Hope

by elizacamille

Hope

4. Chapter 5

Chapter 40: Riverrun

Chapter Text

Had the sky ever been so lovely, like blue marble veined with white? Had the wind ever been so cool, carrying on it the scent of rich riverlands teeming with life? Had a horse ever been so quick, racing over packed green earth and beaten road and wet leaves?

Lyanna thought it had not. Smoke between her thighs, tall and swift and powerful, Lyanna raced far ahead of their traveling party, her horse edging out each soldier and guard until they were almost a league behind her.

How easy would it be to veer off-road, galloping away until she lost herself in the earth? But no, she wouldn't do that. She was too close. Too close to family for the first time in so long.

They'd been going for days, for weeks, riding hard for Riverrun, though none so hard as Lyanna. Rhaegar gave her wary looks each morning upon her mounting, as if to say, Careful now, you could be carrying my child.

In their weeks of travel to and through the Riverlands, Lyanna found herself watching her husband closely: the way he spoke with Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, his ever faithful companions, the way he plucked at the small silver harp that was the likeness of a much larger one at the Red Keep, singing a sad song in low tones.

She wondered if one man had ever been so beautiful, her silver prince. Only Jaime was a close comparison with his smug golden looks, and yet Rhaegar still shined brighter, like polished steel.

Every night that they feasted upon dinner, Lyanna watched him, unfazed by the surprised and confused looks Rhaegar shot her back when he caught her staring.

No matter how much the concept of actually being pregnant frightened her, she knew that not being pregnant was worse - for the longer it took her to get with child, the longer Rhaegar was delayed in taking down his mad father.

And yet they traveled with a large slew of Targaryen guards, Oswell and Arthur and Jaime, as well as a few of Lyanna's ladies-in-waiting who rode in a royal carriage meant for her that she abandoned every morn.

She might have broached the subject with Rhaegar, even perhaps found his private tent beneath the stars, but she couldn't bear the shame of coupling with him to the ears of their many companions. Instead, she kept her thoughts and desires to herself, locked tight to her chest, and rode Smoke hard across land and road, day and dark, with naught but the wind to tickle her ears.

When they finally came upon Riverrun weeks after their departure of the capital, Lyanna felt naked hope in her chest. She eyed the castle with wide, bright eyes, knowing her father and brother lay just within her reach. All she had to do was grasp.

They were met in the entrance yard of Riverrun, a long line of tall, straight-backed people awaiting their arrival. Rhaegar and Lyanna rode through first, flanked by the three swords in white, as the rest of their procession steadily came through.

Propriety and customs be damned, Lyanna vaulted from her horse at the first sign of the long, thin faces of her brother and father. Her boots hit the ground with a fleshy impact, rattling her legs with vibrations, but she ignored it, turning her face from the strangers who watched her with excitement.

Lyanna ran from Smoke and her husband and the Kingsguards, past several people in the line with bright red hair, and ran straight into her father's waiting arms. He held her close and tight, her face pressed into the warm material of his doublet, smelling of smoke and horse and home.

The relief she felt in her chest was so palpable, she thought that she would break apart into a million little parts, seeping into the ground like a broken doll. It was several long moments before she stepped back from her father's embrace, catching the amused smiles of the Winterfell men around them, before going into Ned's arms.

He curled around her like a sweet wolf, and she pressed her nose into his hair. "Oh, Ned," she sighed, out of melancholy and pride. For one wild moment, she meant to look for Brandon and Benjen, too, but she stopped herself before she made the fool.

Benjen was safe and singular and Stark behind Winterfell's walls, and Brandon was possibly in the embrace of his Dornish lover off South.

Only when she realized the yard was totally silent did she step away from Ned's arms and back to Rhaegar, who waited patiently. The line of awaiting people instantly went to their knees, bending their necks so that all she could see was a hundred bowed heads.

"Rise," Rhaegar said, his voice strong. A hundred heads lifted, and he took her to the front of the line where an older man who could only be Lord Hoster Tully waited beside his three children.

"My prince," Lord Hoster greeted Rhaegar, inclining his head once more. "I am honored you have come to see my lady daughter married."

"It is my pleasure," Rhaegar replied. "It is my good-brother she is being matched to." The second good-brother, was the unspoken rest.

"May I present my son, Edmure, my daughter, Lysa, and of course, Catelyn." Edmure Tully was a short boy, slightly younger than Lyanna herself, with wide blue eyes that shined on Rhaegar and his princess and Kingsguards with reverent worship.

Lysa Tully was much as Lyanna remembered from the tourney, small and with dark auburn hair, and stars in her eyes for the Dragon Prince. Lyanna recalled with an amused memory how Lysa had fawned over Rhaegar at the nightly feasts of Harrenhal, before Lyanna had been betrothed or married to her silver prince. Lysa looked on Rhaegar now as if she wished she could make off with him, family and Lyanna be damned.

And Lady Catelyn, stunning in red and blue, her sunset hair spiraling brightly down her back, her pale skin a lovely contrast to eyes the color of a river. But behind those blues, Lyanna read fear, akin to the fear that she had felt in the Sept of Baelor before the who's who of the realm.

A pity overtook Lyanna, so she stepped forward and embraced Catelyn, squeezing her softly before stepping back. Catelyn curtsied to her. "My princess, it is an honor to see you once more."

Lyanna smiled gently. "And you as well, my lady. I hope that I can speak with you later, so that we may get to know one another."

Catelyn took the proposal with grace and nodded once more.

They went down the rest of the line, greeting her father and brother once more, and then they were shuffled into the castle, separating to their individual chambers. Her ladies were put in rooms that surrounded her own, which were on a floor higher than Rhaegar's own.

That night, they feasted in Riverrun's Great Hall, dining on fish and salads and foods cooked in a way that Lyanna had not yet before tasted. They sat on the dais, Lyanna mingled between her family and Rhaegar, though she spent all her time laughing with her father. Ned seemed far too nervous to contribute any conversation at all, sitting stiff next to Catelyn.

When they retired to bed, Lyanna almost followed her father to his rooms, wishing to sneak into his bed like she did when she was younger, but she refrained. She briefly considered pestering Ned, playing the little sister, but he seemed so tired, so dead on his feet, that she couldn't bear to disturb him either.

And then her eyes fell on Rhaegar, his silver hair gleaming like beaten metal against the black of his apparel. He caught her stare before she could look away, and lifted one corner of his mouth up in a smile-smirk.

Her heart fluttered at the sight and she dropped her gaze, too weak for the intensity of those purple eyes on her skin.

"Tired?" Jaime's voice was at her ear.

She glanced up. He looked tired, black circles beneath those green eyes, his pupils as small as pinpoints. As her personal guard, Jaime's rooms were directly beside her own, in case she had need of him in the middle of the night, but he looked half dead.

"I'd sooner have sword lessons," she muttered, "but I guess a good night's sleep is just as well."

Jaime chuckled, going to say something else, when Rhaegar appeared, tall and imposing and lovely. "Lyanna," he said, sending a thrill through her at the sound of her name on his silver tongue, "may I escort you to bed?"

Even the innocent phrasing of his words coupled with his voice made a hot chill shudder through her. She nodded, accepting his hand, allowing herself to be led like a child to her chambers.

When they got to her door, however, Rhaegar placed a hand on the handle of her door. "May I come in?"

She went hot and cold all over. There was hardly a more suitable place to "try" with him again, in a private room within a castle, with hopefully no ears to hear. But where she'd only previously felt nervous excitement, now she only felt sick.

"Yes," she said, going through the door. Her chambers within Riverrun were lovely and spacious, with a wide balcony that had a gorgeous view of the river below.

She made sure to close the door behind them, but before she could step away, Rhaegar trapped her there, with her back against the wood and one of his hands flat beside her head. Lyanna felt faint so suddenly, as if her very life source had drained.

"Are you well?" He asked her seriously, stroking her cheek soothingly.

She nodded, though it was a lie. She was nauseated and tired and her breasts ached with a tenderness that told her her moon blood would be coming soon; Lyanna had never been good with recording the dates nor keeping track in her mind, so listening to her body's symptoms was the only way to be warned of its impending arrival.

Rhaegar did not look as though he believed her but he accepted it nonetheless. He slid his hand from her cheek and down her neck so that he placed the flat of his palm against the heartbeat in her throat.

"How," he murmured, "did I end up with such a stunning wife?"

Despite her ill feelings, she snorted. "Because you were dumb enough to name me your queen of love and beauty."

"A decision I stand by," he smiled.

She allowed herself to smile back. "If your father wasn't out for blood at the tourney, I would have returned at the champions' call, and jousted my way through every opponent until I beat you."

A smirk had transformed his lovely, innocent face into a dangerous dragon. And she loved it. "Is that so? Care to prove it?"

"What a poor knight you are," she mocked, "challenging a helpless princess to a duel for the ego."

"I'm an excellent knight," he assured her quietly, "and you, are not helpless."

She shrugged casually, momentarily distracted from her nausea.

"I specifically remember someone wielding steel against their prince when confronted."

"And I'd do it again," she assured him.

His smile softened and he did that thing where he dragged his eyes down her skin, peeling her away so that she was naught but the soil of a bared field. "So would I."

The sudden knock at her door sent vibrations through her back. "Rhaegar," Ser Arthur's voice could be heard through the door, "Lord Hoster is ready for you."

Lyanna frowned, glancing up. But Rhaegar groaned, and bent forward to rest his forehead against the door, so that their bodies were now molded together. "I'll be right out," Rhaegar called, his voice muffled by wood.

Rhaegar waited until he heard the sound of Arthur's retreating steps, then he pulled back slightly. "I must go." He cupped her beneath her chin and turned her head so that he could press a warm kiss to the hollow of her cheekbone. "Sleep well, beautiful."

She stepped aside and allowed her husband to leave, clicking the door shut behind him, then immediately ran to empty her stomach into an empty pot near her bed.

Chapter 41: Heat

Chapter Text

Lyanna sighed happily, allowing the crisp breeze to smooth over her cheeks. She made her way to Riverrun's godswood alone, having released her ladies to mingle with the others.

The sound of the rushing river was soothing music to her ears, and the earthy, cool scents of the water settled her churning stomach. She would have to visit a maester for a sickness potion if her nausea persisted for any longer. She could only imagine the humiliation of vomiting as Ned and Catelyn promised their vows to one another.

When Lyanna finally came to the godswood though, she stopped. Lady Catelyn, in a beautiful gown of dark blue silk, sat with her back against a slim, sad weirwood, her own lovely face crumpled in dismay.

Lyanna wondered if she should turn and flee, to pretend as if she never saw the Tully girl. It might save them both the awkwardness. But then again, Lyanna did propose they get to know one another. What kind of good sister would she be if she ignored the lady's sadness?

"Lady Catelyn," she called out, stepping into the bright, airy garden.

Catelyn's head jerked up in surprise and she hastily wiped away her tears before climbing to her feet and curtsying. "Your Highness, I did not hear you approach."

Lyanna tried to smile. "Quick, quiet feet," she explained. "And please, call me Lyanna."

Catelyn dipped her head. "Of course, Lyanna."

Lyanna motioned to the heart tree. "Do you mind if I sit with you?" The weirwood watched them both sadly.

Catelyn shook her head. "No, of course not. I was just..." She trailed off in uncertainty.

Lyanna sat at the base of the heart tree, leaning her head against its trunk; she felt better already, as if the old gods seeped their life source into her bones. "My lady," she began.

"You can call me Catelyn," Catelyn said immediately, "or Cat, if you prefer. My family does."

"Cat," Lyanna smiled, "are you alright?"

Catelyn looked startled to be asked so boldly, so upfront. She settled across from Lyanna, her own back resting against an old, thick elm. "Of course, why wouldn't I be? My wedding is only three days away."

Lyanna studied the Tully girl closely, from her red-rimmed eyes to her flushed neck to the slight sheen the tears had left on her cheeks. "You were crying," she pointed out, "when I came upon you."

Catelyn seemed embarrassed. "Oh, that. I was just thinking."

Lyanna frowned, dropping her eyes. She wondered where Brandon was right this moment, if he was looking out from the cliffs of Starfall, or riding horses across the Dornish hills.

"I know Brandon shamed you," Lyanna blurted out.

Catelyn's blue eyes widened in shock. "No," she went to say.

Lyanna held a hand up. "Brandon shamed you," she affirmed in a voice that brooked no argument. "And I know he isn't here to say it, but I am sorry on his behalf."

Catelyn dropped her eyes. "That is not necessary, Your Highness."

"Call me Lyanna," she corrected again. "And it is necessary. But," she said, "I feel like I must tell you something, to ease your sadness and your embarrassment."

"That is kind...Lyanna, but you need not. I am not shamed."

"You are," Lyanna insisted, "and that is alright." She sighed, her mind going back months and months to Harrenhal. "My father was going to betroth me to Lord Robert of the House Baratheon, you know."

Catelyn seemed aware. "A fine man," she allowed diplomatically.

"A handsome man," Lyanna countered, "but not fine. I did not want to marry him."

Catelyn cocked her head in confusion. "Why not?"

"Because," Lyanna explained, "I saw his ways clear as day. He already got a bastard on some girl in the Vale, and there were rumors of more. He flirted with the serving wenches and eyed the ladies. I knew he'd be no different within the confines of our union."

Catelyn's mouth formed a circle. "I see."

"I got lucky," Lyanna realized aloud. "Rhaegar would never treat me with such dishonor."

Catelyn smiled small. "The prince is noble and honorable."

"He is," Lyanna agreed. And then she said, "And so is Ned."

Catelyn's eyes flashed up quick as a snake, her cheeks coloring at having been caught in her thoughts. She seemed to war within herself, until finally she admitted, "He - Eddard - does not speak much. Brandon...he used to speak to me, and make me laugh."

Despite the melancholy of the situation, Lyanna smiled, remembering her wild wolf and his mischief and smiles. "Brandon is something." She sighed, straightening her spine. "And he can make anyone smile, but Ned will be better for you."

Catelyn's vulnerability showed clearly in her face. "You truly think so?"

Lyanna nodded without hesitance. "He will. You may have known Brandon, wanted Brandon even, but you would not have been happy with Brandon."

Catelyn waited patiently, listening to her.

Lyanna continued. "If you had married Brandon, you would have grown to resent him, despise him even. You'd be forced to walk Winterfell, trying to ignore the children running around that had his face and another woman's blood."

Catelyn dropped her eyes, frowning as she thought of the picture Lyanna painted.

Lyanna continued, "Ned is patient and kind and loyal. You will never want for anything nor suffer. He might even grow to love you, and you him."

At that, some ghost of a smile crossed Catelyn's mouth. "He does seem kind," she allowed, "if stern."

"What seems stern," Lyanna explained, "is only shyness. He can be warm as a summer's day if you have his heart."

Catelyn's smile grew bigger with slight hesitance. "You think I can win his heart?"

"You're quite pretty. And Ned never thought his match would be an excellent one. Yet here you sit. And you're sweet. Ned has always needed a sweet lady for his gentle soul."

A different sort of flush graced Catelyn's cheeks. Lyanna grinned, feeling satisfied with her work. She stood, dusting the leaves off her gown. "I think I shall go to the yard to watch the men fight, but I hope to see you later, Cat."

Lyanna began to walk away, but Cat's voice stopped her. "Thank you, Lyanna. Ned is lucky to have you as a sister."

Lyanna turned her head to smile back. "I'll be yours soon, too."

Knights and squires and lords of all different bearings littered the training yard like a mob of ants, chattering and circling and eyeing one another. There was a vast myriad of sigils in attendance: the ravens and weirwood of House Blackwood, the twin towers of Frey, the bats of Whent, the red stallion of House Bracken, a silver eagle for the Mallisters, the leaping trout of Riverrun, guardsmen in Targaryen colors, the snarling wolf of his wife's House, and finally, the black stag of House Baratheon.

Robert Baratheon had ridden in one day after Rhaegar's party had arrived; the Stormlord had come to see his best friend married, and, to Rhaegar's suspicion, see a glimpse of Lyanna.

Rhaegar had successfully managed to avoid Robert for the most part, but as the wedding preparations were still being made, there was scarce to do in the castle but sit and talk, or meet in the yard.

So Rhaegar had woken to a beautiful crisp spring day, broke his fast, donned his golden ringmail, and walked to Riverrun's training yard with Arthur, Oswell, and Jaime, who all had stripped their white Kingsguard armor and wore cream-enameled chainmail and white breeches and boots instead.

The yard was packed, but thankfully large enough to accommodate all the visitors. With so much commotion, Rhaegar and his White Swords were able to slip in largely unnoticed.

Rhaegar's hand itched for Fire, his Valyrian steel wedding sword, whose blade ran deep with the colors of flame - but Fire was in King's Landing, and its steel could flay stag and stallion and trout alike with just a flick of the wrist. Instead, he chose a blunted tourney sword, as everyone else had, twisting it in his palm.

Because of their stealth entrance, and position beneath the covered part of the yard where the weapons were, Rhaegar could hear the words of the four Frey and Bracken knights clear as a whistle.

"Oh, are you kidding me? The princess is about as frigid as an Other."

"But more comely by far," another mocked.

"Yeah, whatever," one droned, "one night with me and she won't be so cold. I could show her a thing or two that Dragon Prince don't know."

"You know nothing," his friend laughed, "besides how to play with yourself."

"Oh shut up, Patreck. That whore from Oldtown told me I was the best she ever had."

"She was paid to tell you that, jackass."

"Yeah, well no matter if it was my coin or my cock, she said it all the same. Besides," he said, "that prince is too pretty by half. Pretty men can't fight or fuck; I wouldn't trust him in bed or on the battlefield."

Rhaegar seethed silently. He could have had their tongues ripped out for their insolence on the spot, let their blood stain the floors red. Arthur wouldn't hesitate to grace their filthy mouths with Dawn's blade, but Rhaegar's hands itched something fierce, something hot for Fire.

The way that they talked about Lyanna, his princess, angered him more than anything they could have said against him. The mental image of Lyanna with anyone else made poison bubble up in his blood.

Let them harbor their doubts, let them joke about my prowess, he thought with venom. He had mail and a sword and a yard, and they had woken the dragon.

Lyanna had arrived to the training yard just as Ser Jaime had bested a knight of House Mallister; the two shook hands and separated, as a knight in service of House Frey took to the center.

Lyanna grimaced from where she stood atop the wraparound balcony that overlooked the training yard; ever since Harrenhal and Howland Reed's beating, Lyanna did not trust anyone associated with House Frey, no matter their blood or station.

The Frey knight grinned arrogantly, asking for a challenger. It was a moment before someone tall stepped in, his long silver hair playing metallic off his golden mail hauberk. Rhaegar looked like some avenging hero, with the fire in his eyes.

