegar quirked his brow, smirking. "Deal."

They finished and paid for their drinks, Barristan throwing oddly amused looks at the two of them, before meandering outside where all the singers were loudly rendering the lyrics of Bear and the Maiden Fair. They stood on the fringe, waiting until the song came to a close.

When the song ended, Rhaegar made his way to the center where the minstrels were set up, looking odd with the cowl of his black cloak over his head. He murmured something to the man playing the woodharp, before turning and smirking at Lyanna.

"Why does he look so smug?" Lyanna wondered out loud. She admitted to herself that this drinking Rhaegar, tongue and smirks loose, had her feeling hot inside.

"You'll see," Ser Barristan said with a smile, watching where the prince took the woodharp in his own hand and sat upon an empty stool.

Lyanna's brows furrowed in confusion; she hadn't known Rhaegar could play the woodharp, let alone an instrument at all. His fingers experimentally plucked at the harp's strings, eliciting high, sweet notes. The crowd hushed, waiting for the hooded man to begin his song.

When the first few notes played out, the other minstrels joining into Rhaegar's music, Lyanna could hardly believe it. The melancholy beginning of Brave Danny Flint sounded out, its sweet notes stretching like taffy in summer.

And then Rhaegar opened his mouth and began to sing. Lyanna's eyes widened and her jaw slackened, her heart thrumming queerly at the sound of her prince's clear, strong voice climbing over every word and lyric like he was Bael the Bard come back to life.

Rhaegar's face was contorted in beautiful sorrow as his tongue rolled through the notes, each high and low bringing Lyanna's chest into a tight twist. She felt like her heart might burst from her chest, at the surprise and the sheer emotion bubbling up inside her.

The crowd around her was equally as entranced with him, even more intrigued at the cloak hiding his face from view. Gold coins and copper coins were thrown at Rhaegar's feet, as well as lopped-off flower heads that landed in soft heaps near his boots, as he sang and sang.

When the song came to a close, the roar of cheers and applause was deafening, punctuated by the metallic clangs of more coin being thrown over. She could see Rhaegar's mouth laughing beneath his hood as he playfully bowed and bent to gather his money.

Barristan drifted closer as people reached out to touch Rhaegar, coming to stand by him so no danger came to the hidden prince. Once Rhaegar had most of his coins gathered, he dispersed it into the purses of the other surprised minstrels, leaving nothing for himself but five copper coins.

With those, he plucked a crimson rose from a vendor and exchanged his coin, then drifted over to Lyanna, bowing dramatically. "For my lady."

Lyanna chuckled, taking the tall rose. Its petals were full and soft and dark as blood, its stem as thorny as her royal crown. "I'm no lady," she quipped, "I'm a princess."

Rhaegar pushed his hood back an inch, just so that she could see his eyes. "Yes," he said, "you are."

Suddenly there were shouts and curses screamed behind Rhaegar as the crowd began to brawl over the leftover coin on the street, a mass of twisting limbs lashing out at one another, absorbing more bodies as the fight grew. Barristan rushed over.

"Your Highness," he said quickly, "we must go back to the Keep now."

Rhaegar nodded, sobered suddenly, and threaded his fingers through Lyanna's to her surprise. He tugged on her as they descended the street, heading back to the sewers.

The wind blowing through her hair, racing through Flea Bottom, tipsy from ale and lightning running through her hand, Lyanna felt wild and free. She smiled, a laugh tearing through her teeth. Rhaegar looked back at her, infected by her joy, and began laughing too, their happiness ringing out like bells as they approached the sewers.

They splashed through the filthy water like children, mucking water up to their knees, as Barristan followed behind soberly. Rhaegar fell in behind Lyanna as she was the only one used to using the dark secret paths.

It took twice as long to make it back to the Keep, Rhaegar and Lyanna giggling the entire way like little children, tripping over the dark and the dirt, but made it they did. Their clothes were sopping wet and stinking of feces, their palms scraped from clumsiness, but they were altogether safe and sound.

"That," Rhaegar grinned, "was the most fun I've had in a while."

Lyanna's smile was a thing of its own as she clutched her blood rose. "Me, too." And then she remembered Brave Danny Flint and the way Rhaegar's voice had smoothed over every word like hot butter. "You never told me you could sing."

"You never asked," he quipped. "I learned to sing and play music at a very young age."

Her brows raised. "I would never have guessed."

He winked playfully at her. "Now you know." When the Maidenvault came into view, he leaned over to put his mouth at her ear. "Are you tired?"

Her heart rate spiked. "No."

He pressed his hand into the small of her back. "Do you want to see something beautiful?"

She furrowed her brows, but she was intrigued nonetheless by this loose, teasing version of her silver prince. "What?"

His breath tickled her ear. "Go change clothes and meet me at my door in Maegor's."

Rhaegar broke off to head to the Holdfast, but Barristan stayed with her as they ventured into the Maidenvault.

"You are good for him," Barristan said suddenly as they pushed through the towering entrance. "And you are good to your people. You will make a most excellent queen someday."

Lyanna could feel the heat in her cheeks like a red hot poker. "You are too kind, Ser."

"I call them like I see them, Princess," Barristan smiled, opening her chamber doors for her. She slipped inside. "Oh, and um, thank you for earlier."

She frowned in confusion.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "With the whore."

Lyanna chuckled. "Oh, Ser Barristan, you're one of the good ones."

With the door closed after her, Lyanna stripped to her skin, throwing the leather pants and Rhaegar's tunic to the floor in a heap. Then she carefully set her beautiful dark rose in the jug of water sitting on her table.

She dug through her trunks, pulling out a thin sleeping gown she'd never worn before. The Keep was always too hot to sleep in anything but her own skin, but the nightgown had been a pretty gift from House Hightower. Once the gown was on, she pulled the fur-trimmed cloak from Winterfell around her shoulders and stepped into her boots once more.

Barristan led her to Maegor's Holdfast where Rhaegar lounged casually outside his chamber door. He'd changed into a red tunic and black pants, and had removed his cloak finally, his silver hair free and tumbling; his tunic ties were unlaced, baring the smooth skin of his collarbone. In his hand was a huge decanter of burgundy liquid.

"Thank you, Ser Barristan, you may leave us now," Rhaegar said, pushing off of the wall.

Barristan nodded, sending Lyanna a gentle smile before marching away. Alone, Rhaegar's grin was as glittering and dangerous as a winged snake, his purple eyes dark as night.

"Come on," he said softly, taking her hand again.

"Where are we going?" Lyanna asked impatiently as they reached the hidden stairwell within Maegor's.

Rhaegar never answered, only pulled her behind him up the spiraling stairs until they reached a small door. He unclasped his hand from hers to push it open and a sharp gust of wind blew in his face as they climbed through.

The battlement topping the Holdfast was a magnificent place to behold the beauty of King's Landing, the miles and miles of sloping cityscape. It was easy to see everything from here: the bay glittering like black diamonds, Flea Bottom alight with candles and music. He could see where the Targaryen fleet was docked, could see where Lyanna's secret sewers flowed out, where the orphanage was.

"Wow," Lyanna breathed, coming to one of the squared openings to see better; the space was large enough that she could sit comfortably if she so wished.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

She looked over her shoulder and nodded eagerly. He held up his decanter and asked, "Wine?"

"Yes, please," she grinned, drifting over to him.

Rhaegar uncorked the drink and took a swig from the bottle before handing it to her. "No cups?" She teased, and then, "What kind is it?" She studied the small particles floating at the bottom.

"Dornish red," he answered, "warmed and spiced." He'd had his servant make it for him quickly while he'd waited for Lyanna to change.

She put her lips to the decanter and drank deeply from it, coughing lightly when she pulled away. "Whoa."

"Good?" He asked.

She nodded, drinking again. "Very. Strong though."

They took turns drinking from the decanter, the wine making Rhaegar feel warm and loose, as he pointed out everything there was to view from the battlement, as they talked about their evening sneaking out.