Though his eyes burned, his body was casual as he stepped forward. The Frey knight circled so that his back was to her, and she could see every little thing Rhaegar did - from the easy way that he moved his sword lazily from hand to hand, to the manner in which he stretched and flexed his fingers around the hilt.

Heat crept through her. And then the fight began. Rhaegar and the other knight were at an almost even height, but the advantage was on Rhaegar.

Her dragon was quick and lethal, and he cut at the Frey knight impossibly fast, their steel ringing together like some lovely song. For every step the Frey knight took back, Rhaegar was on him, almost chest to chest. They parried their blows violently, as if they fought on the field of battle rather than the yard of an ally.

Just watching Rhaegar in action, the way his arms and legs moved so gracefully, yet so inhuman, made her want to jump out of her skin. Forget beautiful, forget wealthy, forget high of birth - her husband was a warrior, and it made her want to shed her skin and bones.

The duel was over in less than two minutes, and only because Rhaegar had allowed it to go on for that long. He begrudgingly took the other man's hand and shook it - hard, it seemed, because the man in Frey livery winced in pain before sulking to a corner with his tail between his legs.

Lyanna felt her heartbeats coming quick, and it was all she could do not to just shout in frustration. Her skin crawled and she felt out of it, heat blazing through her. But unlike the past month, when all she'd been was melting, melting, melting, now she welcomed the heat, like a dragon warming to its fire.

And as if he could feel the weight of her eyes on him, Rhaegar looked up, freezing for an instant before lifting one side of his mouth up. Lyanna's lips parted, her breath shallow; even his smile made her sweat.

She turned quickly without acknowledging him and strode into the castle, making for her chambers. Her veins were razed, her skin crawling with an uninhibited anticipation that she had no idea how to quell.

She had made it all the way to her door when she remembered she'd allowed her ladies use of the room for the day. Their chatter could be heard through the wooden door, happy and insistent.

She grimaced. Lyanna could not deal with "ladies talk" at that moment, so she went for Rhaegar's room instead. He was down in the yard, and probably would be for quite some time, so there was no chance of him needing it.

When she got there, servants were clearing away old plates of food from the table. "Would you mind preparing a bath please?" She asked them, keeping the edge out of her voice that she knew would be there otherwise.

One servant nodded, going to leave, but she said, "The hottest water you can find." She wanted to bathe in fire. The servant nodded again, and brought the others with him as he left.

Lyanna went to Rhaegar's balcony, one that was much like her own, and looked to the waters shimmering far as the eye could see. The wind blew soft and cool at her skin, but it was heat she wanted. Heat.

The servants brought up a large wooden tub that was shaped like an oversized soup bowl, big and round and deep. Over the inside and edges of the tub, they had laid hot towels that seeped their heat in thin wisps of steam.

She continued to look out over the river for a long time as they filled the tub with hot water, enjoying the peace and tranquility of Riverrun. But just as the last dregs of water were being poured into the bath, Rhaegar appeared.

In his ringmail, he looked dangerous and beautiful and deadly. His pale face was flushed and his silver hair limp with sweat, beads of it dotting his hairline like crystals. Lyanna felt her mouth go dry as a desert.

"What's this?" He asked as the servants picked up their pails and skittered away silently.

She was too proud to say that watching him in the yard, with a sword in his hand, made her want to jump out of her skin, to melt the frustration right away with a scalding bath...so she offered, "I thought you might like a bath after a day in the yard."

She hadn't realized how long it had taken the servants to prepare the bath, but the early colorings of twilight painted the sky lilac and the river indigo. The tub had been situated at the mouth of the balcony, so that you could look out over the water as you soaked.

"Thank you," Rhaegar said with a small smile. "I'm sure I could use it. All that swordplay has me sweating through my mail."

She brushed her eyes down his body. "I can see that." There was a loaded moment of utter silence, and it was more than she could take. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

"Wait," he said after her, "was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

She turned, frowning. "No, why?"

"Oh," he said, "well you were waiting here. I thought you might need to."

"No," she said, fidgeting but making no move to leave again.

Rhaegar studied her closely, scrutinizing her every move, her face, her hands. He swallowed heavily, teething his bottom lip with those sharp white teeth. "Would you," he murmured very slowly, "like to join me?"

Her eyes flicked to the bath, at the steam rolling off the water and the soaked towels plastered to the tub, the gentle sway of the water beneath the hand of a breeze. She shouldn't, there was no reason to.

And yet...the thought of feeling his slick skin against hers, much like their first and only time together, made that frustrated, jump-out-of-her-skin feeling far more pronounced.

"Okay," she heard herself say.

If Rhaegar was surprised, he didn't show it. Lyanna went to shut the door and barred it carefully, making sure no one could come into his room to disturb them. Then she turned back around, frozen on spot at the sight of him pulling the heavy mail off his body, throwing it to the ground in a thick metallic heap.

She shuddered, bending to pick at the laces of her boots, but still watching as he peeled his sweat-soaked tunic off his chest. The ridges of his torso played as he flexed, the pale skin shifting over hard bones and muscle. She shucked her boots off.

Next came his belt and breeches, both going to a pile on the floor. Lyanna pulled apart the laces at the front of her gown, momentarily distracted as she shouldered off the dress, pulling it down her hips and legs.

Rhaegar stepped into the hot water, naked as his name day. Lyanna stood still as a statue, left only in a thin shift, much like the one she'd worn when she'd taken him inside her weeks ago.

Surely Rhaegar wasn't expecting her to get completely nude; he wasn't that kind of man. But she found she wanted to. She wanted nothing obstructing her skin from the water...or his hands.

Clearing away her anxiety, she peeled off the shift and threw it to the ground, pulling her hair forward to cover her breasts. Then, naked and without a stitch of clothing for modesty, she padded toward the tub, stepping inside.

Rhaegar had his eyes closed, but he opened them when she settled in across from him. The tub was so large and round that he could relax with his arms around the edge and his legs splayed, while she sat before him.

She gathered her knees up and banded both her arms around them, reveling in the pure heat of the water. "You were good," she said quietly, "in the yard."

A shadow passed over his face quickly. "Thank you. I didn't expect to see you there."

She shrugged. "I went to the godswood briefly, but I wanted to see some fighting."

He smirked, laying his head back. "You would."

She hid her smile by looking down, but grimaced when she pushed her chest into her knees. Her breasts were so tender, and the movement caused a spasm of pain.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, sitting up.

"Nothing," she was quick to say.

"Yes there is," he insisted firmly. "Tell me."

She squeezed her eyes closed. There was no way she was telling him her breasts were tender; that was far too intimate to share. Instead, she lied. "My back has been hurting all day. It's sore, that's all."

"Oh," he said, "come here then."

She furrowed her brows, glancing up. "What?"

"I'll rub your back," he explained. "Make you feel better." She shook her head but Rhaegar persisted. "Yes, now come here before I have to force you."

What if I want you to? She thought to herself boldly. Instead she inched forward, turning so that her back was to him. He gripped her hips softly and pulled her back into the apex of his thighs. Then he sat forward so that is chest dropped water onto her back.

His fingers started out at the base of her spine, inching upward with careful pressure. She moaned immediately, involuntarily. "Feel good?" He asked, a smile in his tone. She nodded back, too relaxed to care.

The tub sat in the opening of the balcony, so that she could see leagues of river before her, shimmering purple in the descension of evening. Cool air brushed her skin, while her body boiled in hot water.

She sank deeper into Rhaegar's chest, so that he had to lean back against the tub; they were so close that he had a difficult time finding her spine, but she didn't care.

She snaked her hands back and pulled his away from her spine, entwining all ten of his fingers with her own; she held their hands up to see and stared in fascination at the way his long fingers dwarfed her own.

Then, without meaning to, her mind went back to their only time coupling, in that marbled bath in Rhaegar's rooms in Maegor's; she recalled the way those long fingers had played her like a harp, bringing her to a cliff's edge, awaiting something wonderful, something scary.

She had stopped him before she could find out what that something was.

She didn't want to stop now. She laid both his palms flat against her stomach, pressing them to the skin, and she could swear she felt heat bubbling in her belly, like a dragon's purr.

Rhaegar heaved a great sigh, clutching his fingers into her stomach gently. She could feel his heartbeat in her back, could feel his arousal at the base of her spine. She took a deep breath of his scent and let her head fall back into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Rhaegar shifted, pulling her impossibly closer to him before pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She played her fingers through his absently, her eyes closed. She wanted him to touch her like he had all those weeks before, wanted him to bring her to that edge again, to bring her over it.

She bent her knee and braced a foot against the edge of the tub, melting into his hold. Her heart was beating furiously, but she gathered enough courage to take his right hand in hers again, pushing it down her hip and to the inside of her thigh.

She shifted her hips up just slightly, causing his hand to fall deeper between her legs. He seemed to understand. "Are you sure?" He whispered into her ear.

She nodded, sinking lower into the water. Rhaegar gripped the inside of one of her thighs momentarily, breathing heavily into her ear, before slipping his hand between her legs. Sparks of pleasure slithered through her instantly at the mere brush of his fingers against her sex, rendering her useless but to lay against his chest and feel.

He slipped his finger up and down, teasing her until she felt a flush spread over her entire body - a heat that had absolutely nothing to do with the bath. Her breath came ragged, and she knew he could hear the way he was affecting her, the way he was playing her, but she didn't care.

All she cared about was his fingers touching her, pressing circles into that little nub at the top of her sex like he had the first time, causing her so much pleasure she felt ready to jump out of her own body, straining against the very skin that contained her.

Lyanna lifted her head and turned to kiss her dragon - his lips were hot and swollen and tasted sweet. She slipped her tongue into his mouth the same moment he slipped his fingers into her.

She shuddered violently, kissing him harder. He continued to move his fingers inside and out, slowly, insistently, discovering.

She was suddenly back on that precipice, that cliffside he'd taken her to that first time, the feeling of approaching something big. Her chest was shaking, like when she had to sneeze, a stuttering crescendo of breath.

"I," she said uselessly against his mouth. Her thoughts were a tangle that she could not decipher, his fingers turning her brain to jelly.

But he knew all the same. "It's okay," he murmured, "let it happen. It feels good, I promise."

She closed her eyes, obeying him. Rhaegar's fingers worked her with more pressure, his thumb stroking over that nub, again and again and again and...

The fire in her gut exploded suddenly and fiercely, with no warning at all. She gasped into Rhaegar's mouth, paralyzed, as a thousand different tendrils of pure, unadulterated ecstasy shot through her. He swallowed every moan she made, endured the way her fingers roughly dug into his forearms as she rode out the most intense pleasure she'd ever felt in her entire life.

It seemed to last forever and not at all, both at once. Time seemed to spend differently with Rhaegar touching her, so that she didn't know how long it lasted, how long he made her see stars beneath her eyes.

Though eventually when she opened them, her pleasure abated and night having fallen over the black Riverlands, she realized no star could compare.

Chapter 42: The Union of the Wolf and Trout

Chapter Text

Eddard and Catelyn's wedding day bloomed crisp and bright, the gods old and new having blessed their union with clear skies and tranquil waters. Overhead, birds pierced the miles and miles of pure blue day, singing their high, chirping songs as they wound about the sky on outstretched wings.

It was an altogether brighter event than had been Rhaegar and Lyanna's own wedding day, though far less lavish than his royal ceremony. King's Landing had drowned beneath the weight of a grey, weeping sky the day he had placed his dragoncloak over Lyanna's tense shoulders in the Sept of Baelor, as if the clouds themselves cursed their union. Contrary, the Riverlands thrived at the prospect of a wolf catching a trout, pure joy emanating from every walk of life.

Riverrun's sept, a large sandstone building of seven sides, was situated in the lush gardens beneath the castle's shadow; there, the flowers grew wild and bright, reds and yellows and purples abloom, and the grass was as thick and soft as velvet, both filling the air with their earthy fragrances. Those deemed less important of the guests stood outside the sept's entrance, admidst the gardens, awaiting the bride and groom's exit to the feast.

The attendance inside the sept counted Riverrun's most powerful of bannermen, Blackwoods and Brackens and Darrys and Mallisters and Whents, whom took up a majority of the sept with their bodies. At the front, in the shadows of Ned and Lady Catelyn and the painted images of the Mother and Father, were the bride and groom's families: Lord Hoster, Lysa, Edmure, and Ser Brynden the Blackfish at the front left, and across the aisle, Lord Rickard, Lyanna, and Rhaegar.

And behind Lyanna, Lord Robert Baratheon stood tall with Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, who had arrived deep into the night with a dozen knights of the Vale.

Rhaegar could practically feel the weight of Robert's stare on Lyanna for her; and yet, he could not fault the Stormlord, as much as Rhaegar disliked his attention. Lyanna was as beautiful as beauty could be on this day.

For her brother's wedding, Lyanna wore the dress Rhaegar had gifted her only a few weeks ago, just before they had left for Riverrun. The gown was a lovely confection of scarlet velvet, with long dagged sleeves whose insides were lined in black satin, and a flowing skirt that pooled to the floor like a puddle of blood. The bodice was cut low in the front in a deep vee, but the black lace corset she wore beneath granted her modesty, though the swell of her cleavage still showed.

Atop her head was her own royal crown that Rhaegar had designed and given her on their wedding day within the Great Sept of Baelor: a flower crown wrought of black iron for the vines, glistening sapphires for the likeness of winter roses, and diamonds fashioned as drops of morning dew. The crown was there to assert and remind the people of her position as Rhaegar's princess and future queen.

And in that same vein, Rhaegar donned his own crown - a slim circlet of spun gold embedded with chunks of shimmering crystals that banded around his brow. For the wedding he'd worn black leather breeches tucked into tall boots, with a black tunic and a doublet of pale samite that was worked through with silver thread.

The ceremony was quick and somber, though Lady Catelyn was resplendent in a gown of ivory, her sunset hair flowing down her back in ringlets. Lyanna's brother, Ned, was as grim as ever, in the colors of his House, and did not twitch to even smile as he placed his direwolf cloak to replace the trout over the Tully girl's back. Rhaegar could make out tears in Lady Catelyn Stark's eyes as she turned to appreciate the claps of their attendees, tears that shimmered as brightly as the crystals in Rhaegar's crown.

Arm in arm, Ned and his bride strode down the aisle and outside, applause heralding their exit from the sept. As per the traditions of deference, Lord Rickard, Lyanna, and Rhaegar were permitted to leave first, the Tully family following behind. Though, when they made it outside, Lyanna had to steal away to the sept's side, leaning against the sandstone with a weary expression.

Rhaegar frowned, following her. "Lyanna, what's wrong?" He murmured, bending to catch her eye.

She looked up, and the movement made the sun catch on her crown, the sapphire winter roses glittering insanely bright. "I do not feel well."

He dragged the back of his knuckles across her cheek; she positively burned, like the heat of a brazier, though her skin was glowing as pale as ever, no hint of red or pink in her complexion. "Perhaps you should lay down?" He suggested.

She shook her head. "No, this is my brother's wedding. I have to be at the feast. I'll just," she paused, taking a breath, "see the maester quickly."

"I'll go with you," Rhaegar offered immediately.

"No," she said, "one of us must be there at the start. It wouldn't do to have both the prince and princess missing."

In spite of his concern, he smiled, the spill of her dutiful royal words humoring him. Then she groaned again, causing his frown to deepen. He had hoped the wedding would make her happy, put her in a good mood, so that he could propose laying together once more.

They had only done it the once, in the warmth of his bath that first time in Maegor's Holdfast; in the tub in his rooms within Riverrun, she had guided his hand between her legs, but they had gone no farther. He had gathered enough courage to suggest they try once more for a babe, assuming that seeing her brother wed would lift her spirits.

But with Lyanna ill, Rhaegar did not feel it was such a good idea anymore to crawl between her legs, for the good of the realm or not.

"I'll be quick," Lyanna promised, her eyes open and bright. Though unwell, her skin shone like milkglass. "And then I'll join you at the feast."

"Okay," he conceded.

The feast had been going for half an hour, the wine and food and songs flowing. At the dais, Catelyn and Ned were seated in the middle, their families surrounding them. Rickard was to Ned's right, then came Lyanna's empty seat, then Rhaegar. Lyanna had been with the maester for thirty minutes, and with each second that went by, Rhaegar felt more unease building in his chest.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he should seek her out. Lord Hoster would surely point out the maester's chambers, but Rhaegar had agreed to let her go alone. And so, he ate the first two courses of the meal, speaking with his Kingsguards and Lord Rickard, who respectfully ignored his daughter's absence.

It was when the second course was being cleared away, and the third course distributed, that Rhaegar saw Lyanna appear in the entrance of the Great Hall. She filled the doorway like a vision of beauty, her crimson dress burning like a ruby, her crown glistening black and blue. Lord Robert Baratheon had taken notice of her, too, as well as many of the younger knights and lords and squires seated at the trestle tables below.

Ser Jaime appeared at Lyanna's side, offering her his arm, but for once, Rhaegar did not feel that gnawing suspicion he had whenever they were together, ever since Ser Lewyn had planted that black seed in his mind. Lyanna did not even seem to notice Jaime there, her eyes like hooks in Rhaegar's skin, heavy and piercing.

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, on guard at the look she leveled him with. It was not a bad look, per se, but loaded, meaningful somehow. A herald at the door called out her arrival as the room stood in respect. "Lyanna of the Houses Stark and Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms!"

Lyanna did not seem to see or hear anything but Rhaegar as she strode down the aisle toward him, alone as she abandoned the page in Tully livery waiting to escort her. No one but Rhaegar and a choice few others appeared to notice the fire burning in her eyes, and by the time she made her way up to her empty seat, Rhaegar's skin was aflame.

She sat primly in her seat, the room returning to its cacophonous rumble as the guests sat, and turned to him. "What's the matter?" He heard himself ask, leaning closer.

Her lips parted as she drank in his breath, and she met his eyes. "I'm pregnant."

The world seemed to go dead and dark for Rhaegar, and the only light was Lyanna there before him, pale and glowing in velvet and sapphires, her expression one of astonishment and bewilderment. "You're what?" He asked dumbly. No, she couldn't be, they'd only done it the one time.

Rhaegar had given her weeks of time to really come to terms with her duty, never pressuring or raising the subject of coupling again. He hadn't expected his one time inside her, spilling his seed in her, to result in a babe. He'd only thought it was one in a long line of couplings they'd have to complete to get their heir; his own mother always had a difficult time getting with child, even though that held no bearing on Lyanna's womb. He'd just assumed...

Lyanna's eyes widened as if she couldn't believe it either. "Pregnant," she repeated. "I spoke with the maester. I've been feeling ill for a couple of weeks now, and though I'm not usually good at remembering, I do recall my last moon blood coming before I took you to Flea Bottom."

Rhaegar laughed breathlessly. "You're pregnant." His prince, his promised prince, he could have cried at the sheer joy unfurling in his heart. Instead, he took hold of her face and surprised her by pressing his lips to hers, a soft and gentle kiss to express just how much this news meant to him.

It was the heralding of a new era. This development marked the beginning of the end of his father's mad reign, marked the timid start of the Eternal Summer his three wolf-dragons would eventually bring about. Lyanna pregnant meant his mother's safety, the prosperity of the realm and the savior of its ultimate doom.

When they pulled apart, Lyanna seemed properly dazed, though some lingerings of wonderous incredulity were still etched in her face. Rhaegar had half a mind to stand up and announce their good news to the hall, to have the people bask and share in their happiness of the realm's new royal babe. But he didn't.

It would not do to have his father learn of Lyanna's pregnancy last, no matter if Rhaegar wished the king would never lay eyes on her again - not since Aerys equated her to Joanna Lannister, his lion love. It was by Westerosi tradition that the king and queen would announce a royal pregnancy, and to do otherwise was severe disrespect.

It is disrespect I hesitate over, Rhaegar thought with dark irony, when I plan to take his throne.

"And now?" Lyanna asked, almost reading his mind. No doubt she was recalling the sounds of his mother's rape by his mad father's hands, and the way she had run to Rhaegar first, seeking his help.

He carded his fingers through her hair, avoiding the iron spikes of her crown. "Tell no one but your father and brother, and swear them to secrecy. The Kingsguards, too, if you like." He thought of Ser Jaime, golden and young, pressing his hand to Lyanna's belly; the arrogant lion was not so arrogant with the wolf princess around, much to Rhaegar's bewilderment. "With caution," he advised. "The realm must wait to learn after the king is told."

At the mention of Aerys, Lyanna's eyes grew dark. She leaned close enough to brush her cheek against his, and then she put her lips at his ear. "And when will you dethrone him?"

Rhaegar gripped her hand. "Soon, Princess. Soon."

The feast was in full swing by nightfall, the seven courses of dinner having been devoured by the several hundred guests in attendance. Though the food was gone, the drink still flowed freely, sweetwine and Dornish red and Arbor gold and spiced ale. Lyanna sipped at the juice of an apple, steering clear of alcohol altogether; Old Nan had always said that if a woman drank wine or ale whilst pregnant, her babe would eventually emerge hideously malformed, with the scales of a lizard and the leather wings of a bat.

Lyanna wanted no such thing.

Into the night, the men grew lively and bold, twirling maidens and ladies across the floor with laughter and japes. Ned sat stiff as a log at his place on the dais, Catelyn, though lovely beside him, a dim shadow of her typical brightness. Lyanna frowned and approached Ned, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Dance with me?"

At the sight of his sister, Ned smiled, standing immediately to take her hand and lead her to the floor. She ignored the startling blue eyes of Robert Baratheon, tucking into Ned's hold as they began to dance amongst the guests.

"You are making your new wife unhappy," Lyanna accused lightly, sending her brother a look of pitiful understanding.

Ned sighed. "I do not seem to know how to do otherwise. I am not Brandon."

"True," Lyanna conceded. "You are you, you are Ned."

He shook his head in fond exasperation. "That doesn't seem to curry me much favor with my bride."

"You aren't trying," Lyanna insisted. "I spoke with her, you know, just a few days ago."

"Catelyn?" Ned seemed surprised.

Lyanna nodded. "Yes, she seemed nervous and scared about the wedding. You may be sweet as a lamb with those you are close to, but to strangers you are grim and solemn. And that is all well and fine, but Catelyn is your wife now. You mustn't treat her like a stranger, unless you wish your marriage to be an unhappy one."

"I don't," Ned frowned, pausing. "But I wasn't meant for any of this. It was all supposed to be Brandon's - Lady Catelyn, Winterfell, title of Warden of the North."

"Brandon is gone," Lyanna reminded him, "and it is up to you to be all those things now. Starting as husband to Catelyn."

Ned nodded seriously, dropping his head like a boy reproached by his mother.

"After this song is done, you should ask her to dance," Lyanna told him. "She'll like that. Make her smile, be kind, give her what she wants. She's no doubt as scared as can be with the bedding approaching, and you wooing her will only make things easier."

Ned glanced up, his mouth forming a half-smirk. "When did you get so wise, sweet sister? Are the maesters teaching you lessons down in the capital?"

Lyanna rolled her eyes, punching his shoulder lightly. "No, you're just stupid." When the song ended, she pulled her brother into a hug, squeezing him tightly.

"It is so good to see you, Lya," he mumbled into her hair, a wisp of nostalgia coloring his tone.

She smiled, squeezing her eyes closed. "I'm pregnant," she whispered back.

Ned reared back, shock plain on his face. "You are?!"

She shushed him sternly. "You mustn't tell a soul. I'll tell Father myself, once the wedding excitement has died down, but no one else can know until the king officially announces it."

Lyanna still wasn't sure how she felt about it; once Riverrun's maester had confirmed she was indeed with child, all Lyanna felt was shock. Of course she knew having sex with Rhaegar could result in a child, but it seemed more like a far off possibility, like the idea of one day being married when she was only a young girl still in Winterfell - she'd regarded a child as the possibility that came about with numerous attempts, not just one.

Ned nodded seriously once more and plucked her hand to kiss lovingly.

"Go now," she told him, "woo your bride."

Lyanna partnered with half a dozen different men after that: Jory Cassel of Winterfell, Arthur and Oswell, a Mallister knight of Seagard, Lord Jon Arryn, even Ser Jaime, who twirled her expertly across the floor, murmuring mean things about the Freys that made her laugh. Jaime's presence eased the glaring absence of Brandon and Benjen the tiniest bit.

Then Rhaegar came, tall and noble and beautiful with his golden and crystal crown around his brow. Her silver dragon with the fire in his eyes. She tried very hard not to think about how his fingers had stroked between her legs mere days before.

"May I have this dance?"

She nodded, pulling away from Ser Jaime and came into Rhaegar's arms. He was so tall that in order to speak in her ear, he had to wilt over her like a flower bending to the wind. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

Her heart stuttered. "You have not."

"Well you are," he said. "Beautiful. I've never seen you anything but."

She snorted softly, recalling the memory of her dazed and bloody in the godswood of Harrenhal after her winning joust, weak at the base of the heart tree as she stumbled and swayed before the prince and his two White Knights. "Even when you caught me at Harrenhal? My lip bleeding and my sword pointed at your throat..."

"Even then," he vowed, tugging her tighter against his body. "You were something wild and clean, not of my world, and I had never seen anyone so lovely."

His words left her breathless and muddled her mind so badly, it was all she could do to stay upright. Thankfully, she had no need to reply, as the shouts and jeers for the bedding rang out, demanding Ned and Catelyn to be put to bed.

Catelyn lifted her chin as the men and women came to separate her from her husband, but almost immediately her expression fell into dismay as grabby Northern and Riverland hands stripped and peeled away her dress, all the while ushering her out of the hall. Rhaegar remained with Lyanna in the hall as Catelyn was pushed half-naked to her marriage bed. Lyanna made sure to keep her eyes off her brother.

When the crowd had left, the hall was quiet, left with only a smattering of people, which included Lord Hoster and Brynden Blackfish and Lyanna's father, as well as a sleeping Edmure Tully and the Kingsguards. Rhaegar went to tell the Kingsguards they were released for the night as Rickard beckoned his daughter over.

"My sweet love," her father smiled at her, standing to press a kiss to her cheeks.

"Father," she said back happily, the joy of the wedding keeping her at peace, despite the fear and anxiousness warring within her at the thought of returning to King's Landing pregnant.

"I'm off to bed," he told her, "these long nights are not made for old men like me."

Lyanna frowned. "You are not old."

Rickard chuckled. "Oh, my child, sooner or later the old gods will come to collect me and I will sit beneath Winterfell for all my days."

Lyanna did not want to think of her father's death. "I'm choosing to believe you'll live forever, thank you very much."

Rickard smiled again, one of the rare ones he only afforded his daughter. "Good night, my girl, I will see you in the morning."

Lyanna hugged him tightly. When they pulled apart, Rickard looked over her shoulder and reached out a hand to shake. "Your Highness," he said respectfully to Rhaegar.

Rhaegar placed one hand on the small of Lyanna's back, and shook her father's hand with the other. "My lord, I hope you sleep well. I must get my wife to bed as well."

Rickard cocked a brow at his daughter. "Tired so soon? Has the feast worn the little wolf out?"

Lyanna looked up into her father's eyes, those kind eyes that belonged to the man that had been her protector for her entire life - the man that had given her her first horse, Meraxes, who had picked her up when she fell, who had helped her walk and talk and live. "Father," she said quietly, stepping closer although Lord Hoster and Ser Brynden were far enough away to not overhear. "I am with child."

Rickard's eyes widened, flicking once to Rhaegar, then back to Lyanna. "Truly?"

She nodded, biting her lip. Her father smiled at her sadly then wrapped her up in another hug before grasping Rhaegar's hand in congratulations.

"To the future king," Rickard said with grave solemnity, staring into Rhaegar's indigo eyes. Lyanna furrowed her brows; did her father know about Rhaegar's plans?

True to his word, Rhaegar led her to her rooms after Rickard had departed, pushing her gently with a hand on her back. Her mind was filled with images of a swollen belly, of their babe, though its coloring seemed to change from silver hair with lilac eyes to brown hair with Rhaegar's eyes then to silver hair with silver eyes.

She wasn't sure which she preferred, but all at once her thoughts darkened, shifting to another time, a different place - a black tent amidst a field of bright silk, yellowed eyes and a gummy mouth beneath a dark cowl, Maggy the Frog's fortune at Harrenhal.

'Your maidenhead will stay intact long after your wedding night,' Maggy had promised, 'but you will birth children. Three to be exact.' What else had the crone said? 'Your three children will be the greatest that the world has ever seen, your firstborn the Promised One.'

Lyanna touched her stomach as they walked. Could she carry her "promised child" in her belly? Or was Maggy the Frog just a crazy drunk who had played her for a fool? She chanced a glance up at Rhaegar and felt her blood heat up.

His crown shimmered in the moonlight shafting through the windows and his pale hair seemed to glow like molten silver. She felt fire fill her veins, and she wondered with shock and consternation if the dragon babe inside her belly was the one filling her with such strong cravings to devour its father.

No matter the reason, she felt it. And hard. Without warning, she twisted and pulled Rhaegar's face down to hers. Their lips crashed together hungrily, even despite Rhaegar's being caught off guard. The kiss started out hot...and only got hotter.

He didn't ask her questions, or wonder what she was doing, he just flattened her against the wall with his body, roaming his hands up the sides of her hips and ribs. She tasted him with hunger in her soul, pressing hard against him in the vain hope she could crawl inside his body to get as close as possible. His tongue was wine and tarts, his teeth sharp and deadly on her skin.

She raked her little fingers through his hair and tugged, eliciting from him a moan that reverberated through her lips. The vibration of his sound sent shivers down her body. His hands inched upward and with subtle grace, he dragged his thumbs beneath the curves of her heavy, tender breasts; though where touch to her chest usually sent her grimacing in pain, his touch only made her ache.

But just as soon as the fire was kindled, it was extinguished. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" Lysa Tully stood guiltily at the mouth of the hall, her blue eyes wide with shock at discovering the prince and princess groping each other in a dim corridor. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Lyanna blurted out, her voice strained and her body more than humming with fiery life.

Lysa nodded with a jerk of her head then bolted from sight like a dragon was on her heels. Hot embarrassment made Lyanna's cheeks burn, and she felt her boldness slipping away. She wondered if she would ever be brave enough to just take what was hers by rights; sure she was already pregnant so there was no need, but no one would look down on her for laying with her husband.

Still, the thought of so casually taking Rhaegar inside her made Lyanna both strung out with desire and extremely confused.

"Maybe I should go to bed," Lyanna said with more than a little disappointment in her tone.

She glanced up as he blew out a breath. Be braver than me, she thought at him, suggest what I can't seem to. But Rhaegar studied her, lust clear in his gaze, before saying, "Yes, maybe you should."

Chapter 43: Hushed Treason

Chapter Text

It was a hard thing to leave Riverrun, the sky a bleak vault of slate grey, the clouds curdling with the promise of a storm. The sun, which had been their companion for the entirety of their stay, had retreated to some far corner, hiding its warmth and light.

It was a harder thing still to leave her family once again, far more difficult than it had been to separate from Brandon, Ned, and Benjen at Harrenhal; then, she had held close to the promise that they would see each other again soon, when they came for her wedding to the prince.

But now, having become acclimated once more to the warm peace of family, it felt like shreds of her soul were being ripped apart as she was pulled into her father's embrace, her face muffled by the warmth and smell of his fur-trimmed cloak as he murmured his goodbye into her hair.

Ned had come next, embracing her with a tender brother's arms. "I'll miss you," she whispered near his ear, sadness sucking every ounce of happiness from her bones.

"We'll see each other soon," he promised.

Lyanna squeezed her eyes shut as Maggy the Frog's voice filled her head like the chorus of a thousand screams: 'And you will only ever go home to Winterfell once more in your life.'

She did not want to think on that part of the fortune, wanted to forget the entire thing if she was being honest. But it was there, insistent in her mind, pulsing like a big black bruise that throbbed any time she thought on it.

Lady Catelyn made sure to bid Lyanna goodbye as well before she rode off with the Stark party, her red hair bright against the grey-and-white direwolf banners streaming in the wind. Lyanna was achingingly jealous, wanting to steal away into one of the wagons until she felt snow upon her face again.

But what made the day worse - worse than the angry clouds gathering above, worse than having to leave her family once more - was the fact that Rhaegar absolutely refused to let her mount Smoke.

Lyanna had dressed that morning for riding, leather breeches and a long black tunic that had Rhaegar's smell to it, her trusty soft-leathered boots and a thick cloak with a large hood thrown over it all.

But when she met the Targaryen party in the entrance yard, Rhaegar sighed. "No," was all he had to say for her to know.

And it marked the first time she had ever truly fought with Rhaegar since they had been married.

"This is ridiculous," she'd shouted, rage filling her with wild abandon. She'd become so angry so quickly, somewhere deep in her mind, she feared for what she might do.

"It isn't," Rhaegar said with maddening care.

She blew a long, sharp breath out of her nose, clenching her jaw so hard it cracked. "You cannot force me to ride in that thing." She jerked her head toward the large, gaudy wheelhouse that her ladies had already filed into, content to be pulled across the lands back to the capital.

"You can ride comfortably and speak with your ladies," he tried, his efforts to soothe her failing magnificently.

The dragon in her belly filled her with fire, and she almost went to slap Rhaegar. "I'd rather ride in the food cart," she snapped, "rotting with the cabbage."

Thankfully, Johanna and the other ladies in the wheelhouse were safely away from hearing distance, but all three of the Kingsguards were audience to her fit. And each one seemed distinctly uncomfortable, even smug Jaime Lannister.

"Lyanna," Rhaegar tried to reason with her with a soft voice, "what if you were kicked from your horse?" And then softer still, "What if you lost the babe?"

'...but you will birth children. Three to be exact.'

"Then you would have to get me pregnant again," she retorted, throwing her arms up helplessly, "or you could get another wife." The madness that overtook her was a wild thing that she could not rein in. "Besides, Smoke won't hurt me."

"This isn't up for discussion," he told her firmly, irritation finally flaring in his eyes.

"Are you my father or my husband?" Her voice was sharper than a knife. How could he do this to her? Treating her like an invalid, forcing her to be cooped up in a wheelhouse when all she wanted to do was let Smoke and the wind whip away the grief she felt at having her family ripped away again...

"Your husband," Rhaegar answered, "your prince, and your future king."

Blind fury was all she felt, and her baby's dragonblood was mixing dangerously with her own wolf's blood, coagulating into this toxic poison that made her wrathful beyond belief. She wanted to wring Rhaegar's neck just as much as she wanted to kiss it.

"Very well, Your Highness," she intoned coldly, "if you have need of your broodmare, I will be in that contraption." She made her way to the wheelhouse, throwing her hood up to hide her flushed face, and climbed inside to join her ladies.

For nine days straight, Lyanna and Rhaegar did not speak. At dinner, Rhaegar spoke with Arthur and Oswell, and Lyanna put up with her ladies. At night, when they slept at inns or erected their tents and pavilions, Lyanna held tightly to her upset, and kept far away from Rhaegar's bed, no matter how much he wanted the opposite.

It was when they were only a few days away from King's Landing that Rhaegar finally put a stop to things, fed up with the disconnect working its way between him and his wife. As the sky turned the color of a bruise and their encampment began working up dinner and tents, Rhaegar drew Lyanna aside, his hand around her small, stiff elbow.

"I want you to come with me," he said.

She stared stubbornly at the hollow of his throat, so much like the day he wed her, refusing to meet his eyes. "Why, do you have another present for me that you plan to take away?"

"Let's go," he told her, ignoring the barb.

"Oh," she crooned, "do you deign to let me walk around? What if I were to trip and fall and miscarry, Your Highness? What then?"

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. He may not have known much about women's troubles, but he knew that babes - especially dragon babes - filled their mothers with fiery moods beyond compare. "Come on."

He walked off before she could retort something else nasty, but when he snuck a look over his shoulder, she was following him...begrudgingly.

Rhaegar's pavilion had been set up away from the others' at his behest. He had planned on speaking with Lyanna on their trip back to the capital, but had not anticipated her long-fed anger at being denied riding. Arthur stood sentry at his pavilion entrance, holding back the flap for them.

Rhaegar ushered Lyanna in first, then told Arthur, "Make sure no one comes close to us tonight." Arthur nodded and went to march the perimeter.

Inside, the pavilion was dim from the twilight and candles, but bright enough that the cheese, bread, and olives could be seen on the small dining table. Lyanna approached the food, but instantly recoiled, slapping a hand over her mouth.

"What's wrong?" Rhaegar asked with a frown.

Lyanna shook her head and darted out of the tent, Rhaegar following. She threw herself down on her hands and knees in the grass, heaving up chunks of vomit instantly. Rhaegar ran over, pulling back her hair, as Arthur looked on in alarm.

"Could you get some fruit please?" Rhaegar asked him absently, soothing a hand over Lyanna's back. "And more water as well." Arthur immediately went.

When Lyanna's stomach had finally calmed, she stood shakily and sucked in a breath of fresh night air. "I'm fine," she mumbled. "The baby didn't like the smell."

Her words sent a sharp thrill through him. "If you're sure," he said, looking her over. Arthur came back quickly, the water and fruit in his hands. Lyanna reached for the water and washed her mouth out, spitting it back into the ground over her sick. Rhaegar took the fruit and led Lyanna inside once more.