He could tell that Lyanna was regaining her tipsiness when she fumbled with the clasp of her cloak, complaining about how hot she was beneath the fur. "Help me!" She whined at him.

He chuckled with fondness, expertly undoing the clasp. Lyanna allowed the cloak to drop to the ground, revealing herself in only a paper thin nightgown. The sight of it made Rhaegar's throat go completely dry, dry as the Dornish desert so that he had to take another drink of the wine.

"Help me up here," Lyanna demanded, touching her hand to the space on the edge of the battlement.

Rhaegar bent to pick up her cloak and lay it across the stone. Then he took Lyanna by the waist and went to lift her up, but before he could, she curled into a ball, giggling violently as she tore away from him.

"Ticklish?" Rhaegar wondered with mischief, slinking even closer.

She braced herself. "No, I'm not."

"No?" He cocked his head. "So then you won't mind if I do...this?" He lunged at her, sinking his fingers into her belly as she tried to twist away from him. But she had nowhere to go, stuck between Rhaegar and the wall, so she was forced to endure his tickle torture, laughing so hard tears streamed from her eyes.

"Stop!" She pleaded, "I can't take it anymore!" He was sure her laughter could be heard all the way down in Flea Bottom, but he relieved her nonetheless, pulling away.

She fisted her hands in his tunic before he could escape though, and tugged him back to her. Her hands turned into claws and she tried for his ribs. When he only laughed at her attempts, Lyanna frowned. "You're not ticklish?"

He shook his head in faux sadness. "No."

"You're boring," she pouted, stumbling back from him.

"And you're rude, Your Highness," he teased, picking up the almost-empty wine decanter and finishing the last bit of the wine.

With more power than he thought her capable of, Lyanna jumped up and sat herself on the battlement's edge. "And you're selfish," she said, looking pointedly at the empty wine decanter.

"I do apologize, Your Highness," he replied sincerely, resting one arm on the stone at her side.

She shrugged like she didn't care. "I suppose I'll let you off the hook. You did behave so kindly tonight."

"Tonight?" He repeated. "As opposed to what usually?"

She smiled softly, looking down at her lap. "You're kind always. It was just...really nice to see you having fun for once."

The way she said that made his heart squeeze. "Well, it was nice to have fun for a change." And then he remembered something. He dug into his pocket, pulling out the wrapped apple cake he'd been able to pilfer from the kitchen. "I almost forgot."

He handed the apple cake to Lyanna, smiling as she bit into it instantly. "I love apple cakes," she murmured quietly, "they were one of my favorites at home." He'd have to remember that.

Rhaegar watched her eat before playfully going in to bite her cake. She snatched it away instantly, narrowing her eyes with a small grin. "Oh no you don't," she intoned.

Rhaegar pushed his lower lip out in a pout, emboldened by the wine. "Please? I'd hate to have to...tickle you for it."

He dug his fingers into her sides again, coming to stand between her legs where she sat atop the tower edge. She laughed and laughed, dropping her cake in the process, before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to rest her face against his.

"I surrender!" She giggled into his jaw, "please, please!"

Rhaegar smiled, easing his fingers from tickling her but staying on her waist nonetheless, soothing circles into her thin gown. Lyanna pressed her forehead against his as her laughter died, her breath puffing against his mouth.

The smile on Rhaegar's lips hurt it was so wide, but when Lyanna shifted closer, so that her nose slid along his cheek until it pressed against his, his heart almost stopped.

The ghosts of her giggles tasted like wine on his mouth, and when he opened his eyes to look down, he wasn't surprised to see her lips a mere half-inch away. Something in the air seemed to shift, and everything felt suddenly heavier, like right before a dark rainfall.

Lyanna's fingers ghosted up his neck to curl into his hair, and her thighs tightened around his hips where he stood between her legs. He suddenly felt like he might be sick, like his heart was too full for his chest. Lyanna tugged her bottom lip between her teeth hungrily before exhaling gently against Rhaegar's mouth.

If her kiss earlier that day in front of Jon Connington and the other men had left him feeling like his head was underwater, sitting there with her atop Maegor's, breathing in each other's air, had him feeling like he was drowning.

Just when he thought he might pass out from the sheer anticipation of it, Lyanna shifted, tipping her chin up and parting her lips. The slight movement made her mouth brush against his light as a feather, but it seemed like the touch was enough to snap both of them into action.

Rhaegar moved forward the fraction of an inch and molded his mouth to hers, shivering at the way her warmth passed into him, howling for his dragon's blood to kindle. The pressure of her mouth against his was the sexiest, most dangerous thing she'd ever done to him and he felt like he was on fire.

She pulled back just enough so Rhaegar could see the clear grey in her eyes only to lean forward and kiss him again, this time trapping his bottom lip with her teeth, the same way she bit down on her own all the time.

The pressure of her teeth sent sharp crackles of pleasure down his stomach and he exhaled heavily into her mouth, tugging her closer to him by her hips. Her tongue was sweet apple cake and spiced wine when he tasted her, and when she moaned into his mouth, it sent vibrations all the way down from his head to his toes.

Her fingers rooted in his hair tugged and pulled, so that Rhaegar had to actively decide which sensation she was causing him to focus on, overcome by the sheer pleasure of the whole experience. Her tongue was sliding against his, her mouth warm and slick and sweet, her thighs open against his hips.

When she bit him again, teeth teasing over his bottom lip, he could feel the exact moment she drew blood. They both jumped and separated just enough so that there were a few inches between their mouths.

There was fire in Lyanna's eyes when she put a finger to his lip, pulling back when it was tipped with his blood. "You're bleeding," she noted, seemingly pleased.

He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting metallic red. "It seems that I am." He tried to breathe slowly to calm his racing heart, but it did no good. Just being around her made his chest pound.

Lyanna stared him down like a wolf that wanted to devour, to destroy, and it made something red and hot lick through his veins. "I think maybe I should go to bed," she whispered, "before I do any more damage to that pretty face."

Rhaegar exhaled heavily, feeling at once both disappointed and grateful. Disappointed because he thought he could probably kiss her like that all day long and never tire of it, and grateful because he was sure that if they continued like that, something unseemly would happen atop the Holdfast battlement and he wasn't sure he wanted to consummate his marriage out in the open for anyone to walk in on.

Rhaegar helped Lyanna down from the edge and picked up the empty wine decanter and her cloak, leading her back down the staircase and into the Keep where it seemed far hotter than it was outside.

Rhaegar walked her all the way to the Maidenvault in complete silence, his blood still roaring from their kiss. He was so lost in his thoughts that when they came to her door, he started in surprise.

Lyanna had one hand on the door, the other fiddling with her dress. She swallowed. "Thank you for everything tonight, for the orphanage and the tavern, and...everything." She ducked her head to hide a secret smile but Rhaegar caught it all the same.

"Thank you for sharing your secret with me," he murmured, his eyes flicking down to her mouth. She caught the look and raised her brows slightly as if to say are you going to do it?

Rhaegar stepped closer to her so that she had to flatten her back against her door. He rested one hand against the door near her head, and used his other hand to grasp her chin gently, lifting it.

This time their kiss was not hesitant, and Lyanna placed her hands flat against the plane of his chest, her lips soft against his bloodied one. Rhaegar pulled away before he lost his breath entirely, and judging by the glossy sheen of Lyanna's eyes, she wasn't entirely unaffected either.

"Good night, my prince," she said suddenly, slipping into her bedroom and closing the door. The darkness of the Maidenvault enveloped him entirely.

Rhaegar was so caught off guard that he didn't speak for a full minute after she was gone. "Sleep well, my princess."

Chapter 36: The Deposition

Chapter Text

"Damn it!"

Jaime smirked, beckoning his fingers at her arrogantly. "Get up."

Lyanna scowled, clutching at her arm where he'd smacked the flat of his blade. "That fucking hurt," she growled, climbing to her feet.

"Your mind," Jaime said lazily, "is elsewhere."

She could hardly rebuke that. All she could think about from the moment she woke to the moment the sun set and Jaime had taken her to their secret practicing place, was the night before - of spiced Dornish red and apple cake and full, hot lips sliding over hers.

"Did you even eat dinner?" Jaime asked, trying to grasp onto an excuse for her swimming head.

Lyanna frowned. "No, actually."

He huffed, rolling his green eyes. He raked a hand through his golden curls, and spared her a disapproving look. "Good swordsmen do not starve themselves."

"I hardly starve myself," Lyanna scoffed, rolling her wrist.

Jaime intentionally set his cat eyes on hers, then so, so slow trailed them down her body until she felt like she might erupt into flames. "Could have fooled me."

"Just forget it," she sighed, annoyed at herself for not thinking straight, annoyed at Jaime for being smug, annoyed at Rhaegar for setting her blood on fire. "Good night, Ser Jaime."

Despite her dismissiveness, Jaime followed, taking her sword and hiding it between two loose stones in a wall of the forgotten courtyard they used. Then he caught up to her, a white shadow.

Lyanna walked all the way back to the Maidenvault, intending to just sleep, but she found that she was wired. She briefly entertained going to Flea Bottom, but the prospect of another nightly adventure there made her think of Rhaegar, and without him, it wouldn't be as fun.

Instead, she decided to seek out her goodmother. Rhaella would know what to make of these feelings swimming in Lyanna's heart, what to think of the way she could not think straight, let alone sword fight with any semblance of confidence.

Lyanna quickly changed into a proper dress, and made her way to Maegor's Holdfast, Jaime silent at her back the entire way. When she passed Rhaegar's apartments on the way to Rhaella's, Lyanna had to physically hold herself back from knocking on his door and taking hold of his fine face.

However, when she turned the corner where Rhaella's chambers were situated, Lyanna was surprised. Posted outside the queen's door were two Kingsguards, stone-faced Ser Jonothor and dark Ser Lewyn.

Lyanna frowned, confused as to why they were there. Rhaella did not usually have a Kingsguard at her door at night, nor often during the days. And to have two...

"Princess," Jaime murmured, "I think you should wait for another day to see the queen."

Lyanna scowled over her shoulder. "Nonsense."

She approached the door with confidence, but Sers Lewyn and Jonothor stepped together to block the room completely.

"Excuse me," she said, stepping forward, "I've come to see the queen."

It was Ser Lewyn who spoke, his emotionless voice sending chills down her spine. "Not tonight."

She took another step forward. "It will be quick," she promised, anxiety coiling in her stomach. There was something going on, she just knew it. "Is the queen sick or something? I know she wouldn't mind me stopping by."

"Not tonight," Ser Lewyn repeated in a cold voice.

Lyanna went to retort something, to throw around her own title, but then she heard it, a shout so desperate, it made her throat close up. "You're hurting me!" The queen wailed, "Please!"

Lyanna's eyes widened and her blood froze. "Is that..."

Rhaella cried out again, and then lower, Aerys' grunts of pleasure. Lyanna felt like she was going to be sick right there on the floor, pride be damned. She knew exactly what she was hearing, and the two Kingsguards were standing there listening as if it was some song and not the agonized pleas of a queen being raped by their king.

"You have to stop him," Lyanna murmured, half-dazed. "You have to do something! You're supposed to protect her, too!"

Ser Jonothor deigned to give her a reproachful look. "Yes," he agreed, "but not from him."

Lyanna wanted to cry, rage, and storm into the queen's chambers all at once. How could these men call themselves knights, call themselves men as they listened to their queen's degradation and their king's madness? It wasn't right; in fact, it was downright sickening.

Lyanna went to step forward, to do something, when Jamie wrapped his hand around her elbow. Ser Lewyn noticed immediately, pinning Ser Jaime's hand with a black stare.

Even though her wolf's blood was howling, Lyanna could see that there was nothing she could do to stop this sickness. But she knew someone who could.

Without another word, she spun and rushed off, speeding through Maegor's to the one person she needed. Rhaegar's door was closed but there was no guard, so she burst right in, startling Rhaegar just as he was shucking off his tunic.

He stared wide-eyed at her, utterly shocked at her entrance. "Lyanna," he said.

She closed the door behind her and came forth. "Rhaegar," she said desperately, "I need your help."

He frowned, concerned at her tone. "What's wrong?"

"It's your mother," she quickly blurted out. "And your father. He's in her chambers and he's..."

Rhaegar's eyes closed and he blew out a sad sigh. His hands came to rake over his face violently as he fell to his chair. All at once, it seemed as if the world sat on his shoulders. "I see."

"No," Lyanna said hurriedly, "you don't. The king, he's raping her!"

Rhaegar looked up at her, looking anguished. "I knew what you meant the first time."

Lyanna's brows furrowed. "Then why are you still sitting there? Why aren't you doing something?"

"What would you have me do?" Rhaegar asked tiredly. It was a completely different prince than the night before.

"I would have you stop him!" She retorted angrily, mad that she even had to suggest it to him.

"I cannot," he replied simply, but no less disturbed.

"Yes, you can! You're the crown prince, his heir, his-"

"None of that matters," he interrupted, "I am not king, therefore I cannot do anything."

Tears blurred Lyanna's vision. "You have to. You have to make him stop!"

Rhaegar stood abruptly, sending the chair flying back. "Don't you think I want to?! Do you even know what would happen if I did that, Lyanna? Do you?"

Lyanna shrunk back, suddenly frightened of his bright flame.

"If I told my father to stop anything, he'd have me burned without batting an eye. And if I was burned, you'd be a close second. Perhaps even your family, too, if he was feeling particularly vexed. I may be his son, but the king's mind is not right, and I do not wish to play with fire."

Lyanna's heart was thundering and she barely registered any thought as she blurted out, "Why don't you do anything about him then?! Take his crown, send him away, kill him?"

Rhaegar's eyes widened and he rushed forth to fit a hand over her mouth. "You can't say things like that," he whispered violently, "if anyone heard it would mean your death. You have to watch your tongue."

Tears slipped out of Lyanna's eyes as she vividly recalled Rhaella's cries. Rhaegar sighed and took his hand from her mouth only to wrap her up in his arms, her cheek pressed to his bare chest.

"Shh," he soothed her. "I know it's wretched, I know. The first time I found out he was hurting her, I nearly knocked the door down and got myself exiled. Aerys promised there would be no second chances if I tried to intervene again."

Lyanna sobbed into his chest. "We can't let him hurt her though. She's my mother now, too." She pulled back to look up into his eyes, and then said in the smallest of voices, "you have to do something about him."

Rhaegar studied her for a long, intense moment, working his jaw until finally saying, "I am planning something."

Her heart jumped. "What do you mean?"

Rhaegar pulled her away from the door and sat her down on his bed. "You can't tell anyone about this..."

"I won't," she vowed solemnly.

"I've been planning with several lords and advisors," he said, "planning to depose my father."

Bright hope instantly bloomed in her chest. "When? Who? Wait, why haven't you done this sooner? He kills people, Rhaegar. Why have you let this go on for so long?"

Rhaegar sighed. "I thought perhaps his mind would get better, I thought he might go back to being the father I once knew...I was wrong obviously."

"Well," Lyanna said, "when do you plan to depose him?"

Rhaegar's face grew guarded suddenly. "I don't know."

Lyanna scowled. "You don't know? Your father is a madman and you sit here twiddling your thumbs? Citizens get burned, the realms suffer, your mother suffers!"

"I know what happens!" Rhaegar reminded her hotly. "I've been living it far longer than you."

"Then why do you stall?" She demanded. "Why don't you depose him now?"

"I can't," Rhaegar supplied vaguely, getting up to stalk around his room.

"Why though? What is so secret about it that you can't tell me?"

Rhaegar never answered, only increased his pacing, running his hands through his hair roughly, over his face.