Then, he set the fruit on the table, taking away the cheese and olives and slipping them out to Arthur. Behind him, he tied the tent flaps together to ensure their privacy.

"Why are you doing this?" Lyanna finally asked, her voice like a whip through the peaceful silence.

Rhaegar clenched his jaw, and made himself comfortable on the makeshift bed of furs and blankets and pillows. "We need to talk."

She narrowed her eyes, but lowered to the bed beside him slowly, having pilfered an apple from the basket. "About..."

"About," he said, "what's going to happen once we get back to King's Landing."

Everything in her face changed: from angry and grudging to wary and suspicious. "What do you mean?"

Rhaegar's eyes fell down to her flat stomach, the sight of it still sending a rush of excitement through him. She may have been only a month or so pregnant, but imagining the life growing beneath her skin made his heart ache with happiness.

"You're pregnant with my heir," he said quietly, cautious even though Arthur would make sure no one could eavesdrop on his words.

"It's time then?" Lyanna asked hopefully, but quiet still, following his lead.

"It's time," he answered. "We'll have to tell my father that you're with child, of course. I'm sure the rumors have already spread from the wedding. I may not have announced it forthright, but we were anything but discreet when you told me."

Lyanna frowned, casting her eyes down. The thought of sharing the news of their baby with Aerys discomfited her just as much as it did him, but there was nothing that could be done - not if Rhaegar wanted to keep his father believing everything was normal.

One wrong move...Aerys' paranoia was legendary in destruction. There was no coming back from fire, dragon's blood or not.

"He'll want to throw a feast in our honor," Rhaegar continued. "He'll want to invite the realm, to bask in his superiority."

"His superiority?" Lyanna dared to ask.

Rhaegar said, "Any Targaryen is worth a thousand others in his eyes." He paused. "After the realm has been made aware of your pregnancy, you will go to Dragonstone."

"Wait!" Lyanna interjected angrily. "Dragonstone?"

"Yes, Dragonstone," he replied, "I can't have you at the Red Keep when I take my father down. There are too many risks."

"Then what about Winterfell? Why can't I go there?"

Rhaegar sighed heavily. "It's too long a trip, and unsafe for a pregnant princess."

"I could take guards with me," she tried.

"No," he replied. "Dragonstone is safer." Lyanna worked her jaw, seeming to come back into that fire she'd had the day they left Riverrun, but Rhaegar plowed on before it could take hold. "I will say I'm going to Summerhall for a time. It won't cause much motion; I used to visit quite a bit."

"But really..." She said slowly.

"Really, I'll be riding to meet Tywin Lannister and his force."

Lyanna raised her brows. "Tywin Lannister?"

Rhaegar nodded. "He's agreed to back me in the deposition. From there we'll march on the capital."

Lyanna seemed to think this over, working her bottom lip with her teeth, before finally pointing out, "Casterly Rock boasts thousands and thousands of soldiers. Your host will be conspicuous, and word will get back to your father."

He'd known this, had thought of every possibility. "That's why you're going to be safely away at Dragonstone. My father will most likely be sent word that a massive Lannister army marches at his steps, with his own son leading beside Lord Tywin, but there is naught that he can do. I have the support of almost every major House in Westeros, with the strength of Casterly Rock at my back.

"There will be fighting and bloodshed, if I know my father, but I hope that I can remove him in particular without harm when all is said and done."

"Wishful thinking," she said under her breath. Then louder, "What about your mother and brother?"

"I'm going to try to get my father to send Viserys and my mother to Dragonstone with you."

"And if he won't?"

"If he won't," Rhaegar said, "there will be Maegor's Holdfast and Kingsguards there to protect them. Aerys won't kill them, but I cannot control every one of Tywin's men. Arthur and Oswell will be coming with me of course to meet Lord Tywin, but there will be Ser Barristan and Gerold and Lewyn and Jonothor..."

"And Jaime," Lyanna put in.

"Ser Jaime Lannister will be going with you to Dragonstone."

It had been a difficult decision; Rhaegar had wanted Barristan Selmy to go along with Lyanna, had been comforted in the fantasy of Barristan the Bold protecting his wife and unborn child.

Arthur had helped Rhaegar see the light, though. If Jaime Lannister was held back in King's Landing, and Aerys inevitably learned the news of Twyin Lannister marching on the city, there was no telling what the king would do to the Young Lion. And Rhaegar already owed Tywin so much, there was no way to replace his eldest son.

Therefore, Jaime would go with Lyanna, to safety.

"I will remove my father from the throne, and ascend myself. And at my code, you will be brought back to the city and annointed queen at my side."

Lyanna's eyes unfocused, going to a faroff place in her mind for several moments. "King Rhaegar," she tested it out.

"And Queen Lyanna," he added.

She snorted softly and bit into her apple. "Never thought I would hear that."

Rhaegar smiled, ducking his head. "It fits." And then, "And when our son is born, we can name him Aegon."

Lyanna grimaced, eyes flashing up. "Why are you so sure it's a boy?"

Rhaegar shrugged. "I just have a feeling."

Nearly every night since he found out Lyanna was pregnant, he dreamed of their children, all different variations of sizing and color, but one in particular was recurring: a tall, slim boy, much like Rhaegar in body, with dark brown hair and eyes that flashed steel grey and indigo by different lights.

"Well your feeling is wrong," Lyanna retorted, carving her teeth into the apple. "It's a girl."

"And you know this, how?"

She glanced up, grinning wickedly. "I just have a feeling." It was several long minutes of silence, her thinking and chewing on her apple, before she finally came out with it. "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"What if you die?" She demanded, grey eyes lighting up with fire. "What if there's fighting like you said, or worse yet war...what if you get killed?"

It was not an easy possibility to stomach, but he endured it all the same. He reached forward with hesitance and placed his hand on her stomach. "Then this baby will be ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, girl or boy. My father will never again sit the Iron Throne once I'm finished."

The way Lyanna stared at him, it was as if he were threatening to take his own life. "I don't want you to die," she whispered, her fiery eyes being doused by the tears that formed in them - angry tears, yes, but tears all the same.

Rhaegar smiled sadly. "Then I will do my very best to keep my heart beating for you."

Chapter 44: A King and Queen's Blessing

Chapter Text

Rhaegar knew something was wrong the moment he entered the throne room. Court was in attendance, the long cavernous hall filled with the capital's dwellers as Aerys sat upon his iron seat, fidgeting restlessly as he glowered upon the onlookers. But the looks on their faces were wary and grim, as always when faced with the Mad King.

"My beloved son returns," Aerys cackled with malice upon seeing him. The sound of his father's laugh sent goosebumps up Rhaegar's arms, sinister and thin and echoing off the walls. He suddenly felt very glad he'd sent Lyanna on to the Maidenvault.

"Father," Rhaegar said respectfully, bowing his head. The Iron Throne loomed above him, monstrous and barbed, a hunk of melted steel; Aerys seemed so fragile, so small in it, as if the thousand Balerion-forged swords threatened to swallow him whole.

"And where is your princess?" Aerys demanded, eyes twitching every which way as he searched for his son's Northern wife. Rhaegar could see the spittle flying from his mouth even from so far below, and wondered if the top of Ser Lewyn's head had grown damp from his post at the base.

"Princess Lyanna is resting, Your Grace." Away from you and your leering eyes, he thought privately.

"Resting?" Aerys repeated sarcastically. "Does being carted around my kingdoms tire the little she-wolf so?"

Rhaegar fought to smoothe his face, lest his father see what he really thought. Treason seemed to be set into every line and curve of his face, the truth of his deceit plain to read; Rhaegar was not a liar by nature, but he tamped down every urge to grimace and curse, and instead, mustered a smile.

"The princess is tired because she is with child," Rhaegar informed the king. "A little over a month pregnant now." It still seemed surreal to say aloud, to acknowledge that he was going to be a father.

Aerys clutched onto the barbed handles of his throne, not even flinching when a sword's tip pierced his skin; his blood immediately ran in rivulets around his arm, but he stared down Rhaegar in plain fascination.

"Pregnant?" The king croaked.

Rhaegar nodded. He did not like the hope and wonderment in his father's voice, that gentle lilt that was only ever reserved for special times.

And special times usually foretold detriments.

Aerys smiled, that cruel queer smile that Rhaegar had only ever seen bestowed upon Lyanna, though at present she was elsewhere. "Another Targaryen in this world is a splendid thing," the king said, grinning. Then louder, "we are to celebrate! My son, the Prince of Dragonstone is to be a father!"

The Court rang out with applause, but there was something off, something missing. Even with a hundred and some people in the room, it felt bare. Rhaegar looked around the room, seeing Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Maester Pycelle, Varys the Spider...

"We'll hold a tourney," Aerys decided suddenly, just as Rhaegar realized what was off.

"Where is Lord Connington - your Hand?" He asked, fighting to keep accusation from his tone.

At that, Aerys' face darkened, his eyes squinting and his mouth twisting. "Jon Connington has been stripped of his title as Hand," he sneered, "and sent back to his lands."

"You sent him back to Griffin's Roost?" Rhaegar asked in disbelief. "Why?"

Aerys was flippant. "Because I need a good, strong Hand at my side, not some lackluster fool. Lord Jon should be glad he even has that title still. I could have exiled him to the farthest corners of the world, but I did not. I allowed him to keep his lands and inheritance. No one can accuse me of being a cruel king. In any case, Lord Qarlton Chelsted has been named Hand in replacement."

Rhaegar glanced back over, having entirely missed the mace-and-dagger lord; Qarlton Chelsted had been Master of Coin on the small council for some time already, and had proved faithful in that position. Though Rhaegar disliked Jon being sent back to Griffin's Roost like a wayward dog, Aerys had not picked someone completely incompetent to succeed him.

Rhaegar would need to call Jon back, though, once Aerys was off the throne for good.

"Anyhow," Aerys growled impatiently, "a tourney for the new babe. It will be held in three weeks. Lord Qarlton!"

Qarlton Chelsted started, his eyes widening, then scurried forth like a faithful little servant. "Yes, Your Grace?"

"This tourney shall be grand, make it so that every lord in the realm can bear witness to the splendor of House Targaryen. Three weeks!" Aerys barked. Qarlton nodded, shaking in his boots.

"That's soon," Rhaegar frowned. I don't need a tourney, he thought, I need you to live out your days on Dragonstone while my children grow happy and safe.

"Any later," Aerys replied angrily, "and your babe will be keeping the princess inside the castle all day long. And we don't want that."

Rhaegar did not like the gleam in Aerys' eyes when he talked of Lyanna, that twinkle that foretold of a deceased lion love that Rhaegar's wife inexplicably reminded Aerys of - but still, he bit his tongue and nodded anyway, like a faithful little treasonous crown prince. "If I may have your leave, Father, I would like to see Mother now."

He wondered if she had been sent away in disgrace as well. Oh if only...it would make everything so much easier if his mother and brother were already whisked away to Dragonstone, away from the potential of his dangerous scheme for the crown, away from Aerys' fiery moods.

Once Aerys nodded his assent, Rhaegar strode from the throne room, veering off toward the Maidenvault. In her room within, he found Lyanna rummaging through her trunks, huffing under her breath.

The sight of her disheveled and displeased turned him on, though he'd never admit it. He swallowed, remembering his hand between her legs, overlooking the green lands and shimmering waters from a balcony at Riverrun. He wanted to touch her again...

"Lurk much?" Lyanna asked, squinting at him as he leaned in her doorway.

He suppressed a smile, and asked, "Would you like to go see my mother with me?"

A true smile graced Lyanna's face. "Yes, of course."

She dusted off her skirt, pulled the trunk closed, and followed him from the Maidenvault, and to Maegor's Holdfast, where Ser Jonothor stood sentry - he was a rough man with dark eyes that held no softness nor sympathy to them, not even for the crown prince and his wife.

"The king knows of your pregnancy," Rhaegar said quietly to Lyanna, once they were out of Ser Jonothor's presence.

She scowled but stared straight ahead, marching like a dutiful soldier. "Happy, I presume?"

"Ecstatic," Rhaegar said dryly. He's always too "happy" where you're concerned, he thought, with a barbed coil in his belly.

"And Rhaella?" She asked.

"Does not yet know," he finished, "I thought we could tell her together."

That seemed to cheer Lyanna's dampened spirits, and the glow to her skin returned. No Kingsguard guarded the queen's doors today, and her room was open. Inside, he could see his mother writing, but at the sound of their footsteps, she looked up, smiling at once.

"Darlings!" She greeted them, ghosting forward to pull Lyanna into a hug almost immediately. Lyanna sank into her arms, melting like butter, clutching at Rhaella like a babe would its mother.

Next, Rhaella came to embrace Rhaegar, humming against him. "Oh, I've missed you two. How was the wedding?" The queen had the most refined of manners and did not mention that the wrong Stark brother had been wed.

"Beautiful," Lyanna answered with a fond smile, seating herself across from Rhaella's desk. "Lady Catelyn is a stunning woman. She'll make Ned a great wife."

Rhaella smiled that mother's smile, tugging at the collar of her dress to conceal the dark red splotches on her pale skin. "I'm so very glad to hear it, my girl. And how is my eldest boy on this fine morning? I did not even know you all had arrived back to the Keep."

"We only got to the city less than an hour ago," he told her. "I saw Father first. He replaced Jon as Hand."

Lyanna looked sharply at him, but Rhaella frowned and nodded. "He did. Lord Connington made the mistake of suggesting your father not...burn any more prisoners before the eyes of Court."

Rhaegar's eyes fell closed as he sighed. "I see." It was a stupid mistake, but one that was unavoidable to those who did not know how to perform the careful dance of maneuvering his father's whims and follies.

"Well," he said, clearer this time, "we have good news."

"Oh?" Rhaella eyed them both curiously.

"I'm pregnant," Lyanna said quietly, watching for a reaction.

Rhaella did not disappoint. "Oh, you lovely girl, how wonderful." She came around the desk and enveloped Lyanna in a hug once more. When she pulled back, she looked down to Lyanna's flat belly. "May I?"

Lyanna chucked, amused. "There's nothing to see or feel yet, but be my guest."

Rhaella sank to her knees before Lyanna, pressing her hands to the princess' stomach carefully. Tears slipped down the queen's cheeks freely, and she muffled a sob. "Oh, a new babe, what a blessing it will be. And from the blood of my eldest and his beautiful wife, as well. I could not be happier."

Rhaegar smiled sadly. Rhaella was not dealt much happiness in life, but to see her erupt with joy at the news of his heir, brought out the spirit of the little boy he'd been once, the boy who only cared what his mother thought and no one else.

"Mother?" A child's voice asked from the door. Viserys looked confused, and his caretaker Lanna as well, at the sight of the queen kneeling before the princess. "What are you doing, Mother?"

Rhaella sniffed and grinned, beckoning Viserys over. "Come, darling, come."

Viserys ran over, putting one hand on Rhaella's teary cheek, and the other absentmindedly on Lyanna's knee. "Why are you sad, Mother?"

"I'm happy," Rhaella corrected him. She looked up at Lyanna, beaming with motherly pride.

"Guess what," Lyanna whispered, leaning forward to stare into Viserys' eyes. "I have a secret."

"What is it?" He started bouncing, having no patience whatsoever when it came to secrets, and clutched his little hands in Lyanna's skirts. "Tell me, Lya, tell me!"

Lyanna put a hand to her belly. "You have a little niece or nephew growing in here."

The small prince's eyes widened like two twilight lilac moons. "You're pregnant?" Lyanna nodded. "Lya's pregnant!" He shrieked, vaulting himself into Lyanna's lap before scrambling up to hug her.

"Vis," Rhaegar chided him, "be careful, you could hurt the babe."

"Oh," Viserys frowned, settling into her lap and putting his hands to her stomach. "The baby," he sighed. "Why can't I feel anything? Why isn't it moving?"

"It's too early for that," Rhaella told him gently, having gone back to sit in her chair.

Viserys made a dissatisfied noise in his throat, but continued to touch Lyanna's belly. "What will you name him?" He asked with wonder in his voice.

"I'm not sure," Lyanna played along, "we don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet."

"Hm," Viserys ventured, "well if it's a boy, you should name him Balerion."

Lyanna chuckled. "Balerion is a dragon's name," she explained patiently.

Viserys pushed his little hands to her belly insistently. With all the worldliness of a maester, he told her, "And that's a dragon in there. Rhaegar has dragonblood, same as me. Your baby does, too."

Lyanna smiled down at Viserys fondly, tucking little wisps of silver-gold hair from his face. "I suppose you're right, little one. But it's a wolf as well, and before the dragons came, there were Kings of Winter in the North."

"Was your grandfather a king?" Viserys wondered.

"No," Lyanna said, "but my ancestors were."

Viserys pursed his lips, chewing on that morsel of information. "So the baby will be a dragon and a wolf?"

Lyanna nodded. "A winged wolf." Those three words stirred up the memory of the night Lyanna had confessed the maegi's fortune to him and Arthur and Oswell on their way to the capital from Harrenhal. My three, my promised prince... he thought desperately.

"Or," Viserys added, "an ice dragon. Like from the Shivering Sea. I learned about them! They're bigger than normal dragons, and they're made of ice and crystals." He suddenly looked to Rhaegar, for confirmation, for kinship.

"Maybe, Vis," Rhaegar allowed wistfully. Maybe.

After that, Viserys climbed down from Lyanna's lap, only to stand by her side and whisper tales of mighty dragons and dragonriders and dragonknights and dragonkings to her stomach, all while Rhaella listened, amused, and Lyanna stroked his pale hair tenderly.

Watching her, it was easy for Rhaegar to get lulled into the image of Lyanna and Viserys together. For a moment he could trick his eyes into believing he was seeing Lyanna with their son, bending to press a kiss into his hair as the boy whispered sweet words to her belly. But, no, that was all wrong.

Of all the dreams he'd had in his life, Rhaegar was unfailingly certain of one, the dream that had recurred every night since learning Lyanna was pregnant.

The Prince That Was Promised - their promised prince - would be tall and dark and lean and indigo-eyed...

And the bringer of light.

Chapter 45: Spiders, Dragons, and Lions

Notes:

I just wanted to reiterate for all the readers - new and old - that there will be NO cheating in this story.

Chapter Text

Peace was a fragile thing, thin and delicate as a new bride's veil, easily wasted, easily decimated, easily disturbed. Rhaegar's peace lasted all of five days.

He went to bed that last night of peace, his mind wracked with thoughts of riding to Casterly Rock, of meeting with and rousing Lord Tywin's soldiers and marching them back to his home to root out his king father, to cage and lock away the mad dragon once and for all.

And when he'd eventually fallen asleep, his dreams were filled with that boy - the boy that was tall and long-legged and slender as a sword, whose hair was a shaggy tumble of lazy brown curls, whose skin was pale as winter snows, whose eyes were so dark they seemed black but for when the light caught them, and then they were two brilliant chips of indigo.