"Tell me!" She pleaded angrily.

Rhaegar exploded. "Because I need an heir!" Lyanna flinched at the volume of his voice but her heart stopped at the words. "There," he said, "is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Why do you need an heir?" She asked quietly. "Why can't you just overthrow him?"

Rhaegar chuckled without humor, giving her a sad look. "It's not so easy to just depose a king. There will be opposition from his loyalists, a fight from him surely, there may be war even..."

Lyanna waited, her heart in her throat.

"If something were to happen to me in the midst of taking him down, if I died," Rhaegar said tiredly, "I would need an heir that could sit the throne while a regent rules temporarily in his or her place."

Lyanna swallowed. "What about Viserys?"

"Viserys is well and fine," he said, "as a contingency plan, but I would need an heir from my seed to continue my line."

"You would need an heir," Lyanna repeated woodenly, "from your seed and my womb, you mean."

"You are my wife," he replied, sighing. "I would not have my child a bastard from some random woman."

Lyanna felt as if wildfire had exploded in her brain, and all that was left was debris and dust. How had the day gone so wrong from one night to the next?

It was only hours ago that she had Rhaegar's mouth on hers, his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her body. How had things gone so horribly wrong to erase those good feelings and be replaced by horrors?

Lyanna thought of kind Queen Rhaella, her beautiful face, her good heart, the way her smile lit up the room when she laughed. Then she thought of the queen's cries and shouts for mercy, imagined the bruises that would sure mar her lily skin while the Kingsguards pretended not to notice.

Lyanna thought of the common people that were freely burned at Court for their petty crimes and Aerys' amusement. She'd never personally been forced to watch a burning, but she'd heard the screams before, had heard the sheer agony as their flesh melted from their bodies.

She thought of her family, and how her heart would surely break if they would ever suffer from such a terrifying fate. It was up to her, little Lyanna Stark, the sole daughter of Winterfell.

She'd wanted no husband and no children all her life, and while she already had one, it looked as if the fates of the realms and the people rested on the other. Rhaegar could wield no power until he had an heir, and his child could only come from her.

"I'll do it," she blurted without thinking.

Rhaegar froze, turning his head toward her. "What?"

She steeled herself. She could do this; it wasn't as if she was still operating under the assumption she would be a virgin forever. "I'll do it. I'll give you an heir."

Rhaegar blinked. "I wasn't trying to manipulate you into do-"

"I know," she cut him off. "This is my choice, and I choose yes."

Rhaegar stood there still as stone staring at her. She stared right back, at those pale features, silver-gold hair and deep purple eyes, tall and slim and fine-boned. She wondered if their child would look like him.

Then she sucked in a fortifying breath and turned to leave, wrenching open the door. She needed space to deal with her decision. "I will come back tomorrow night and we can...try for an heir."

Chapter 37: Joining of the Wolf and the Dragon

Chapter Text

Raw heat flooded Rhaegar's skin, boiling beneath the surface like the spray of a dragon's fire. He gripped the pommel of the blunted sword tighter, gaining on Arthur with a vicious ferocity.

With one quick lunge, Rhaegar had twisted his sword between Arthur's hands, yanked, and sent the Kingsguard's sword clattering across the ground.

Arthur blew out a long breath. "A fine match," he conceded, studying Rhaegar's sweaty, anxious face.

The sky above was a queer periwinkle as night continued to descend, and the emerging moon in the sky made Rhaegar's heart thunder.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked, bending to pick up his sword.

Rhaegar coughed into his hand to avoid answering, and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Rhaegar," Arthur prompted.

"Fine," Rhaegar said, "just tired." That was a blatant lie; he'd never been more awake.

"Could have fooled me," sniped Arthur, "I've never seen you so vicious in practice."

That was true. When Rhaegar usually had something on his mind that he wanted distraction from, he would play his harp or write music. Today, that had been a strategy that was deemed utterly useless.

No matter how quickly his fingers played over the harp strings, how loudly the notes sang, he could not get Lyanna out of his mind - stubborn and strong, promising she would be back the next night to consummate their marriage.

It was what Rhaegar had wanted, what he needed, but he'd never felt so sick before in his life. So, instead of plucking on silver strings, he had joined the Kingsguards in the yard, and used his sword and fight as a distraction.

But now, night was falling, and there was nowhere left for Rhaegar's mind to run. A sick excitement was coiling in his belly, twisting like a snake. "I'm going to soak in a bath," he announced, rotating his stiff shoulder.

Rhaegar made his way to Maegor's, and requested a hot bath be drawn for him. While the servants skittered away to fetch scalding water, Rhaegar drifted over to the alcove set into the wall of his room, and pulled aside the long, thin red curtain that was meant for granting him privacy while bathing.

Inside the alcove, set into the ground, was a four-feet deep bathing pool made of smooth white marble that was chipped with lapis lazuli and gold flecks.

It took nearly an hour for the bath to be filled, and by that time, darkness had completely descended over King's Landing. The servants lit thirty candles around his room before departing quietly, leaving him to his bath.

Rhaegar stripped off his cold, sweat-soaked clothes, and left them in a pile on the floor. Then he walked into the alcove, and stepped down into the bathing pool, hot water torching his skin immediately.

He knelt in the pool and dunked his entire body in the water, soaking his hair in the heat. His heartbeat was in his throat as he held in his breath, the scalding warmth licking over him like dragonfire. Rhaegar's chest pounded, begging for air, but he stayed for a few more moments and then emerged.

He sucked in a breath, and pushed his wet hair off his face, and then started. Lyanna stared him down, her back against the closed bedroom door. He'd forgotten to pull the red curtain across the alcove's entrance, so his face was unobstructed from her view.

There was a thick silence in the room, so powerful it hurt to bear. The candles in the room flickered gold, and played shadows across Lyanna's dark cloak.

"Hello," Rhaegar said quietly, swallowing down his apprehension.

She said nothing to him, only approached at a maddeningly slow pace until she stood at the entrance to the alcove. "You're bathing."

He looked down to the water. "Yes, I..." He had to swallow down fear this time. "I spent the day in the training yard." There was no emotion on Lyanna's face and it was making his skin crawl. "Just give me a moment and I'll get out."

Lyanna's voice stopped him before he could stand. "No."

His eyes flashed up. "No?"

"No," she repeated, "stay. A bath is a good idea." He frowned but she continued, her words stringing together in a nervous babble. "I mean, isn't a bath always a good idea? But in this sense, it really is. Not that I would know. I've never...but I heard that it makes the first time easier. My ladies gossip a lot and the married ones have talked about...sex. Oh my gods, I want to stop talking now."

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Rhaegar's chest but he forced himself to keep it down. "You...want to...do this in the bath?"

She gave him a short nod. "Is that a problem?"

"No," he was quick to say, even through his confusion. Didn't ladies, princesses, dream of being laid down on a featherbed?

"Good, now turn around."

Rhaegar did as he was told, and turned to face the back of the alcove. He could hear the rustle of her clothes, as well as the twin thuds of her boots hitting the floor. Then, gently, there was a disturbance in the water.

Rhaegar turned, sitting upon the seat inlaid around the perimeter of the bath, the water coming up to his ribs. Lyanna wore a sleeping shift that came to the middle of her thighs, its material thin and white - pure. It made Rhaegar realize just how naked and wet he was by comparison.

"You're wearing a nightgown?" He asked doubtfully.

"Yes," she snapped, bending so that the bottom half of her shift turned translucent, "I don't want you to see me naked." Pink crawled up her neck.

I'm about to be inside you, he thought. "Oh," he said.

She let the water soak her up to her ribs, as she idly played her fingers over the surface of the bath. Her cheeks were red, but Rhaegar couldn't tell if that was from the bath's heat or her nervousness.

She seemed to be trying to concentrate on her breathing, in and out, in and out. The quiet was terribly uncomfortable, so much so that Rhaegar felt a sharp ball of anxiety lodge itself in his throat. He wanted to move, but if he did so, attention would be drawn to his naked body, and she was already making him feel so discomfited.

"So," she said without emotion, "how do we do this?" She glanced up at him beneath her lashes, and a sudden chill racked his body despite the hot water.

"You don't know...I mean, did no one ever explain to you how...this works?" He asked quietly, frowning.

"I know how sex works," she retorted sharply, narrowing her eyes. "I meant, how are we going to do it in here?"

You insisted we stay in the bath, he thought. Her nervousness was translating into biting remarks and it was putting Rhaegar on edge. He wanted so badly just to have her full trust, to have her decidedly less tense, less high-strung.

"Come here," he said softly. He remembered kissing her only a couple of nights ago, the sheer pleasure that had hummed through his body; if they could kiss like that, surely their sex couldn't be bad?

Lyanna bit her lip, wading through the water carefully over to him. When she floated before him, he gently grabbed her by the waist and pulled her forward, onto his lap so that she straddled him.

He heard her gasp, but the feel of her slick skin sliding against his thighs was perhaps better than anything he'd ever felt and it was difficult to focus; her face was only inches away from his in this position, but he could see how skeptical she was in those grey, grey eyes.

She swallowed audibly. "Ready then?"

Rhaegar shook his head lightly. "Not yet." He dragged his hands from her waist and down her hips. "I need to...get you ready." He tried hard to push down his humiliation at having to say that aloud.

Her brows furrowed. "Ready? I'm over here, I'm ready."

"No, not 'ready'," he amended. He really hated to be vulgar, but it was better to be completely clear with Lyanna. "I need to get you," and then quieter, "wet, or this is going to hurt much worse."

Lyanna frowned. "Wet?" She repeated, looking down at herself. "I'm completely soaked, what's that even supposed to mean?"

Rhaegar closed his eyes; well, she didn't know how sex worked completely. He struggled for some answer, but the more he thought, the cloudier his brain got. He sighed, opened his eyes, and leaned the back of his head against the edge of the bath.

"I want to touch you," he murmured. Her brows raised in surprise and the skin over her heart jumped with each beat. "Can I?"

Her lips parted and she studied him for a long time - so long, in fact, he thought she'd shut down the entire idea of consummating and decide to walk away. Instead, she ran her teeth over her lip and nodded.

Her consent sent an odd thrill through him, and gentle sparks of pleasure slithered through him. Rhaegar dragged his hands slowly down her thighs, reveling in the smoothness; her shift had ridden up just slightly, enough so he could trail one hand between her legs.

She was stiff with anticipation and nerves. He rubbed his thumb slowly at the inside of her thigh, giving her time to come to terms with what he was about to do. Her eyes fell closed and she squeezed them shut just before he slid two fingers against her most sensitive flesh, the silky folds between her legs.

Lyanna immediately blew out a shuddering breath, and her mouth lifted in surprised satisfaction.

He could have smiled at how surprisingly...pleased she looked, but what he knew of Lyanna tempered his satisfaction. She could go from hot to cold in less than a minute, and for this to work, he had to be careful.

So he killed his smile and instead focused on running his fingers between her legs, slowly so as not to push her too far, gently to make her feel good. She was soft as satin and through the thin water, he could feel a slickness growing.

His heart, in turn, hammered, slightly disbelieving that he was finally touching her, Lyanna, touching his wife. Her breathing was coming in short little spurts, puffs of breath mingling with the steam of the bath water that rose like a desert mirage.

Though she was utterly quiet, Rhaegar could make out little sounds, noises she probably wasn't meaning to make at all. Mewling, the slightest of moans, catches of breath in her throat.

Her face was flushed becomingly, her eyes still shut, red lips parted and full. He considered leaning forward, fitting his mouth to hers, a continuance to what she'd started only two days before in front of his men, and then again that night. But he didn't.

She smelled like sour green apples, tart and sweet; he wondered if she tasted like it too.

The hands that previously lay at her side, useless in the water, had since come to rest on either side of his neck. Her grip wasn't painful, but her fingers bit into his skin the longer his hand was under her.

She was wet, and in the way that definitely mattered. His fingers slipped back and forth between her legs, coming to circle that little nub at the top of her cunt that seemed to cause her pleasure every time he touched it.

Before he could realize what he was doing, he slipped his finger forward and curled it slowly inside her heat. Her jaw dropped open, her eyes squeezing, but where he expected a reprimand only came a low moan of keen pleasure.

The sound sent jolts down his stomach and straight to his cock. With a small hint of embarrassment, he realized she could probably feel him where she straddled his lap, hard against her thighs.

But Lyanna was too busy enjoying his fingers inside her, her hips grinding into him as he worked her over. Rhaegar wondered if he had ever been so turned on in his life; and it was all because his wife apparently liked the way he touched her.

There was something new and frenzied to the way that Lyanna rolled her hips into his hand, her movements jerky and uncontrolled. He watched her, rubbing at her cunt with controlled precision, realizing with a heat wave of pride that she was on the verge of coming.

She was panting heavily, her cheeks blazing and lips swollen. Her fingers smoothed up his neck to take root in his hair. She seemed just on the precipice, just about to explode, when-

"Stop," she said, wrapping one hand around his wrist. Her eyes were open and glassy, bright and feverish.

"Stop?" He repeated. He'd been so close to making her feel good, he was sure of it. The flush of her skin, her short breaths, the wetness between her thighs. She was about to have an orgasm, but stopped him right before he could give it to her.

"Yes," she replied breathlessly, "let's get this done with."

He wanted to object. I was about to make you feel good, he wanted to say, but Lyanna didn't like objections and he didn't like upsetting her. So he withdrew his hand from her, and straightened up where he had wilted in his seat.

Lyanna cleared her throat, looking more than a little dazed, and impatiently rucked up the bottom half of her shift that was heavy with saturation. "Ready?" She asked.

He looked at her, feeling fevered and wanting to jump out of his skin. Then he looked down, grabbing the shaft of his cock in one hand while Lyanna lifted up on her knees. He positioned himself exactly where his fingers had been a moment ago, the sensation of her wet entrance making his eyes roll back in his head.

"Slow," he heard himself say breathlessly just before his head knocked back.

Lyanna's hips shifted forward a bit, and then she was sliding down onto him, the last fractions of his cock disappearing inside of her slowly as she let out a whine.

Rhaegar's eyes popped open and he lifted his head to look at her. Her beautiful face was screwed up, her eyes slitted and her lips pinched. "What's wrong?" He asked stupidly.

"It hurts," she breathed, widening her eyes so that all Rhaegar could see was grey, grey, grey.

He frowned sympathetically and rubbed a hand up her ribs. "I know." He didn't know. Just being inside of her, not moving at all, felt fucking fantastic. But he knew that for girls, the first time always hurt. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," she griped, "you're too big."

While any other time that would have had him feeling smug, all he could focus on was his pleasure and her pain. "C'mere," he whispered half a second before he bent forward and kissed her.

Despite her physical discomfort and initial surprise, Lyanna responded immediately, sliding her tongue into his mouth. He felt hungry. He wanted to completely devour her, and he moved his mouth from hers and went to press his lips into the damp skin of her throat.

Then, her hips began to move. Barely, at first, until Rhaegar put his hands on the swell of her hips and showed her how to move, then with a surprising pattern, grinding into him lazily as he kissed and sucked and licked and bit down her neck and across her collarbones.

The pleasure she was causing him by grinding up and down in his lap was nearly insurmountable. The feeling of being inside of her, moving inside of her, seemed to go on and on, so sharp and dominant that it was all he could do to lift his chin and seek her mouth again.

Her lips were warm and slick and sweet, sliding over his with a ferocious hunger that had him responding in kind, pressing his teeth into her bottom lip lazily before dragging his tongue over it.

There were so many sensations crawling over him - her lips, her tongue, her teeth, her hands, her terribly tight cunt sliding around him - that he didn't realize he was about to tip over the edge until right before the pleasure rendered him paralyzed.