In the dream, that boy had wielded a magnificent sword, a sword whose blade ran with the colors of flickering flame and radiated heat like the breath of a living dragon, felling crystal demons like they were no more than spun glass.

A rough voice awakened him from that slumber, the tone insistent and gruff. "Your Highness," it called, "wake up."

Rhaegar's eyes pried open, flicking instantly to the window where the moon and stars still ruled the nighttime skies, as deep and dark as liquid onyx. His chambers were shrouded in nightfall as well, his fire having burnt out sometime in his sleep.

At his bedside, hovering over him, was Ser Lewyn - the Dornishman's face was dark and cold, his black eyes hard. "Your Highness," he repeated, "the king has summoned you. Immediately."

Rhaegar frowned, sensing that something was amiss. He immediately thought of everything that could be wrong: his mother dead, Lyanna hurt, rebels attacking the city.

He climbed from bed with weary muscles, pulling a wrinkled tunic over his head and slipping into worn breeches. After that, he followed grim Ser Lewyn through the maze of Maegor's and toward the king's apartments.

Within, Aerys was pacing the length of his bedchambers like a caged lion, muttering dark words beneath his breath, scowling so deep Rhaegar was sure the king would have several more lines to his face once the night was spent.

And sat across from the king's desk, meek and powdered and dressed in lilac robes, was Varys the Spider, looking the very picture of concerned innocence. He watched Rhaegar as he entered the room, his face devoid of emotion but for the sly glint in those all-knowing eyes.

"Father," Rhaegar said, catching Aerys' attention.

The king stopped, turning that suspicious glare on his son. "He's done it, Rhaegar, he's done it." There was a hysterical edge to his voice and a shake to his bones.

Rhaegar frowned, furrowing his brows. "Who?"

"That smug, self-satisfied lion," Aerys growled, clenching his fists. His nine-inch nails scraped against his own skin, slicing at the scabs that grew from long, absent-minded years sitting the Iron Throne.

"Ser Jaime?" Rhaegar immediately asked. What could Jaime have done? The boy was always either with his fellow White Swords, guarding Lyanna, or sleeping. Surely Jaime could not have committed any atrocity without Rhaegar knowing first.

"No," Aerys spat, "not the young lion, his sire. Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and bane of my existence."

The only thing Rhaegar could think was he found out, he knows, he's learned of my treason. But if that were true, Aerys would waste no time in lighting the prince up, spectators be damned. This was something else...if Aerys even suspected or lumped Rhaegar with Tywin, he'd have been dead before he woke, or at least within the hour.

And he wouldn't be engaging Rhaegar in conversation. The fetish for wildfire was too strong in the king. No...this was something else. But what?

"What has Lord Tywin done?" Rhaegar asked slowly, dreading the answer.

"He plots," Aerys replied, "and schemes, and pouts on his golden rock while he plans to attack me in my city!"

Rhaegar's heart nearly stopped. His father knew then. But to what extent? The only thing keeping his skin from burning to a crisp was the total lack of his name attached to the very plans he himself had contrived.

"Tell him, Varys," Aerys commanded angrily, going to resume his manic pacing.

Varys shifted, tucking his hands into the huge billowing sleeves of his robes. His pale powdered face turned to Rhaegar's own, adopting a mask of utter disappointment.

"The king speaks it true," Varys said sadly, "I throw my little birds to the wind and back they fly, with secrets and confidences from all corners of the world. Days, weeks, months, it takes time, but come back they do. And this time, they brought me gold. Treason covered in Lannister gold."

Rhaegar stared back wide-eyed, his heart in his throat. He could not say a word, could not conjure a thought or remark. His very life hinged upon what Varys said next - his life and Lyanna's and their child's as well. He had to be silent.

"One of my little birds has informed me that Lord Tywin has gathered a council of his most trusted and powerful bannermen," Varys said. "They whisper treason on the Rock, of marching on King's Landing and deposing your royal father of his throne."

"How can you be sure?" Rhaegar heard himself ask, though his mind was spinning and adrenaline was racing through his body.

Varys the Spider smirked. "My methods may be my own, but they do not fail. The lion lord plots against your father. For now, it has not gone any further than mere talk, but I fear that in a year's turn, the capital will bleed Targaryen and Lannister red."

Aerys shrieked in madness. "Tywin has never been grateful for what he has. When he was my Hand, he presumed too much, let it be whispered that he ruled the realm in my stead, allowed it to be thought that I was unfit for the throne.

"He saw Joanna love me, was jealous that the dragon had ensnared the lioness, so what did he do? He plotted and took her from me, and had three lion cubs by her, while I stood on and watched."

'You remind me of someone I used to know many years past', Rhaegar remembered his father saying to Lyanna at that dinner so many months ago. 'Joanna Lannister. She had blonde hair and green eyes of course, but she had the loveliest face, fashioned right from the stars. The gods saw fit to grace her with a beauty that was almost unbearable. You're like her in that sense.'

The voice of Aerys in Rhaegar's memories dimmed as the father before him continued to rant, "Tywin begged me to marry you, my heir, the crown prince to his lowly golden daughter, Cersei. And when I refused him, he resigned from his office and sulked back to his rock, licking his wounded pride all the way home.

"And now he schemes, for his wounded pride, for his utter selfishness that will not allow him to be content with his station. He presumed and plotted, and now he plans to take the dragon unawares."

Aerys' chuckle was a cold, cold thing. "Well, Lord Tywin has another thing coming. For lions may be mighty, but dragons rise above. And he will find to his detriment that cats burn just as quickly as them all."

Rhaegar felt the small hairs on the back of his neck rising at the disturbing tone of his father's speech, at the ferocity of it. It seemed that Tywin's involvement in Rhaegar's plan had been made known, rooted out by Varys' espionage, but funnily - or most thankfully - enough, Rhaegar did not seem to be attached to the news at all.

"What will you do?" Rhaegar wondered, fearful of the answer.

Aerys faced his son and smiled. "My son, you are the key to this lock."

Rhaegar swallowed, studying the king, then glanced at Varys. "How do I fit into this?"

Aerys said, "I'm sending you to Casterly Rock. I want you to go to the lion's den, pluck out those little cats, and escort them back here to await my justice. The tourney celebrating your child will have to be delayed until their executions can be made public."

"Your Grace," Varys interjected, "perhaps the prince could put down Lord Tywin at the Rock, where his people could see their liege lord's follies laid bare."

"No," Aerys said calmly, serenely. "My son will go to Casterly Rock, and arrest Lord Tywin and those lords of his involved with this treason, and escort them all back to the Keep. Their executions will be seen by all of Court and those in the realms that wish to bear witness. The lion will die with a crowd at his feet, and fire upon his bones one way or another."

Though Rhaegar felt dizzy and stressed, he found the silver lining in this madness. With Aerys' permission, Rhaegar could safely ride to Casterly Rock by the goldroad with no fear of royal suspicion, and arrive quicker than originally planned.

Of course, with the new development of Aerys' knowledge of Tywin plotting, Rhaegar could no longer escort the entirety of the Lannister army back to the capital. Varys' birds would be keeping their eyes out for the prince and the lion on the way back, and he could not risk being shut out of the city's gates before he even arrived just because the sheer numbers gave away his secret.

"When shall I leave?" Rhaegar asked, eager to get back to bed, eager to do a million and one other things.

"As soon as possible," Aerys said, seemingly calmed at the thought of the Dragon Prince caging the lion and dragging him before the king's feet.

"I'll leave in two days," Rhaegar said. "I'd like to bring Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell with me, if possible. In case Lord Tywin puts up a struggle."

Aerys nodded. "Very well. You'll bring Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan as well."

"So many White Swords, Your Grace?" Varys squeaked.

"I'll still have Lewyn and Jonothor...and Jaime," Aerys murmured, his eyes going off to some far place.

"Father," Rhaegar broached the subject delicately, "I would like to send Ser Jaime with Lyanna to Dragonstone. She'll be safe there, away in case Lord Tywin has hired any lurking sellswords within these city walls. Mother and Viserys should go as well."

Aerys ground his teeth, working his jaw over. "Your wife may go to Dragonstone, but your mother and brother will stay here with me. They are my family. Lyanna will come back to see the lions put down once and for all, though. But Jaime will stay here, in the black cells perhaps."

Rhaegar could feel his plans slipping through his fingers; if he left Jaime to rot - or worse, to die - Rhaegar would never be able to pay back the debt he owed Tywin Lannister, and then he would have a completely different monster to contend with. "I can imprison Jaime at Dragonstone," he lied.

"I can imprison Ser Jaime here," Aerys insisted, eyes flaring in cruel delight.

"Yes," Rhaegar offered, "but even the Lannisters have friends in King's Landing, and Ser Jaime could bribe his way out of the black cells with the promise of gold. Dragonstone is no friend to Casterly Rock, and the Young Lion could rot there with no way out while his lord father is being escorted to the capital."

Rhaegar's words washed over Aerys' face like a balm, and the man grinned, infinitely pleased. "Yes," he chuckled, "yes. I like it. Let the lion have a taste of dragon cells, then drag him back to King's Landing to watch his father burn." He turned his eyes to Rhaegar. "My son, I knew you had the dragon in you."

Rhaegar felt sick to his stomach from the lie. Of course, Jaime wouldn't be imprisoned once he went to Dragonstone with Lyanna, but Rhaegar would have to arrange for only trustworthy, faithful servants to be around the knight and the princess lest the king become aware of Rhaegar's deceit.

Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan accompanying him to Casterly Rock was a completely new development. Rhaegar wondered how Ser Barristan would react once he found out that he did not ride to imprison Tywin, but to ride with him, against the mad dragon Barristan fought and lived to protect. Ser Gerold would be easier, he knew, the Hightower knight having no real love for his king, preferring the prince openly, but with subtle grace.

"I'll start the preparations for my departure as soon as the sun rises," Rhaegar promised, inclining his head. "If I may have your leave to return to my chambers?"

Aerys waved his hand absently, signaling the end of his interest. Varys stood, though. "I'll walk with you, Your Highness."

Through Maegor's, the Spider shuffled beside him quietly, his slippers whispering against the stone floor. Though, once Rhaegar reached his room, murmuring a 'good night', he heard Varys' calculated departing words.

"I wish you luck on your golden mission, Your Highness."

Rhaegar slept fitfully after that, his dreams dark and bloody, his promised prince woefully absent. Instead, he dreamt of lions and dragons, quarreling with flames and fangs, while spiders crawled in masses over the walls and floors.

When he woke, Rhaegar knew that arranging passage for Lyanna and Jaime to Dragonstone was of the utmost importance. He couldn't have either of them in the capital for long once he'd departed.

So he dressed and fetched Arthur and Oswell, filling them in carefully on what had happened in the night, then went about securing a ship for his wife and the Kingsguard.

Rhaegar found out that one of their galleys - Silverscale it was called - was sailing back from Oldtown after being sent for more herbs and potions and medicines for Maester Pycelle's stores, and would be arriving back to the capital in a few days.

He wrote out a quick letter stating that Silverscale was to take Lyanna and a list of allotted people to Dragonstone, then sealed it with his own seal, before marching to see Ser Jaime Lannister.

He found the Young Lion standing post at the godswood's entrance, tall and slim and golden-haired, his face wiped of emotion.

"Is the princess praying?" Rhaegar asked first.

Jaime nodded. "She is."

"I was hoping you would go riding with me," Rhaegar smiled. "The kingswood perhaps..."

"Of course," Jaime said immediately, dutifully. There was hero worship in his eyes, and it was almost enough to erase every suspicious thought Rhaegar had ever had of the boy. Almost.

"Good," Rhaegar turned, "Ser Arthur will stay with Princess Lyanna for now. Oswell, see to it personally that this gets flown." He handed over the small secret coiled scrawl; on the inside it read goldroad, the code word he and Tywin Lannister had agreed upon months ago, to signal that Rhaegar was coming to Casterly Rock.

Oswell left, and together, Rhaegar and Ser Jaime made their way to the stables where two horses awaited them. They mounted in silence and rode fast from the Keep to the kingswood, where the forestry stood tall and closed in thick, nothing but sky and trees privy to their talk.

"Ser Jaime, we should speak."

Alarm registered in Jaime's green eyes, but his face remained artfully passive. "About, Your Highness?"

"Your loyalty."

Jaime frowned instantly. "My loyalty? I am loyal to the crown, as befits my vows."

"Yes," said Rhaegar slowly, "but to whom? The king...or me?"

There was utter, pregnant silence following his words, as Jaime struggled to keep his face straight, but failing as a thousand and one emotions flickered across his features.

"This is not a trick," Rhaegar sought to assure him. "But I need to know that I can trust you, to know that you are on my side."

"Your side?" Jaime repeated in a whisper.

"Yes. Changes are coming, Ser Jaime, and I mean to herald them in. My father is no longer fit to sit the throne, and the realm suffers beneath his hand."

Jaime had gone white, no doubt recalling one of the many times he'd stood watch whilst some man, woman, or child burned alive in the Great Hall.

"I've been meaning to make these changes for a while," the prince confided, "but circumstances have forced me to wait. Until now."

Jaime studied his prince, green eyes cautious yet flaring with relief. "You mean to depose your father, and ascend as king?"

Rhaegar nodded. "I cannot allow his sins to continue. I have been planning this for a long time, gathering loyalty, gathering support. Your own father has agreed to back me in my efforts."

"My father?" Jaime repeated, as if he were not surprised at all.

"I'd planned on sneaking to Casterly Rock, and picking up the Lannister army to march on the capital to overthrow my father, but Varys and his birds have changed those plans.

"Somehow your father has been solely implicated in the plot to seize the throne, and the king has ordered me to ride to Casterly Rock and arrest Lord Tywin, as well as his co-conspirators, and bring them back to be dealt justice."

"Are you? Going to arrest him, that is." Jaime's face was carefully wiped clean of judgement or fear, but Rhaegar could smell it all over him.

"No," Rhaegar said at once. "If anything, my father has only made my journey easier. I will ride to Casterly Rock, of course, and I will have to hide Lord Tywin in drab clothing to appear as if he is a chastened traitor, but his armor will be packed along. I cannot take as many Lannister soldiers as I had initially planned either, so as not to raise suspicion."

Jaime blew out a sharp breath. "And what is my role in this?"

Rhaegar glanced out at the trees. "The king wanted you thrown in the black cells, for the crime of having Lannister blood, but I convinced him to let me send you to Dragonstone for imprisonment instead."

Jaime's green eyes flew wide open, startled.

"Don't worry," Rhaegar said, "I'm not imprisoning you. You are going to Dragonstone, but only to guard the princess."

"Lyanna is going, too?" Jaime blurted out suddenly, using her name so casually in the heat of the moment.

Rhaegar flinched, but forced himself to move on. Lyanna would not betray me by laying with the lion, nor anyone else. But Jaime...no, he had more important matters to think on.

"I cannot have my wife in the castle, open for the potential of harm, from my father or Lannister soldiers. I want her and my heir at Dragonstone. With you."

"Yes, Your Highness, I understand."

Rhaegar leaned from the saddle and settled a hand on Jaime's steeled shoulder. "Tell no one of what we have said here today. Varys' spies are everywhere, and nowhere is clean."

Jaime nodded seriously. "I won't. Not even with the princess."

"I'm counting on you," Rhaegar told him gravely. "Not only as a spoke in my wheel, but also to keep Lyanna safe." He implored the Young Lion with his eyes, hoping beyond hope he could read the absolute desperation there.

"Keep her safe, Ser Jaime," Rhaegar said, "no matter what."

Chapter 46: A Pairing for Farewell

Notes:

Just a little visual to go along with the words...

Chapter Text

Lyanna's heart beat lazily in her chest, deep, slow beats that resonated within her like the bang of a drum on a warpath. She felt it rattle her chest, take hold of her throat, pulse in her eyes.

Along her skin, the first fingers of an oncoming winter caressed her bare legs, a false spring giving way to chill. Her skin prickled, all the warmth of her recent bath siphoned away. The thin robe she wore did little to help her chill from the open window, the ivory satin clinging to her torso and hips but providing no heat.

She lay sprawled across the bed, her wet hair slicked back and pooling damp against the pillows. Lyanna briefly considered calling her maidservants back with hot stones, to feel them against her skin, to give her baby the heat it craved, but before she could, her door rattled with a series of knocks.

Frowning, Lyanna propped herself up by her elbows, the vee of her robe gaping slightly. It was late, far too late for any visitors. "Come in!"

The door groaned when it swung open, protesting. The first thing she saw was a pair of dirty boots, then long legs in black breeches, a billowy tunic, and lastly her husband's pale face. In the dark of night and the moon, his hair looked like a stream of starlight, his skin ivory.

"Hello," she said, surprised. She'd not seen her husband much since the day he broke the news of Aerys' knowledge of his plans; well, half-knowledge really, since only Tywin Lannister was implicated in the conspiracy, and Rhaegar had not been mentioned in conjunction at all.

Rhaegar's eyes strayed to the bathtub that had been left behind, filled with the filmy water she'd bathed in. Next to that, her table was filled with dirty plates, wiped clean of their food.

"Well," he said in slight amusement, "I was going to ask you to dinner, but it seems I was too late."

Lyanna smiled sadly. "Sorry. If I had known…"

"It's no matter," Rhaegar interrupted, "I just…wanted an excuse to spend some time with you before I left."

Her chest tightened. Rhaegar was leaving in the morning to ride to Casterly Rock under the guise of arresting Lord Tywin and his co-conspirators for treason; in reality, he was riding to meet and join forces with the Lion of Lannister so that he could once and for all depose his mad father.

"No excuse necessary," she murmured, sliding over to the far side of the bed. Then she reached out an arm and patted the empty space she'd abandoned. "Lay down with me." She was too tired to do much else, her dragonbabe having drawn most of her energy.

At once it seemed that Rhaegar suddenly became aware of the scantily manner of her dress – the satin robe was tied loosely about her waist, showcasing a fair amount of cleavage, and was not so long that three quarters of her legs were bared to his eyes.

The wind and his eyes made her shiver.

Rhaegar bent his leg back and kicked the door shut behind him, then toed off his dirty boots, leaving them limp on her floor. He ghosted to her bed, climbing on before lying next to her, his silver hair splayed across her pillows.

She let her head fall to the side to admire him, and he did the same, those strange indigo eyes bright and alive. The open window blew forth a chilling breeze and she shivered.

"I suppose winter is actually coming," he muttered. She immediately thought of her House's words, and what Winterfell probably looked like at that exact moment, white and pure and covered in crystal.

"I've always loved winter," she confessed. "The blankets of snow, the icicles hanging like knives from the rooves of Winterfell." She chuckled. "I used to snap them off and play at being an Other, while I chased Benjen around with my 'ice dagger.'"

Rhaegar smiled in content. "I can imagine our child will be much the same."

Just hearing him say our child made her heart skip a beat. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well your child is changing all my internal preferences. I used to love the cold, and now I can barely stand any room or bath unless it's heavy with heat."

That gave Rhaegar cause to grin, the smile lighting up his entire face. "It's my dragonblood it inherited," he explained softly.

Lyanna glanced down at her stomach, still flat, but gaining softness now. "What if it's a girl?" She blurted out, looking at him.

"What if it's a girl?" He challenged back, shrugging. He considered her. "What would you like to name it if it's a girl?"

It shouldn't have surprised her that he wanted to have her opinion on the name, but it did. She didn't even register thought before she said, "Rhaella, after your mother."

Rhaegar's lips parted in surprise, his eyes brimming with adoration. "Truly?"

Lyanna nodded. Rhaella had been more a mother to her than she'd ever had before; her own mother had died birthing Benjen, and though Old Nan had done her best as a female figure, Lyanna was still left wanting – half a boy and half a wolf, she excelled at swordplay and horse riding and playing tricks on her brothers.

She couldn't think of another woman she'd more like to honor than the Targaryen queen; she was a paragon of strength, having endured the tyranny and abuse from her brother-husband, while still remaining kind and loving.

"If it's a boy…" Lyanna ventured.

"Aegon," said Rhaegar immediately.

Lyanna grimaced. "No, I don't think so." He hadn't specifically phrased his answer in a manner that granted leeway, but the name Aegon for another Targaryen king gave her significant pause.

"Why not?" He frowned.

"There have been too many King Aegons already in your dynasty," she explained carefully, "and none of them had particularly great reigns or endings. I would not grant that curse to our child."

Rhaegar blinked in surprise, speechless for several long moments. "What would you have him named then?"

Lyanna thought. If she were truly going to pick a name for their son, a name for their heir and future king to succeed Rhaegar, she would not go through the index of Targaryen rulers, or even their sons. She would name him after a King of Winter – not Torrhen, after the Kneeler; and not Brandon after Bran the Builder, for Ned or Brandon himself might like to use that name; not Walton or Edwyn, either.

Jon Stark, though, King in the North and King of Winter who'd raised the castle Wolf's Den to protect the North from searaiders. She tested the name in her mind, and then tasted it on her tongue.

"Jon," she smiled. "After King Jon Stark of the North."

"A simple name," Rhaegar granted, "but a good name. A king's name." His eyes flicked down to her belly, and his fingers smoothed over the coverlet before molding to the expanse of her stomach. His touch sent tingles through her body, sharp and lovely. She shivered again.

"I always assumed my son would be named Aegon," he admitted softly, his eyes and mind somewhere far. "When I was young, I was bookish, more interested in reading and writing than playing with the boys and knights in the yard. Everyone whispered I was Baelor the Blessed come again.

"I let their words slide away, unaffected by the talk. Until one day…" He paused heavily.

Lyanna was intrigued by the direction of his words. "Until one day," she prompted.

Rhaegar's eyes flashed up, as if surprised she was engaging him. "One day I was reading a book that my great-great uncle Aemon had recently gifted me, a great tome of Targaryen history and prophecy. Within it spoke of a night that would one day befall the world, an everlasting night that would bring with it terrors of ice and darkness."

Lyanna's throat was tight as the picture he painted came alive. Though the only thing that came to her mind was Old Nan's stories of wights and the Others, beautiful demons made of ice, that could cut through bone and steel and muscle as easy as a knife cut butter. She shook off the thought, not understanding why they had come to mind when they'd been gone for thousands of years.

"The book also spoke of a savior that would be born to bring about the destruction of these terrors, and herald in the Eternal Summer." He glanced up at her, uncertain. "The Prince That Was Promised, he was called, and I thought he and I were one and the same. That day, I went to the yard and asked Ser Willem for a sword and armor.

"My grandfather, King Jaehaerys, was once told by a woods witch that the Promised Prince would be borne from his line, thus why he married my father and mother together."

It was so much to take in, but all Lyanna could think of – with utter shock – was Maggy the Frog's words: 'Your three children will be the greatest that the world has ever seen, your firstborn the Promised One.'

Lyanna felt so dizzy she was scared she would pass out. She wondered if Rhaegar was only spinning a story to her, repeating what she'd told him of the fortune that night they'd camped in the Crownlands. But no…Rhaegar's story was so specific.

"I thought I was the Promised Prince for a long time," Rhaegar went on, "but I realized I couldn't be. The signs weren't there…"

"Signs?" Lyanna asked.

"The prophecy of the prince was regarded with signs of his coming," he explained, "a bleeding star heralding his destiny, and a song…"

"A song," Lyanna repeated doubtfully.

Rhaegar's purple eyes were knives in her skin, and his palm was fire against her belly. "His is the song of ice and fire."

Ice and fire, fire and ice. All thoughts of this combination came rushing back at Lyanna so quickly, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open.

'Your three children will be the greatest that the world has ever seen, your firstborn the Promised One. And their blood will freeze and flame with that of ice and fire,' Maggy had rasped at her in that black tent at Harrenhal.

And then, Howland Reed's all-knowing, ageless voice, as he leaned on her after she had saved him from those three craven squires. Benjen had asked the little crannogman what he was doing at the tournament, since they didn't usually leave the Neck.

Howland had smiled and said, 'I thought I might bear witness to a song. It's an ancient song, older than words themselves. A song that represents the Eternal Summer. The song of ice and fire.'

Lyanna thought she might be sick. Crannogmen were thought to have the greensight, the ability to know of future events with only their mind's eye. Could he have known, even then? Had Howland foreseen her union with Rhaegar, her eventual bearing of his children, of his prince?

"When you admitted what that fortune teller told you, that night we camped and Oswell questioned you about the black tent," Rhaegar said quietly, rubbing his hand over her stomach, "I almost passed out. Though I was certain I was not the Promised Prince, I believed he would come from my line somehow. And then you confirmed it with your words, and I had never felt relief so heavenly."

Lyanna's wide eyes met his. "Relief?"

He nodded, his face a mask of wariness, like he feared she would hit him or scream or leave. "You were meant to be mine, as I was yours. Our child will have the blood of dragons and winter flowing in their veins, the blood of ice and fire."

Lyanna exhaled a shuddering breath, overcome with so many images and thoughts of prophecy and fortunes, of icicles freezing along the ridges of Winterfell, of a great black dragon's breath.

"I'm sorry if I've said too much," Rhaegar murmured sadly, observing her reaction.

Lyanna shook her head. It was a lot to take in, but his every word filled her with a great…contentment? It was as if the last puzzle piece had shifted into place somehow, like a hole had been filled, though she hadn't known there was any empty space at all.

She wanted to ask a million and one questions. She wanted to ask none.

"You never mentioned this before," she whispered.

Rhaegar ran his teeth along his bottom lip. "It wasn't until recently that we even consummated our marriage," he pointed out, "I didn't want to scare you off with all this talk of prophecy and doom."

She thought of Maggy the Frog. She thought of Howland Reed.

Instead, she asked, "Why Aegon then? Why did you want to name him Aegon?" If it is a 'him' inside me, she thought.

"The prophecy," he explained, "speaks of a Promised Prince, but two others as well. The dragon has three heads. After I learned I was not the prince, I always thought I would name my children after the Conquerer and his sisters."

"And if it's not a boy and two girls? What then?" Her voice was light, but she was dizzy with connecting Rhaegar's words of, 'the dragon has three heads', and Maggy's, 'Your three children will be the greatest that the world has ever seen'.

"Then I'll be just as happy," he answered seriously. He cast his eyes down to watch his hand stroke over her stomach. Slowly, he bent and placed his lips on her belly, searing her with heat, even through her robe. "I will love each and every one of them," he promised in a whisper on her body.

Lyanna threaded her fingers through his silver hair, and he looked up. He was so fucking beautiful, she could not stand it. She clenched her fingers in his roots and tugged up, so that he slid up her body and claimed her mouth with his.

It was like taking a breath of air after drowning, the relief was so palpable. His mouth was full and hot against hers, his hands pulling her hips flush against his. She felt heat bubbling in her belly, and wondered not for the first time if it was her baby filling her with such desire for its father, or if it was lust borne deep in her bones for her husband.

Either way, she wanted him, as incontestably as she wanted home and the Mad King gone and the realm safe. Lightly, she pushed on Rhaegar's shoulders until he drew back, confused. She put her hands to the knot of her robe's belt, fumbling with it as she attempted to untie it.

Sensing her trouble, Rhaegar took the knot from her and deftly undid it, allowing the slashes of satin to fall at her sides. Then, keeping eye contact with her the entire time, he slid his fingers beneath the edges of her robe where it lay against her collarbones, and pushed each side back until her entire naked body was revealed to him – chest and ribs and stomach and hips and thighs and legs, all on display in naked glory as she shrugged the thing off entirely.

His eyes eventually left hers, falling down the length of neck, over the swell of her breasts, down the slope of her stomach, between her thighs and down her legs. "You," he breathed, "are so gorgeous."

Feeling the situation unfair, she curled her hands at the hem of his tunic and tugged upward. Rhaegar seemed to understand, reaching one hand behind his neck and tugging the shirt off in a smooth, quick motion. His chest was just as she had remembered it – lean and hard and pale in the moonlight.

She ran her hands down his chest reverently, feeling the way his muscles shifted beneath her palms as he shuddered. Carefully, Rhaegar molded his body atop hers, kicking her knees apart so that he could rest in the cradle of her thighs.

The material of his breeches was unpleasant against her legs, but his bare chest on hers was better than anything she'd ever felt. He put his mouth on her neck and stamped her skin with his lips, while she panted, the cold air of the open window forgotten as he shared his heat.

Without realizing what she was doing, her hands went to his pants, yanking on the ties there. Rhaegar stilled, watching as she unlaced the breeches. After that, he struggled but was successful in helping her pull the pants and smallclothes down his hips, and off his legs, before throwing them in a heap to the floor.

Rhaegar immediately went back to kiss across her throat, teething the ridges of her collarbones as light as a cat. Both as nude as their name days, and writhing against each other needily, she reached between their bodies to touch him; he was harder than iron, but his skin was as soft as the satin of her shucked robe.

He gasped into her neck, then moaned, the sound of it jolting through her like lightning. He disentangled his fingers from her hair and snaked them down to where her hand encircled his cock, molding his fingers around hers and stroking their hands around him, soft and slow, as he buried his head in her ribcage, panting.

She squirmed beneath him, wanting to touch him more, wanting him to touch her. There were so many thoughts in her head, ice and fire and lust battling for dominance, that it seemed to clean her mind of any coherence, leaving her a twisted tangled jumbled array of feelings.

And then suddenly his mouth was back on hers, his hand having abandoned hers to drag maddeningly slow across the peak of one breast, his calloused palm rasping magnificently on her skin like a needle on silk.

She slid her tongue into his mouth, still pumping her hand around his hard length. Lyanna sucked in a greedy breath of his air, "I want," she said into his mouth, too dizzy with lust to finish her thought.

Rhaegar pulled away, staring down at her with hazy half-lidded eyes, his lips swollen and red, slick from her tongue. He looked as drunk as she felt. Nevertheless, he seemed to understand her meaning.

"Yeah?" He whispered, searching her face.

She didn't even hesitate to nod. She unwrapped her hand from his cock, and grabbed onto his broad, pale shoulders to anchor her heart and soul from soaring. Rhaegar gave her one last long look, allowing her a chance out of this, before dropping his head.

He took himself in hand and positioned himself between her legs, his satin skin hot as fire on her aching sex. She knew what to expect this time, their second time ever joining bodies.

Their first coupling had been as painful as it had been surprising. Having been raised by brothers and a father, Lyanna was not exactly well-versed in the intricacies of sex…for women, that is. She'd heard quite enough about a man's pleasure from Brandon and his friends over the years.

Rhaegar braced one hand at the bed by her shoulder, while his other grasped the soft skin of her hip. He looked up, his eyes dark jewels, and began to slide into her, achingly slow; he wasn't even halfway inside her before his eyes fluttered closed and he exhaled shakily, breath as ragged as rocks.

It hurt, the way that he fit into her, an iron bar stretching wet silk, but it was no more painful than when Jaime struck her with the flat of his blade in their lessons.

When Rhaegar was fully inside of her, every bit of his cock sheathed by her slick heat, he collapsed his elbows, chest to chest with Lyanna, and fit his mouth to hers again, hot and wet and sweet as wine. She felt drunker than she'd ever been with alcohol.

"Does it hurt?" He whispered onto her tongue, before taking her bottom lip between his teeth gently.

She nodded dazedly, allowing him to plump her lip with those sharp, sharp teeth.

"I'm sorry." He sounded genuinely remorseful as he slid his mouth across her cheek and down to her throat, letting the tip of his tongue graze the softest part of her throat, right beneath her jaw.

And then, as if a flame had sparked, he murmured, with more than a hint of dark promise, "I'll make it feel good."

It started out slow, his movements calculated and smooth, a long stream of sliding skin, and hushed breathing. When he moved inside her with that slow, slow pace, it was as if he was catching flint against her skin, forging embers deep within her body.

Every thrust of himself inside of her only fanned those embers, building up their heat, hotter and hotter until the embers grew to glowing coals, and glowing coals erupted into living flames.

Her entire body thrummed with a steady buzz of heated ecstasy, provoked and enflamed any time Rhaegar put the flat of his tongue against her skin, any time he groaned curses beneath his breath, any time he caught her eyes and couldn't look away, as if they were both entranced by some ancient carnal spell.

Lyanna's breath was coming ragged, like trying to suck in the damp air of a scalding bath, and her fingers dug into her husband's skin like a wolf with claws.

Before she knew what he was doing, Rhaegar braced himself with one hand back on the bed and the other flat beneath her tailbone. She had a mind to ask him if something was wrong, but her head was too fuzzy she hadn't the strength.

Then with that strong splayed hand, he canted her hips up an inch or so, and ground himself into her at a different angle, his hot slick skin sliding right up against the top of her sex.

It took less than a second for her body to explode in startling pleasure, the force and feel of it so sudden and earth-shattering, she didn't register as her nails scraped into the slopes of his collarbones, down the skin of his chest, and across the hard planes of his stomach.

He thrusted into her quicker than before as she rode out her ecstasy around his cock, his hips jerking frantically - once twice three times - before he fell to his elbows and captured her mouth against his.

She felt the exact moment he came, his seed hot inside her, filling her, his moans reverberating through skin and bone and vein and muscle, until she wasn't sure where his pleasure began and hers ended.

When he finished inside her, his body still and sated, she felt as if she was in the clouds, her heart beating harder than a blacksmith's hammer on steel, her skin turned inside out.

When Rhaegar had promised he'd make her feel good, she hadn't known he'd make her feel that good, like her body was being melted limb by limb until she was nothing but a sensitive bundle of nerves firing off in sheer ecstasy.

Rhaegar lifted his head from where it had been buried in her neck, his pupils blown out so that his eyes seemed black as the bay below their castle. His face was sculpted in desirous wonder, and his cheeks were pink with the most becoming flush.

She wanted him to take her again and he wasn't even out of her yet.

"When do you have to leave?" That was the first thing out of her mouth, the nagging thought that hadn't gone away since he'd first told her he was riding to Casterly Rock.

Rhaegar swallowed and cast a look behind him, where the window was open and showcasing a pale orange sky, fresh with an awakening sun.

"Now," he said regretfully, hanging his head. His silver strands tickled her skin, but his lips dragging over her collarbones was nothing short of wildfire.

"Do you have to leave?" She murmured, sounding needier than she had expected, shocking herself. When had she morphed from resilient independent daughter of the North to a clinging dragon-cloaked wolf child? She didn't like it. Ice and fire, fire and ice…

Rhaegar supported himself on one elbow as he stroked the length of her jawbone with his finger. Her nails had left fierce red trails down his chest and abs, proof of their passion and the ecstasy he had given her. Some primal part of her liked that she had scarred him.

"Yes," he said, "I'm late as it is. I was meant to leave before the sun came up."

Her heart sank deep into her chest. "Oh."

"I'll ride fast and hard each day," he promised. Rhaegar's hair was limp with sweat from their sex, but his eyes couldn't have been brighter, even as he gently pulled himself out of her and kissed the pulse point in her throat.

He dressed himself quickly in his clothes as Lyanna wrapped herself in the velvet of her blanket, awash in the smell of him and her together. It brought bitter anger to her chest, even though he still stood before her.

Just as he pulled on his boots, he looked up, face falling. He strode over and molded his body to hers; the relief of it was so palpable, it felt like a million birds had been tied to her heart and then cut free.

"Do not fret," he said. "Everything is going to go as planned."

Ice and fire, fire and ice, the dragon must have three heads…

She clenched her jaw, angry at his casual flippancy for the situation. "I suppose I'll see you in a couple of months?"

She was set to leave for Dragonstone in three days, and wouldn't come back to King's Landing until Rhaegar and the Lannister soldiers had safely taken the throne and put Aerys in chains; then, she would come back to the Red Keep, and Aerys would take her place at Dragonstone, living the remainder of his life on the dragon island.

"You will." Rhaegar tipped her chin up with two fingers and placed a feather-soft kiss to her mouth that tasted of salt and heat. "All I want to do is come home to you. I'll ride faster than the wind, and before you know it, you'll be my queen."

The worship in his voice was harder to bear than the complete way he'd filled her body just mere minutes ago. Ice and fire… Her heart was set to burst from the emotion swelling within, but she forced a brave face.

"Make sure that when you come for him, you're surrounded by your Kingsguards," she said sternly, "so you can actually be king."

His smile was a thing of magnificence, and he kissed her one last time. "I promise I will."

Fire and ice…

Chapter 47: A Royal Lie

Chapter Text

Lyanna shivered violently, the gloomy day blowing cold winds and boasting grey skies. If she looked up, she could almost trick herself into believing she was in Winterfell again, could pretend that the noise below the Red Keep was actually the sounds of Benjen playing Knights and Maidens, and not the cries of Flea Bottom.

Despite the chill of cold, Lyanna enjoyed the smell of it; now that winter was actually coming, the city did not smell so much of fish and feces and hot, hot air. She left the window open and resumed folding the last bits of clothing left in her room.

Her room within the Maidenvault was almost a bare husk of its former self; it had been completely gutted, divested of her blankets and bedding, her clothing and shoes, her books and every last valuable possession she owned, until it was left hardly more than a bleak grey cell with sparse furnishings.

Her things had been packed into trunks and cases, and loaded onto Silverscale, the ship Rhaegar had hired to transport her, Ser Jaime, and her ladies-in-waiting to Dragonstone.