It was both the sharpest and softest thing he'd ever felt, starting at the bottom of his belly and then erupting into a million different tendrils of fiery ecstasy that licked down his legs, through his arms, up his chest. He moaned low and guttural, biting the bottom of her lip as he rode out his pleasure with panting breaths, filling her with his seed.

And just as soon as it had come, it disappeared, leaving him a lank mess of jellied limbs and fried wits. Lyanna kissed him softly, uncurling her fingers from his hair and pulled back to look in his eyes.

Speechless, she could only breathe, "Oh."

Chapter 38: The Lionknight and the Ice Princess' Secret

Chapter Text

"What about you, Your Highness, is there a little prince or princess on the way?"

Lyanna bristled, her eyes flashing up to meet Johanna's green ones. The little Riverlands lady-in-waiting smiled back. Suddenly Lyanna's mind flashed back to hers and Rhaegar's one and only coupling only a few days prior; she wondered how far and wide gossip spread around the Keep.

"I'm not sure," Lyanna admitted with red cheeks. Ser Jaime did his best to be invisible but even Lyanna caught his eyes stray to her flat stomach.

The other ladies at the tea table in the gardens giggled, a sound that grated on Lyanna's nerves. As soon as she had woken that morning, Johanna had cornered Lyanna, insisting she spend the day sipping tea and gossiping amongst the flowers and shrubs; and even Lyanna could not escape Johanna's determination.

But now sitting amongst the ladies, being forced to think of her uncertain future, Lyanna was miserable. She was as sick thinking about the prospect of being pregnant as she was thinking of Aerys staying on the throne for a long, long time.

Lyanna didn't know the first thing about being a mother, what it took, what to be. Her own mother had died when she was young, so all she'd had was her father, her brothers, Old Nan, and the Northerners around Winterfell.

Lyanna knew how to be a father, sure, but a mother, no.

She was not kind and gentle like Rhaella, did not have the patience it took to raise a child. She was just barely out of childhood herself; just before going to Harrenhal, she'd been playing at sticks and swords with Benjen in the godswood, playing pranks on Brandon, being spoiled by Ned and her father.

She sighed, closing her eyes. "Your Highness," Ser Jaime exclaimed with faux concern, "are you alright?"

Lyanna opened her eyes and looked up at him with fond exasperation. Jaime could never be a mummer, he was far too obvious an actor; but her ladies were so enamored by his golden beauty, they didn't realize he was attempting to bail her out.

"Oh," Lyanna played along, "I'm just so hot out here with the sun glaring down on me."

"Come," he said with an overabundance of gentle concern, so different from his usual casual arrogance, "your ladies must forgive you retire."

"Of course!" Her ladies jumped in to say, watching after Lyanna with worry as Jaime helped her from her chair. "Feel better!" They called after her.

When they were a fair bit away, Lyanna blew out a relieved sigh and Jaime's face melted from concern to proud lion.

"If being a Kingsguard doesn't work out, I could always go to the Free Cities and make my way as a mummer," he said, smiling.

Lyanna scoffed. "And you would never eat again."

He threw her a smug look. "I'll have you know, those ladies of yours ate my performance right up."

"That's because," she retorted, "they're too mesmerized by your face. If you were an ugly man, they'd have seen through you like water."

"Well," he shrugged, leading her back to the Maidenvault, "at least I have my looks."

She snorted. "And your humility." Then she stopped, frowning at the double doors of her vaulted home. "No," she said, "I don't want to go back to my room."

Jaime waited. "Where then? It's too early and bright for your lessons."

"The godswood," she said immediately, "I'd like to pray."

She yearned for home, for the comfort of her father's arms, Benjen's laughter, Ned's soft smile, Brandon's grin. She was truly a woman now, wedded and bedded, but she wished she were still a child. To be able to run around Winterfell, forming snowballs to hurl at Benjen, sitting at Old Nan's feet for a scary story - what she wouldn't give to have that once more.

But there was no turning back. Rhaegar had lay his claim on her, in her, and she might possibly be carrying the tiniest seed of a little prince or princess.

Lyanna wondered if they would need to try again, or if once was enough. She thought about going to ask Rhaella, but the thought of sitting with the queen, playing stupid about the bruises and bites that surely were displayed like a collage over Rhaella's skin, made her think treasonous, treasonous thoughts.

Instead, she sought the peace of the godswood, though there was no weirwood. The heart tree in the castle's godswood was a great oak that crawled with overgrowth of smokeberry vines. It felt like blasphemy to kneel before it, like she was betraying the old gods to pray before anything but a weirwood.

Outside the godswood, Jaime stood post, giving her the rare privacy she was no longer afforded. Rhaegar had insisted that Lyanna have a Kingsguard with her during the days to protect her, in case they had conceived that first and only time they'd coupled. And if she had to have someone follow her all times of the day, well, Ser Jaime was the least imposing and she didn't mind requesting him.

She had enough leverage over him to get him to comply with most of her wishes anyway.

At the brown heart tree, Lyanna knelt, her knees cushioned by the growth of dragon's breath. She sat on her heels and placed her hands against the bark of the tree.

"Old gods," she prayed, "hear me. Please let me be pregnant. Please." She sighed, remembering Rhaella's screams of distress, a memory that strongly overshadowed her fear of being a mother. She needed King Aerys to be gone. Then, in a whisper, "Let Rhaegar's plan work. Let him overthrow his father."

The air was still and stifling, no answer from her gods. Lyanna felt an immense sadness fill her heart, heavy in her chest. She clutched tighter at the plane of the heart tree. "And if he can't, if his plan doesn't work...please send me a hero to kill the mad king."

The tree branches shifted as a strong wind blew.

Brandon Stark's wedding to Lady Catelyn Tully was soon, only a few weeks away. And despite his hesitance to do so, Rhaegar knew his father would not suffer to allow him and Lyanna to leave without a royal permit.

So he swallowed his pride, Arthur at his side, and made his way to the king's chambers. The day was alive with the music of birds and chattering, the rush of wind over stone. Ahead was the corner that separated the king's rooms from the rest of Maegor's.

Though, when Rhaegar approached, it was the sly voices of Ser Lewyn and Ser Jonothor that reached his ears, the sound of Lyanna's name on Lewyn's lips.

The two stood outside Aerys' doors, lost in conversation. Rhaegar stopped, backing up to hide himself behind the corner. Arthur frowned, following his lead. "What are you doing?" He whispered.

Rhaegar held a hand up; he couldn't have their presence made known until he realized why Ser Lewyn was talking about Lyanna.

"Please, it's funny if anything," Lewyn chuckled darkly, the sound of it humored.

"It's treason, it is," Jonothor shot back.

"Nothing will come of it," Lewyn quipped lazily, "the girl only just visited Prince Rhaegar's chambers. Though I suppose, if she was pregnant, she wouldn't have to worry about who she gave herself to."

"Ser Jaime though," Jonothor said, "he wouldn't. He wants to be Arthur Dayne too badly. He'd never besmirch his honor to lay with the prince's wife."

"Have you seen Jaime and the princess together?" Lewyn shot back. "There's something going on there. No other Kingsguard whispers in her ear like that."

Blood rushed to Rhaegar's head, and his heart beat hard, begging for blood, begging for oxygen. He'd never felt so cold in his life. What the hells were they talking about?

"Jaime Lannister fancies himself Prince Aemon," Lewyn sneered, snorting. "I say let him play Dragonknight. So long as Rhaegar's heir doesn't come out golden and green, all is well."

The guards' talk was treasonous gossip, and yet it made something ugly and paranoid bloom within him. Rhaegar couldn't listen to one more word. He swiveled, Arthur following him. "Rhaegar," he said softly.

Rhaegar focused on breathing in and out steadily, thoughts swirling through his head at top speed. He'd never even thought of Lyanna truly acting on being unfaithful to him, never mind with a Kingsguard of his own.