Every day since Rhaegar had left – three, to be exact – with Sers Arthur, Oswell, Barristan, and Gerold flanking him as they rode down the goldroad, was utter torture. The long days burned slow, and not even Jaime could make them exciting.

Not that he tried. In the three days that Rhaegar had been gone from the Keep, Jaime had been more a skittish tomcat than a proud lion. Everywhere she went, and he subsequently followed, had Jaime casting wary looks around, searching for some invisible threat.

She had tried getting to the root of his problem, point blank asking what exactly he was looking for, but Jaime had just brushed her off and cast another paranoid look over his shoulder.

She'd given up wondering after the first day.

When she finally had her last cloak folded and packed into the trunk, she sighed tiredly and stood. Somewhere, a heavy door screamed as it was opened; Ser Jaime, Lyanna thought, or Lady Johanna, perhaps.

Footsteps were pounding within the Maidenvault, more than one pair if she judged correctly. And crying too, heavy cries that were more shrieking sobs than anything else. Lyanna's heart tripped and she went to her open doorway, peering out.

Before her eyes could adjust to the darkness within the halls, a sobbing form rammed right into her knees, nearly toppling her over with the sheer force of it. Lyanna gripped onto the wall for balance just as another person came into view, short and pudgy and out of breath - Lanna, Prince Viserys' caretaker.

At Lyanna's knees, Viserys clung to her for dear life, his sobs echoing disturbingly through the halls of the Maidenvault, like the sounds of a dying animal. She bent and untangled him from her legs, holding him out at arm's length.

"What's wrong?" She soothed, then cut a look to Lanna. "What happened?"

Viserys raised his head. Even in the grey light the gloomy day afforded them, Lyanna could still make out the angry red mark plastered across one of the little prince's cheeks, fierce and terrible and in the distinct shape of a large hand.

She felt her heart sink. "Who did this? Was it you?" She demanded of Lanna, who seemed fit to soil her dress right then and there.

Lanna shook her head in fright. "No, Your Highness, no, it was…" She looked around nervously, much like the way Jaime had been the past few days.

Viserys shook off Lyanna's hold on his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her neck and his little legs around her stomach. "Father," he cried into her neck, "he hit me." Lyanna's blood went cold.

Lanna came and crouched beside the prince and princess, explaining in a small whisper, "Prince Viserys wanted to see Queen Rhaella for the midday meal, but the king was about to…visit with her. The little prince tried to go see his mother anyway, but the king…"

"Hit him," Lyanna finished softly, squeezing Viserys tighter to her chest. He was not sobbing as badly as he had been, but his tears still soaked through her shoulders and hair.

"Yes, Your Highness," Lanna whispered, "when that happened, I was in shock. Prince Viserys ran away and it was all I could do to keep up with him, he's so quick. I didn't realize he was coming here, to you, until he burst through the Maidenvault."

"It's fine," Lyanna assured the caretaker, standing slowly, then rocking Viserys like a baby. She wanted to lay him down on the bed so he could calm, but all the bedding had been stripped, either for washing or to take to Dragonstone.

Dragonstone…

This put a chink in their plans. She couldn't leave Viserys, not now, not when his mother was being brutally abused by the king, not when he'd been dealt a blow so severe, his entire cheek looked aflame.

But, she was meant to leave today. For one wild instant, she fantasized of sneaking Viserys on the ship with her, sailing away before the king could find out. But she pushed that thought out.

She might've been able to whisk away the little prince, but that would mean leaving Rhaella behind with that monster of a brother-husband, and even considering that made her heart hurt.

Jaime appeared as suddenly and quietly as a ghost, splendid in his white-enameled armor. For the first time in several days, his eyes and face were relaxed. But that all changed when he saw Viserys sobbing in her arms and Lanna cowering in fear of Jaime's sight.

"Princess," he said slowly, "the ship is loaded, and the captain says it is time to leave."

Leave…she couldn't leave, not yet. She couldn't leave Viserys behind crying hysterically while his mother was raped in her own bed. What kind of careless bitch would she be if she left them behind? What kind of mother would that make her in the future?

Rhaegar had told her in no uncertain terms that Rhaella and Viserys could not come to Dragonstone with her. But… "Well, tell the captain that we are not leaving today," she said without thinking.

Jaime's green eyes widened. "What?"

Lyanna rocked Viserys, and Jaime's eyes flicked down to the small boy. "Tell the captain I am delaying our departure. Just for one day, we can leave on the morrow."

"No," Jaime said desperately, scaring her, "you don't understand, we have to leave today."

"We don't," she shot back. "The ship can wait one day for the future queen and her guests."

"Lyanna," Jaime murmured, fear in his eyes. She didn't understand. "you can't-"

"I can," she interrupted as Viserys erupted into a raw sob. "Go. Tell the captain now that I have ordered us to leave in the morning." She leveled the Kingsguard with a cold stare that brooked no further argument.

Jaime clenched his jaw angrily, working it over as he stared her down. No matter if he was her friend or not, she would not let him change her mind. She could afford to stay with Viserys tonight, calm him down, and then tomorrow hand him off to Rhaella, granted she was well enough after…

"Now, Ser Jaime," Lyanna ordered quietly.

Those cat-green eyes narrowed angrily before he turned, sweeping away from her. She couldn't help the shiver that ghosted up her skin. She hadn't seen him look that angry since she'd caught him with his sister.

"Lanna," Lyanna turned, "I want you to go to the kitchens and tell the cooks to make roast swan tonight. It's Viserys' favorite. Then I'd like you to gather the books he's learning from today, and bring them to Prince Rhaegar's chambers."

"Prince Rhaegar?" Lanna squeaked.

"Yes," Lyanna sighed impatiently, "my husband has gone to Casterly Rock, and my own room is obviously unusable. Deposit Viserys' books there, and fetch some paints and paper, if you could."

Lanna seemed absurdly grateful to have some task other than watching Viserys cry, so she curtsied in respect and scurried off.

Lyanna rocked Viserys for a few more minutes before heading out of the Maidenvault herself, ignoring the strange looks of the knights and lords and ladies within the castle. At the drawbridge leading to Maegor's, Ser Lewyn stared at her coldly, those black eyes dead and crawling over her skin.

She marched straight for Rhaegar's rooms, slipping inside and immediately depositing the little prince on the bed. The air was thick with her husband's scent, and it served to calm her racing heart and tear a hole in her aching soul simultaneously.

She and Viserys spent the rest of the day in Rhaegar's chambers. They painted and laughed, she read stories of dragons from Viserys' books and he giggled around the room, playing at Balerion the Dread.

That night they feasted together, just the two of them, on roast swan and apple cakes, and afterward, Viserys fell asleep atop Rhaegar's bed as Lyanna recited the same bedtime stories Old Nan had told her years ago.

When she was sure the little prince was deep in sleep, she came to sit near him. His cheek was no longer red, but the handprint had turned to an ugly purple color; in a sick twist of black humor, she had noticed that the color brought out the lilac in his eyes.

Lyanna put one hand on her stomach as she studied Viserys' hurt face. She had told Jaime they would leave on the morrow, but she couldn't imagine leaving Viserys vulnerable to more of Aerys' dark moods. Her fingers clutched at the skin of her belly. She imagined what it would be like to feel her baby kick beneath her belly, to feel that touch.

She dropped her head to stare at her splayed hand, at her softening stomach. Your father will never hurt you, she thought at her baby, he will love you and cherish you, and protect you from all evils in this world.

The next morning, Jaime Lannister woke in his room within the White Sword Tower. The day seemed just as bleak as the one before, skies grey and gloomy. It seemed to match his mood.

He could have strangled Lyanna for her stupidity, ordering their departure to be delayed. Of course she didn't know, didn't realize, the danger she was putting Jaime in by doing so, but still, he was angry.

Every day that he was in the Red Keep without Prince Rhaegar there was another day closer to the possibility of him being thrown in the black cells, Rhaegar's plans be damned.

Before he'd left, the prince had explained that Mad Aerys had wanted Jaime confined in those dark dungeons for the crime of being a Lannister, but Rhaegar had lied and convinced his father to imprison Jaime on Dragonstone instead.

The three days that Rhaegar was gone, and Jaime and Lyanna were alone in the Keep, were the most stressful days of Jaime's life. He looked for the king at every corner, in every room, hoping beyond hope that he could avoid Aerys completely before they left for Dragonstone.

Lyanna had only made his mission that much harder by insisting they stay another day. Last night she had slept with the little prince in her husband's chambers within Maegor's Holdfast, keeping him occupied and smiling as his own queen mother was raped by his father.

Jaime both admired Lyanna's compassionate strength, and cursed her for it.

As he dressed in his whites and made his way from the eerily quiet tower where all the Kingsguards slept – except for the absent Arthur, Oswell, Barristan, and Lord Commander Gerold – Jaime calmed himself. Lyanna had asked for only one day in delay; they were leaving today and Jaime would be free from the threat of the black cells.

He had convinced himself he was safe, marching blindly to Rhaegar's chambers to retrieve the princess, when it all came crashing down.

"Ser Jaime," came the old king's croaking voice as he was exiting the Holdfast. "What are you doing here?" Varys the Spider was at Aerys' side.

The memory of Rhaegar asking Jaime to tell no one of his plans suddenly came to mind. 'Tell no one of what we have said here today. Varys' spies are everywhere, and nowhere is clean,' the prince had said. Jaime kept his eyes off the Spider.

Fighting to keep the grimace off his face at the sight of the wizened, scabbed king, Jaime said, "I came to get Princess Lyanna, for our departure to Dragonstone."

Aerys seemed to be under the impression that Jaime was unaware of his "imprisonment" on the dragon island; Rhaegar had spun his tale in a way that had the king thinking Jaime would sail a free man to Dragonstone and be ambushed with chains upon arrival.

"And why are you and the princess still here?" The king demanded. Varys arched a brow mockingly.

Jaime searched for an excuse. He couldn't very well tell the mad man that after he had struck his own son, Viserys had run crying to Lyanna, and she couldn't bear to leave the boy alone while his father was torturing his mother, so she'd delayed their departure.

Fortunately, and most unfortunately, Lyanna and Viserys appeared right then, hand in hand, smiling. Well, at least until they saw the king.

"Girl," Aerys barked, completely oblivious to the purple handprint across Viserys' cheek. "Why are you still here?" He demanded of her. "You were to leave yesterday."

The king was angry, that much was certain, and it proved to strike fear right into Lyanna's heart. She froze, her eyes widening. Jaime could see the skin over her heart jump with every beat.

"Well?" Aerys sneered. "What business do you have defying your husband's orders?"

Lyanna's lips parted, and Jaime knew that whatever was about to come out of her mouth wasn't going to be smart. "Rhaegar changed his mind."

Jaime's heart sunk to his toes. No, no, oh no.

"Changed his mind?" Aerys repeated, eyes narrowing.

Lyanna swallowed. "Yes," she agreed slowly, giving herself time to weave a lie. "The prince decided I was much safer here with you and the queen, at the Keep in Maegor's Holdfast."

Oh, she'd phrased it just flattering enough that the king might let the blatant lie slide. She was better than Jaime thought, an on-the-spot liar just like Cersei, all to keep little Viserys from his father's harm.

"Rhaegar said that there was no place safer than in the royal holdfast," she explained, straightening her spine to give credence to her lie. "'The king's place is the safest place in the realm,' he told me."

No, he screamed in his mind. You're ruining everything! He couldn't call her out on the lie though; that could mean her death if the Mad King was angry enough, and he wouldn't have her head lopped off on his watch. She was his friend, she was his princess, she was his responsibility.

Aerys huffed, a creepy smile spreading slowly across his face. "My son can be stupid on many things," he granted, "but he is right on this. I told him you should stay in King's Landing, and it seems he finally took my advice."

Lyanna nodded quickly. "Yes."

He studied her quickly, oblivious to his other son's presence. "Very well, I can have rooms made up for you in the Holdfast."

"No," Lyanna blurted out quickly, "I can stay in Rhaegar's rooms for now, until Lord Tywin can be brought to justice." Her eyes strayed to Jaime quickly, and he read the apology there even as dread sank his soul.

"Good," Aerys said, "good. Well, run along then, continue with your day." He turned back to Jaime. Lyanna did not budge.

"Ser Jaime," Aerys dragged out his name slowly, menacingly. Jaime had never been truly afraid of the king before, had only thought of him as a weak, mad ruler that had outlived his days, as well as his sanity. But now, with his fate in the king's hands…

"Since I am out of most of my Kingsguard," Aerys smiled, "I am in dire need of a personal shield. Ser Lewyn stands post at the drawbridge, and Jonothor stands by my door at night, but I've no one during the days. You," he said, "will do."

Jaime could not refuse a king's orders, no matter if that king was soon to be overthrown. He wasn't being locked in the black cells like he assumed he would be, but somehow this task felt just as dark. Jaime rued the day that white cloak was placed on his shoulders.

"It would be an honor, Your Grace," he lied.

"An honor," Aerys chuckled, testing the word before his dark eyes flashed up. "Yes, an honor."

Chapter 48: The Hands

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The twilight that descended over King's Landing was as dark and lovely as Rhaegar's eyes, a disturbing cobalt blue mixed with hues of amethyst. Just looking at the sky made Lyanna's heart ache. Rhaegar had been gone for two entire months, and every day that passed her belly grew without him there.

Whereas her stomach had been flat as a board the night they lay together in her bed, now it was curved with the life that grew beneath her skin, a bump that was beginning to show through the tunics and dresses she wore.

Viserys had taken to escorting her around the castle each morning, stopping any and every person that passed them by and forcing them to lay a hand over Lyanna's stomach and wish her well. It was all incredibly endearing, but Lyanna couldn't help but wonder if she had done herself and Rhaegar a huge disservice by purposely staying in King's Landing.

Of course with her presence, Viserys was no longer lonely, and far less privy to Aerys' abuse. When the king went to "visit" with the queen, Lyanna was able to keep Viserys away, and keep him occupied.

But sometimes when she lay in Rhaegar's bed at night, alone and her mind drifting, she would fantasize about what it would have been like to have sailed to Dragonstone with Jaime and her ladies, how each day would have dawned grey on the dragon island, how the ocean would have sang to her from below.

In her darkest moments, she contemplated sneaking out to Flea Bottom through her secret tunnels, and buying passage to Dragonstone alone. But that was all just a child's fancy peeking through her thoughts, and despite how often she dreamed of doing it, she never did.

She had made her bed by lying and staying in King's Landing, and now she had to lay in it.

Being stuck in the Red Keep might not have been so bad if Jaime were still guarding her during the days, but even he was taken from her. He guarded the king from sunup to sundown, witnessing gods knew what when Aerys decided to lock himself in the throne room.

Sometimes at the end of his shifts, Jaime would come by Rhaegar's room to say hello or take her to their secret courtyard and let her whack at him with her practice sword, but even those times were starting to come less often.

During the days, when Viserys was learning and Rhaella was about her duties, Lyanna would take her ladies and an entourage of guards and visit Beth and her baby at the orphanage, handing out little cakes and presents to the children.

And when she left, riding back to the Keep, the townspeople would line up to throw flowers at her, and scream her name with joy. She gave them her smiles and her waves, but gallivanting around Flea Bottom only made her heart ache for the night she and Rhaegar had explored. It made her incredibly lonely.

"Your Highness?"

Lyanna jumped in her chair, swiveling to see Maester Pycelle standing hunched over by Rhaegar's open door. "Grand Maester," she said breathlessly, "I didn't hear you come in."

"I knocked," he replied uncertainly, eyeing her. In his hand was an uncoiled raven's message, its seal broken. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but a letter came to the rookery. I did not know it was meant for you until..."

For a moment, her heart stilled. She'd been hoping for a letter from Rhaegar. In the two months he had been gone, she'd heard not a word. Of course, she hadn't expected to receive anything, given he still thought her to be at Dragonstone, but it didn't stop her from wishing for something.

"Rhaegar," she whispered hopefully, reaching for the letter.

Pycelle frowned. "No, not Prince Rhaegar."

Her hopes fell to her feet. Of course it wasn't Rhaegar - he was under the impression she was where she was supposed to be as he marched Lannister soldiers to the capital. She took the letter anyway, turning it over to study the seal across its back.

The wax was lavender in color and pressed into it was a sigil depicting a falling star slashed with a sword - the sigil of House Dayne. Her eyes widened as she hurriedly drank in the words of the letter, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.

Her brother Brandon's scrawl was just as messy as she remembered, slanting diagonally as he wrote about living at Starfall with Ashara, how they had married in the Southron fashion, and she had delivered their babe Arra, a beautiful dark-haired girl with startling purple eyes and pale, pale skin.

Lyanna hadn't realized she was crying until her tears stained the paper, blurring the ink into small explosions of black monsters. She wiped her cheeks, laughing through her cries.

"Grand Maester," she said softly, "will you please write back to Starfall for me?" She didn't trust her shaking hand to write visibly.

The old maester nodded, coming to sit at Rhaegar's desk where parchment and ink lay out always.

"Address it to Brandon Stark. Tell him I miss him," she started out, pacing the length of the room, "tell him I am pregnant, tell him..." She paused, Brandon's image coming to mind, "I will come see him soon and present him with his niece or nephew." Only five or so more months till she delivered, and she could see her wild wolf again.

Pycelle diligently wrote out everything she had told him to, then read it back to her before sealing it with Rhaegar's wax and seal.

"I want that sent out tonight," she ordered.

Pycelle bowed as much as his old body let him. "Of course, Your Highness."

Only after he had left and she was alone once more did her fantasies of escaping King's Landing morph into fleeing to a castle by the Dornish sea, where a lone wolf howled at the stars.

Darkness had finally settled over the castle, the sun tucked away behind the black horizon. Jaime's legs were numb from standing in one spot all day, at the base of Aerys' monstrous barbed throne from the moment the sun had risen to now. He desperately wanted to sleep, to curl in on himself within the White Sword Tower, and dream of a fair face and caressing hands.

"Make it quick," Aerys growled at Qarlton Chelsted, the Hand that had replaced Jon Connington. Aerys seemed as irritable as Jaime felt, squirming in his hard throne like a restless child.

Lord Qarlton approached the Iron Throne, his entire body sagging with fatigue. Purple bags hung beneath his eyes, and his skin was even more pale than usual. His hands were visibly shaking, but it didn't stop the determination in his gaze.

"Your Grace," Qarlton began quietly, "I wonder if we might speak alone."

Jaime narrowed his eyes. Besides for himself, Varys, Wisdom Rossart the pyromancer, and the king, Lord Qarlton was the only other person in the cavernous hall.

"Ser Jaime is my Kingsguard," Aerys explained, "a sword from which a king has no secrets. And Rossart knows how to keep words to himself."