But then, like a black cloud, he recalled how Lyanna had so specifically asked for Ser Jaime as her full-time guard, an odd request given Rhaegar had not thought the two were well acquainted. At the time, he'd brushed it off, thinking nothing more of it. But now...

Jaime Lannister, golden and beautiful, sixteen, the same age as Lyanna. For a sudden, terrible moment, all Rhaegar could think was how beautiful they would be together, the wolf and the lion, no matter if the former was a dragon's and the latter wore a white cloak.

Rhaegar strode out of Maegor's and to the Maidenvault, hoping to be soothed by his wife's presence, but his search proved fruitless. Lyanna was not in her room. When he came out of the Maidenvault, Arthur hot on his heels, Rhaegar caught sight of Johanna Mallister, one of Lyanna's ladies-in-waiting, strolling through the halls on the arm of an unknown knight.

"Lady Johanna," he called.

She turned, green eyes flashing. "My prince," she curtsied, smiling politely.

"Have you seen my wife today? I can't seem to find her."

Johanna frowned. "She was in the gardens with us earlier, but she did not feel well, so Ser Jaime escorted her away."

Johanna's knight stepped forward, brown eyes shining and sincere. "I saw the princess heading toward the godswood earlier, Your Highness. With Ser Jaime Lannister."

Rhaegar nodded his head. "Thank you," he said quickly, offering thanks and a farewell to Johanna, too, before making his way to the Keep's godswood.

Outside the day burned hot, the sun a golden fireball in the sky, blazing with hellish intensity. It warmed Rhaegar to his core, and at once, he felt his unease let up just a bit. Perhaps he'd let his mind run away from him...perhaps.

"Rhaegar," Arthur tried again, "Lewyn has not been right since his sister died. I do not think he knew what he was saying."

"And yet he said it all the same," Rhaegar replied wearily. "There has to be some basis for his gossip."

"Ser Jaime is young," Arthur began to say.

"As is Lyanna," Rhaegar inserted. There was a queer insecurity burrowing in his heart. Perhaps he was too old for Lyanna, perhaps she yearned for a young heart like herself. And the young Lannister lion knight was no farm boy to sneer at.

It was as Lady Johanna's knight had said. At the godswood entrance, Jaime stood, tall and golden, burning in his white enameled armor, unaware of the prince's impending approach down the pathway. Rhaegar could practically see his cat green eyes, even from the distance.

Then, Lyanna emerged from the trees, looking tired and sad, the bottom of her skirts dusted with the filth of the forest. Rhaegar stopped. Jaime sent Lyanna an arrogant lopsided grin, murmured something Rhaegar could not hear from so far away, and held out an elbow in exaggerated chivalry.

Rhaegar expected Lyanna to respond with an eye roll or a huff and stomp away, but she did neither. Instead, she put on a small, amused smirk and took the lion's arm, walking with him down the other path entrance to the castle.

Rhaegar frowned, sickness swimming in his throat as he imagined little dark-haired wolf pups with green eyes and claws. Was Ser Jaime truly playing Dragonknight and Lyanna, Queen Naerys? Or did the little wolf and the lion have some sort of secret?

Chapter 39: A Stark Folly

Chapter Text

"You should take this dress with you, Your Highness. It would be lovely to wear at the wedding." Johanna held up the dress of wine-colored velvet, its skirt sweeping the floor. It was a gown that Rhaegar himself had gifted Lyanna with only a few days ago, presenting it to her with a soft smile, explaining how the color was becoming against her fair skin.

"Maybe I will," Lyanna murmured, lying back in bed with her head against the pillows. The day was hot, causing sweat to gather on her skin like a thousand crystal beads, and she did not want to think of velvet.

They would soon leave for Riverrun, to witness Brandon's marriage to Lady Catelyn. Lyanna was tired, but excited to see her father and Brandon and Ned; Benjen was to be the "Stark in Winterfell", and that fact was the only thing keeping her from being truly happy.

Lyanna sat up, sweat dripping down her spine. "Johanna," she called, "could you please tell the servants to draw me a bath in the copper tub. Cold water please."

Johanna nodded seriously and flitted off. She was back a few minutes later, servants in her wake. Lyanna lay abed as they prepared her cold bath, trying to focus on how wonderful it would feel to finally be cool again. Wolves were not made for the South, it seemed.

When they finished, the servants left her and Johanna helped Lyanna strip before leaving her as well. Naked, she submerged herself in the cold bath, the rim of the copper tub coming up to her chin.

It felt like the snows of Winterfell against her skin, or the slick surface of the icicles that skirted the roof of the Great Hall. The cold bath reminded her of day-racing through the godswood, white winds whipping at her face, of bright winter days with feet and feet of snow covering every layer of land and stone.

She sighed happily, content for once in this hellscape. Then, without thinking, she looked down at her stomach. It was as flat as ever, the skin taut and pale, but something queer stirred in Lyanna's heart the longer she stared.

For the first time since she'd coupled with Rhaegar, she realized that there could be another life growing in her belly, not just a wish or a hope or a prayer, but true life, smaller than a seed, waiting to share her body like it was hearth and home.

She supposed it would be like that. If she and Rhaegar had conceived on their first and only try, she would soon be housing and feeding a baby with her body - a child whose blood would run with ice and fire.

The sudden knocking at the door was as unwelcome as the mental image of her dream the night before: her belly huge and swollen and veined with red, blood and birth seeping from between her thighs. She sank deeper into the bath, curling her body into itself, and propped her chin against the tub's lip. "Enter!"

The door creaked open and Rhaegar stepped through, dressed in simple clothes, a white tunic and plain breeches. And yet still, the sight of him stirred heat in her stomach and sent a thrill through her; she wondered if this was the way Robert Baratheon had felt the first time he'd lain with a woman, cursed with a bodily thirst that was destined to be unquenched for all time no matter how many times he took his fill.

Lyanna had been so busy in her head that she hadn't noticed the expression her husband wore, a mask of wariness and sympathy. She frowned. "What is it?"

He suddenly seemed aware that she was soaking in the tub, though he could see nothing from how she was curled in on herself behind the tub's tall sides. "My princess," he began lowly, in a reverent sigh. In his hand was an opened raven's scroll.

The sight of the coiled parchment made dread colder than her bath water wash over her. "Tell me," she urged, a thousand and one possibilities running through her head, from her father being dead to Benjen ill to Ned exiled.

"Your brother," Rhaegar said. Her heart stopped. "He's left Winterfell."

Lyanna narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin. "Wait, which brother?" If Benjen had gone and joined the Night's Watch, she would kill him, oh she would. That had been their dream together, and it wasn't his alone to take.

"Brandon," Rhaegar said instead, shocking her.

Lyanna was so confused. "Well, where did he go?" Brandon had often ridden away from home to spend a week or two with Winterfell's bannermen. She remembered Barbrey Dustin and how much Brandon had...enjoyed the lady. Well, enjoyed what was between her thighs was more like it.

Rhaegar took a seat on one of Lyanna's chairs, far enough that she still had her modesty, but close enough that she could read the utter judgment in his eyes. "The letter says that Brandon did not say specifically where he was going, but before he left, he made sure to renounce his rights as heir to Winterfell."

Lyanna gripped the edge of the tub, her ire and confusion growing into a dizzying whirl. Where only a few questions had been borne on her tongue, now a hundred lived. "Brandon wouldn't just leave Winterfell," she objected weakly. "That's his home, his life, his inheritance." A thought struck her. "He's to marry Lady Catelyn in a few weeks."

Rhaegar glanced up at her, grinding down on his jaw. "He renounced his right to her as well. Your father wrote me so that I could pass on the news to you."

Lyanna scowled hard. This had to be a horrible jest - one of Brandon's stupid japes that he liked to tell. "Tell me the rest," she commanded in a voice like iron.

Rhaegar took a breath, sending her a wary look, but continued. "It seems that your brother got a child on a lady of the South, though he would not say who."

She interjected quickly. "A lady of the South? Brandon doesn't even fraternize with Southerners! He-" And then she stopped, a rock of realization settling low in her belly.

She didn't know what made her recall Dorne, but one moment she was batting away dizzying thoughts of denial, and the next, her mind's eye was conjuring up an image of a dark-haired woman with deep purple eyes, and sickness in her belly. Princess Elia's friend, Lady Ashara, sister to Ser Arthur Dayne.

Lyanna recalled the way the lady of Starfall had seemed so sick, so nauseated and gaunt. But the way she had mentioned Brandon, with a fond smile and sparkle in her eyes, just before Lyanna had unthinkingly suggested the lady's ailment might be pregnancy...

Oh, Brandon...

"Lyanna, are you alright?" Rhaegar asked, studying her closely.

She glanced up, startled at his voice. No matter if her realization was right or wrong, if it was Ashara that Brandon rode to, she would not betray him. Married or not, she was still a wolf and her brother was her pack.

"Fine," she assured Rhaegar, "continue."

Rhaegar gave her an odd look but resumed with what he had been saying. "Your brother left a letter explaining his choice in his chambers, and left Winterfell before the sun rose. Your father sent men out to search for him, but it seems your brother is a most excellent rider and outrode them."

Like me, Lyanna thought dizzily. She could scarcely believe this was happening. Brandon, her wild Brandon, who had taught her how to ride, and throw a dagger, how to sneak beneath Father's nose, where to find the hidden caches of wine.

Their father had always said that of his children, only Brandon and Lyanna were wolf-blooded, wild and impulsive beyond repair. It will send you to an early grave if you don't temper it, Father reminded them constantly, solemnly.

"Poor Lady Catelyn," was what came out of her mouth though. To be humiliated so, just shy a few weeks of their marriage; Lady Catelyn had seemed so excited to wed Brandon when she danced in his arms at Harrenhal, blushing and bright-eyed. And now, to have that dream yanked away and by a bastard-born pregnancy... Even if Lyanna herself had never desired marriage, she knew a slight when she saw it, and she pitied the pretty red-haired maid.

Lord Hoster Tully would take the slight none too kindly either. She wondered if there would be civil unrest between the two Houses, if the trout would find a way to punish the wolves for this insult.

The thought made her suddenly angry, and she knew that if House Tully came after her family, she would raise the ire of dragons and wolves alike.

"There's more," Rhaegar said, clearing his throat. "Your brother, Eddard, by official decree is now heir to the North. And in Brandon's absence, he has been offered to marry Catelyn of Riverrun." Well, those ends had been tied up neatly.

Ned, Lyanna thought at once, sweet Ned. Heir to Winterfell. It was a queer thought, though Lyanna could picture her solemn brother, serious and kind, ruling the lands of winter. He was just and honorable, but to a fault.

Of course he would step up to correct Brandon's follies, would marry any bride to erase the shame brought on their name.

"Is the wedding still going to happen as scheduled?"

Rhaegar nodded. "We still leave within the week," he told her.

Lyanna blew out a breath. She wanted to be angry, she truly did. But if Brandon left for love, how could she begrudge him, her wild wolf? How often had she shuddered to think of marrying Robert Baratheon, and imagined playing at a knight instead?

Well, she'd managed to ditch the former, and while she would never be a true knight, she'd ridden in the greatest tourney that was ever held and was taught swordplay by one of the finest swords the realms had ever seen, even if he was a Lannister.

"Lord Eddard," she tested it out on her tongue, "Warden of the North." The sound of it made her smile faintly.

Rhaegar smiled too. "He will make a fine lord."

Lyanna hoped so, though Brandon had been the one groomed from birth to hold Winterfell's lands and men. She wondered if she could sneak a message to Starfall, to the Lady Ashara, to inquire about her brother. She wondered if Ser Arthur knew.

"There was something else I wanted to speak with you about," Rhaegar broached slowly.

The gravity in his voice made her pause. "About...?" What else could there be? Had Benjen also gotten some Southron maid pregnant?

"Your trips to Flea Bottom," Rhaegar said instead, catching her off guard.

"What about them?"

"I don't want you going anymore."

Her jaw dropped. "No, you can't do that!" How could he? He knew how much visiting the orphanage meant to her, and now that she'd shared her secret with him, he meant to take it away?

He held up a hand. "Alone. I don't want you going alone anymore."

She misliked the sound of that. It sounded a lot like the shackles of chains. "Why not? I've done it many times alone, and remain unscathed."

Rhaegar squeezed his eyes closed. "This is different," he told her. He opened his eyes just as a shaft of sunlight poured through her window, lighting them to jewels. "If we...conceived the other night, I want to take any and all measures to keep you safe. Overbearing or not."

She hadn't thought of that. Only recently had she come to terms what being a mother would truly entail, what it would take. It was too soon to know if she was with child, but she realized that Rhaegar was right, no matter if she liked it or not - if she was carrying his heir, it was part of her duty to protect it.

"I'd like you to take a retinue of guards if and when you go," he said seriously into her silence.

Lyanna frowned, imagining a full host of Gold Cloaks trailing after her through the winding streets of King's Landing and below. "Can I not just take Ser Jaime with me?"

Something in Rhaegar's eyes hardened at the sound of the lion's name, but he still responded kindly. "He's not enough."

"He is!" She insisted. Ser Jaime alone, she could handle, perhaps even enjoy in Flea Bottom; she imagined the way his golden mouth would sneer at the bowls o' brown being sold in the streets, the naked children skirting around his feet. "Ser Jaime could cut down any person who threatened me."

Rhaegar worked his jaw, staring at her long and hard, observing her with such intent that it made her hot, even in the ice bath. "Perhaps I should assign you another Kingsguard. Ser Oswell, perhaps."

"No!" She said quickly, too quickly. With Jaime at her side all day, he had taken to giving her sword lessons when the sun shined, off in a forgotten courtyard in an unused part of the Keep. If Jaime was taken away, so were her lessons.

"No?" Rhaegar tilted his head, curious.

Lyanna fought to keep her face neutral. One misspoken word and their entire deal would be laid bare. "I just mean, you need Oswell more than I do. He's your friend, is he not? And you'll be needing your friends the closer we get to..." Overthrowing your king father.

Rhaegar seemed to understand, though he did not seem to like it as well as she did. Lyanna wondered what the golden lion had done to earn his mistrust. "Very well then, you may keep Ser Jaime. But you will take twenty guards with you when you go out to Flea Bottom. That isn't a negotiation."

There was something in his face that made Lyanna think twice before protesting again. At least she got to keep her secret sword lessons. "Okay."

Rhaegar stood and went to leave, but before he got to the door, he turned back around and strode to the tub with purpose, bending so that he crouched before her face where her chin still rested on the edge of the tub.

Up close - so close - his eyes were magnificent, like the mixture of sparkling amethysts and the rich blue of the sea. "I don't want to steal your freedom," he murmured. "And I want you to be happy. But...if you and I made a child together, I need you and our baby safe and unhurt." He dragged his eyes painfully slow down to her mouth. "Do you understand?"

Entranced, hardly listening, she nodded. Rhaegar sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, tugging it between his teeth briefly before releasing it; it was plump and red and slick from his tongue and teeth.

Resting one hand on top of hers where it was curled over the edge of the tub, and sliding the other through the wet strands of her hair, Rhaegar bent forward, hesitating only slightly, before finally pushing his mouth against hers, exhaling in relief.

When his lips touched hers, a lightning bolt of heat ran through her mouth and down her body, with roots of fire that extended through her arms and fingers, down her belly and legs, all the way to her toes.

And then he pulled back, eyes hooded and glassy. "I'll leave you to your bath, Princess." He averted his eyes when he stood and turned, and left her chambers without a single word. In the emptiness, she did not think on her brother's whims or velvet gowns or capital heat.

All she thought on was the dragonfire her husband seemed to kindle within her.