Qarlton frowned, quickly glancing at Jaime before redirecting his attention to the king. "As you say. Your Grace, I feel I must advise you against the upcoming executions of Lord Tywin Lannister and his bannermen."

The room was heavy with pregnant silence. It was so quiet it hurt Jaime's ears. Not even the flames flickering in the huge iron baskets lining the throne room made a sound, silent flames waving red, orange, and yellow.

"What did you say?" Aerys whispered dangerously, gripping the sharp tip of one of the swords melted around his seat.

"Lord Tywin is powerful," Qarlton was quick to explain. "I fear if you execute him, there could be retribution from the Westerlands. There could be a war."

Varys spoke up. "My birds tell me Prince Rhaegar is riding back from Casterly Rock, a few days from the capital now, with Tywin Lannister and his co-conspirators shackled and guarded by the Kingsguards he took."

"I understand that," Qarlton replied, glancing uncertainly around the room, "but killing a Lannister is not a good idea. Lord Tywin has many allies throughout Westeros, even King's Landing. If he were to be executed, they might stand and revolt. I beg you, do not kill Lord Tywin. Leniency, however..."

Aerys' eyes flashed. "You would have me pardon a traitor? You would have me grant mercy to those who plot treason?!"

"Pardon, no," Qarlton squeaked, "mercy, yes. You could exile those involved in the plot."

Bile rose in Jaime's throat when Aerys spoke again. "Dragons do not give mercy," he screamed, his voice echoing wildly. "They destroy." He sneered down at his Hand. "And they burn. Rossart!"

Wisdom Rossart ghosted forward, disturbingly fluid in his grace. The rags he wore were a deep jade velvet, but almost seemed to rot off his body. "Your Grace, what is your command?"

"Wisdom Rossart, tell my Hand what you and your pyromancers did for me today," Aerys said, settling back into his seat and staring down at Qarlton with a chilling smirk.

Rossart faced Qarlton and explained, "By the king's command, we placed some fifty caches of wildfire around the city, as well as beneath the Red Keep itself."

Jaime's heart rose to his throat, and it was all he could to stay upright and wipe his face clean of emotion.

"Should any of Lord Tywin's friends rise against the crown and rebel once the Lion is executed," Rossart went on, "the entire city can be turned to ash within hours."

Jaime's armor clinked where his hand shook against his sword's pommel, so he lowered his hand and clenched his jaw. He tried to focus on the fact that Varys had confirmed Rhaegar and his father were not far away. He only had to hold on for a few more days.

"Yo- you what?" Qarlton squeaked.

Aerys grinned. "That's right. If any rebels want to take my crown, so be it. But let them rule over ash and charred bones."

Qarlton's eyes seemed to pop out of his head. "You're mad," he whispered, signing his death warrant, "mad..."

The king's face transformed from smug and proud to evil dragon. "I'm not mad!" He screamed shrilly. "Rossart, get the stake and a pot of wildfire. I think my Hand has outlived his office."

Qarlton stumbled back a few steps. "Your Grace, I did not mean to offend."

"Ser Jaime!" Aerys shrieked. "Grab Lord Chelsted!"

Jaime felt vomit rise in his throat as he marched forward and held onto Qarlton Chelsted, who kicked and fought but was no match in strength for the Young Lion. As the stake was brought out and Lord Qarlton was tied to it, Jaime went away in his head.

He let his thoughts drift to nicer things as the wildfire was dispersed and the stake was lit. He thought of Cersei's beautiful golden hair and how it smelled when it was draped across his face; he thought of his brief happiness the day he'd been granted the white cloak; he thought of being knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning; he thought of Lyanna and the way the moon cast a silver crown over her head when he taught her how to use a sword in their secret courtyard.

He thought of Tyrion, his little brother, and the way the boy had always wanted a dragon of his own. Qarlton's flesh was bubbling as the fire overcame him, chunks of it sloughing off completely as his screams filled the throne room like some horrible song. Aerys watched in utter fascination, his smile stretching from ear to ear.

See, Tyrion, that's what you get when you wish for dragons.

It could have lasted an hour, it could have lasted a year. All Jaime knew was one moment Lord Qarlton was alive and whole, and the next...he wasn't.

Huge bits of blackened bone scattered the floor where they fell from the stake, but most of the late lord Hand was in the pile of ash and dust settled across the marble.

"It seems I will have to appoint a new Hand," Aerys said casually, inhaling the scent of Qarlton's skin, screams, and bones floating in the air. "Rossart, from here on out, you will be my Hand, my closest advisor."

Rossart bowed deeply, smiling. "It would be my greatest honor, Your Grace."

"Ser Jaime," Aerys said, climbing down from his throne, "tell the servants to clean this mess up. And then escort me to the queen's rooms."

Emotionless, Jaime strode to the throne room doors and found a group of servants. He instructed them to clean Lord Qarlton's body from the floors without question, and then he went back to the king's side, more tired than he'd ever been in his life.

He wanted to sleep and dream and never wake again.

Instead he was forced to follow Aerys as he made his way to Maegor's Holdfast. As they passed by Rhaegar's closed door, Jaime couldn't help but feel relief. At least the king would not bother the princess; the longer Rhaegar was gone, the more Aerys took to looking at Lyanna, deeply and unfazed by whomever could witness.

At the queen's door, Aerys paused and turned to Jaime. "You will stand here until I am done, and then Ser Jonothor will relieve you."

Jaime could only nod, and thank the gods Lyanna was safe. The king slipped inside and closed the door behind him, but it only took mere minutes for Rhaella to begin crying and shouting in distress, her sobs burying themselves deep in Jaime's heart like tiny daggers.

His sword hand twitched violently.

As the queen wept, begging her brother to stop, Jaime went away inside his head once more, thinking of a day when a different king would sit the throne and another queen would not be tortured behind closed doors.

Notes:

I know interest in the Rhaegar/Lyanna tag has drastically declined in the past few weeks, so I want to thank all of you who are still reading and commenting on my story. I appreciate every one of you!

Chapter 49: Fire and Blood

Chapter Text

The afternoon was heavy with the metallic scent of an inevitable rainstorm, the clouds joining in thick clumps overhead. It will storm tonight, Lyanna knew, as she pushed away her bowl of soup.

Since Rhaegar had left, her appetite had dwindled. She was too worried about any and every aspect that could go wrong with his plan. Especially in the past few days. Just looking at food made her stomach curl and cramp. She grimaced, staring back out at the sky.

"I think I would like to be Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Viserys declared from the floor, fiddling with a small wooden toy sword.

Lyanna smiled a small smile. "You could be Prince Viserys the Dragonknight."

Viserys glanced up, grinning. "I could, and I could guard Rhaegar, and your baby when it comes."

Lyanna ghosted a hand over her swelling stomach. "Yes," she agreed, "you could."

"Your Highness," a gruff voice said from the door.

Lyanna glanced over, a chill crawling over her skin. The voice belonged to Ser Lewyn, the stony-faced Dornish Kingsguard, whose eyes were so black they seemed depthless. Like his soul.

"Ser," she returned hesitantly, wary of his presence.

"The king," Lewyn said, "has summoned Court. Your attendance is requested."

"Oh no," Lyanna rejected immediately, "tell His Grace that I am sorry, but I cannot. I have to stay with the prince."

Queen Rhaella was in poor condition that day, bedridden by the king's abuse. Lyanna had gone to see her and had only caught a glimpse of her chewed-up, clawed skin before Ser Jonothor had closed the door in her face.

Finally, Ser Lewyn's face dropped into a cold sneer. "You will either go by force or of your own volition. Either way," he said, "you're going."

She clenched her jaw, ice trickling through her veins. Why was her presence at Court so important? "And the prince?"

"Will go to Maegor's with the queen," Lewyn finished for her.

Lyanna took a deep breath, and forced a smile for Viserys; better he not think anything was wrong, lest he become upset. "Come on, Vis, it's time to see your mother."

Viserys jumped up, preoccupied with his toy sword. Lanna, his caretaker, waited by the door, looking like she had seen some ghost. "Come along, Your Highness," she whispered at the boy before ushering him away and deeper into Maegor's Holdfast.

Ser Lewyn waited like a dark shadow for Lyanna to smoothe out her skirts. They walked in terrible, harsh silence to the throne room, his boots and shifting armor grating on her anxiety. Her stomach roiled painfully as they came closer to Aerys and Court.

The doors to the throne room were wide open when they approached, and Lyanna could see that the whole of Court was in attendance - lords and ladies and knights and squires and everyone in between.

At the front of the crowd, nearest to the throne, Lyanna saw her ladies-in-waiting. Johanna sent her a small, slightly confused smile. Lyanna could not return it, could not tear her eyes away from the Mad King who sat atop his barbed throne.

"Princess Lyanna," he cackled, "so good of you to join us. Sit, sit."

Ser Lewyn ushered Lyanna to a velvet-cushioned seat situated at the base of Aerys' throne. She sat gingerly, threading her hands together to cease their shaking.

"Ser Jonothor," the king called out.

Lyanna looked over in surprise. She had assumed Ser Jonothor was watching the queen, but no...here he stood, in cold, pale silence, drifting forward at his king's request.

Lyanna looked around wildly. Where is Jaime?

"Bring in the accused please," Aerys finished.

Ser Jonothor left and came back with two gaolers, and five prisoners: a man and woman that clung to one another despite their chains, an elderly crone, a middle-aged man with weariness etched into his face, and a small boy whose eyes were as wide as eggs as he looked about the room.

Lyanna frowned. Where was Jaime?

Aerys seemed to have the same question in mind. "Ser Jonothor, where is our young Lannister?"

"Meeting with the armorer, Your Grace. His Kingsguard armor was dented and needs fixing. Should be here soon."

Aerys huffed, but seemed to accept it. "Fine, fine. Escort the first prisoner out for questioning."

Lyanna zoned out. For the next hour, four of the five prisoners were interrogated and dealt their punishments, or promises of a future punishment. She could only sit on that uncomfortable cushioned chair, and let her mind drift to thoughts of her husband. Was he far away, still in Casterly Rock, or was he close - days, minutes, or hours from the capital? He'd been gone two months, surely he was almost home.

She could only fantasize about him being home, thinking about how marvelous he would look on that scary throne. Rhaegar was born to be a king, and what a wonderful one he would make.

"Last prisoner!" One of the gaolers called out as he shoved the small, dirty boy forward.

The boy meekly walked to the center of the floor, staring up at the king with those wide, wide eyes.

"And this one's crime?" Aerys asked.

"Stealing," a Gold Cloak replied with a voice like thunder. "Little orphan boy stole food and tried to run away from me. I caught him though."

"I didn't steal!" The boy insisted, tears forming in his large eyes.

Lyanna studied the orphan boy, wondering with terror in her heart if he was one of those from Beth's orphanage. Aerys considered him also, staring down in terrifying silence, before wincing when one of the blades from his throne cut his palm.

"Death," Aerys decided.

Lyanna didn't register any thought before shooting up from her chair. "No!"

All the noise was sucked from the room. Aerys tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "No?"

Lyanna swallowed, summoning courage. Where was Jaime? "I mean, Your Grace, he is accused for stealing. Isn't it customary to take a hand or fingers?" She felt sick to her stomach suggesting it, but better a hand than a life.

"No," Aerys growled, "stealing will not be tolerated in my kingdoms. Death, it is."

"What about a trial by combat?" She insisted desperately. "The boy says he did not steal. Does he not have the right of judgement by the gods?"

Aerys' mouth puckered in anger, decidedly unhappy with her suggestion. She knew she had him. If the boy could get his trial, then surely some gallant knight would fight for him.

And if not...

Where was Jaime?

"Very well," Aerys granted with clenched teeth. "A trial by combat for the little thief." He looked out to the sea of people in his throne room. "Who will be his champion? Who will represent this boy before the gods?"

There was not a peep, not a sound. No one seemed to even move as the king stared out at them, no knight went for his sword, not even a squire with a thirst for glory.

"No one?" Aerys demanded of the silent room. "If no one else will come forward..." He waited a full minute's worth of silence before flicking his eyes down to Lyanna. "You insisted on a trial by combat, Princess, therefore you will be his champion."

The room was awash with gasps, but Lyanna could only stare at the king in shock. No, no, no, no...

"You can't do this!" She shouted. I can't do this!

Aerys' face morphed into a mask of rage. "What? You dare to tell me, the king, what I can and cannot do?!"

Lyanna gulped. "A champion must give his consent before fighting. I do not." She clenched her fingers into her stomach.

"That's too bad," Aerys returned. "You proposed the trial, you will fight in the trial."

She knew she would get nowhere by fighting more. And the two Kingsguards left behind were of no help to her. If Ser Arthur was here, maybe, or Jaime...

Lyanna closed her eyes. She had ridden in the greatest tourney that was ever held and won against three knights. She had been taught how to wield a sword by Ser Jaime Lannister himself for months. She had the old gods on her side. She might be able to pull this off.

Where was Jaime?

Aerys said, "Ser Jonothor, please fetch a sword for the princess. Rossart..." The king didn't seem to have to finish his sentence for the pyromancer to know what he meant; Rossart inclined his head and disappeared through a side door.

"Lewyn," the king called, "I think the princess is overdressed. She cannot fight in such a heavy gown. Relieve her of it."

Lyanna sucked in a breath, making to run away, but Lewyn was quick. His hand around her arm was as strong as a shackle, and he dragged her to the center of the floor where the orphan boy quivered in fear.

Lewyn unsheathed his blade and with a quick cut down the back laces, her gown fell off. She shivered. All she was left in was a small black shift dress, with her smallclothes underneath. She felt naked and ashamed, though still clad in her little shift, even as most of the onlookers turned their heads in what little respect she could be given.

"Who am I fighting then?" Lyanna demanded angrily, glaring up at the king in defiance. "Who is your champion?"

Then, Aerys smiled. "Not a who, but a what."

Confused, Lyanna frowned, wondering if the king had truly lost his wits this time.

"Fire is the champion of House Targaryen," Aerys clarified with a most chilling smirk.

Lyanna went cold all over. Fire? How was she meant to fight fire? The babe inside her may have craved heat, may have the dragonblood within its veins, but Lyanna was a wolf, a daughter of winter in the land of dragons. She couldn't fight fire.

A side door opened, and Rossart came out with several servants, pushing a huge wheeled stake inside. No, no, no.

"Tie the boy up," Aerys instructed.

Lyanna's and the little boy's eyes met for a single instant of terror before he was whisked away, struggling wildly against four men as he was lifted up and his hands were tied behind his back around the stake.

"No," Lyanna whispered, her head swimming. How could all of this have gone so wrong? "No..."

"Jonothor, if you could, hold the princess down. Ser Lewyn, cut her neck."

All of the air in Lyanna's lungs seemed to disappear. Cut her neck? Did he mean to kill her now, before she could even attempt to save the boy? She made to turn, but Jonothor had grasped her elbow. When had he come back? He held her in an iron-clad grip, forcing her to lay on the floor as Ser Lewyn approached, a small dagger in his hand.

She was struggling like a fish out of water, bucking and kicking her legs, attempting to bite any skin she could get a hold of.

"Be still!" Aerys roared. "Or I will have that babe of yours cut from your stomach before your combat."

Lyanna stilled immediately. She knew he would do it, and she could only imagine the excruciating pain of a knife digging into her belly, cutting cutting cutting. Her stomach cramped just at the thought of it.

"Very light cuts, shallow," Aerys instructed Ser Lewyn when Lyanna had calmed, coming down from his throne to stand before her. "I don't want to kill her." But the malice glittering in his dark eyes said otherwise.

She stayed frozen as Ser Lewyn worked over her, slicing his little blade over her neck in thin cuts. When he was done, she immediately touched her fingers to her neck; there was some blood, not much, as if she had a dozen paper cuts on her throat rather than knife-made slices.

She didn't understand the point of them.

And then she got her answer.

Another great contraption was being pushed out of the same side door, its wooden beam shaped like a hook or a crooked finger, and at the end of the great wooden hook dangled several feet of rope and a noose.

Lyanna went ice cold from her hair to her toes at the sight of it.

Aerys only had to jerk his head for Ser Lewyn to grab Lyanna by the arms, hauling her to where the noose waited for her. She kicked and struggled against him, her screams echoing terribly through the room, but Lewyn managed to get her there all the same.

Aerys ghosted forward as the noose was tightened around her neck, his pale smile so full of love and hate.

"A leash for a wolf," he murmured in wonder. "So beautiful..."

And then, without warning, he shoved a hand between her legs, molesting her outside her smallclothes, but still burning her with his touch nonetheless. Tears blurred her vision immediately and she bucked away from him, but her trap ensured limited escape.

No! She screamed inside her head. Only Rhaegar is supposed to touch me...

"Fight me all you want, little one, I always win. And once you've had that baby of yours, you can have my dragon next," he whispered against her cheek. "You do so remind me of Joanna."

A hideous shudder wracked her body, and she thought of Rhaegar - beautiful, gallant, noble Rhaegar, her lovely dragon. Oh, how she wanted him in that moment; she didn't think she'd ever wanted anything so badly before.

But Rhaegar was not there. He was off marching with a Lannister army so that he could overthrow his father. What a hideously ironic situation this was.

She should have gone to Dragonstone, should have somehow stolen both Viserys and Rhaella. She shouldn't have stayed. But nothing could be changed now...

Where was Jaime?

Aerys walked back to his throne, his footsteps echoing. If she hadn't known better, she would have assumed they were alone in the hall; but no, there were close to a hundred spectators watching in horror.

"Give the princess her sword," Aerys threw over his shoulder, sitting at the bottom of the steps leading to his iron seat.

Ser Jonothor approached, a sword in hand, but rather than hand it to her, he placed it on the floor, just out of her reach several feet away.

"Let the trial begin!" Aerys shouted.

Rossart the pyromancer happily threw a pot of green liquid over the base of the stake, and then lit the bottom where the orphan boy was tied up on fire. The flames immediately licked out, red and orange and yellow and jade, inching closer to the boy's feet.

Lyanna jerked into motion, going for her sword, but it was too far away, just outside her reach, and she managed to choke herself in the process. She stuck a leg out, hoping to pull the steel closer to her with her toes, but she had no luck. Perhaps she could get the noose loose somehow...

The rope noose was tight and itchy around her throat, and each time she struggled against it, it dug itself into her cuts painfully, opening the shallow slices up wider, so that they festered. She suddenly realized the purpose of Ser Lewyn's handiwork.

The little cuts on her neck may not have been meant to kill her, but with that rough rope noose around her throat, they would be infected and scrubbed raw by the end of this process, whether in life or death.

The fire was beginning to grow, engulfing the bottom of the stake entirely, and beginning to char the little boy's feet with green tongues of flame. "Please, Princess," the boy called out to her desperately, "help me!" He shrieked like a dying animal as the skin of his foot seemed to bubble and melt.

She might have expected someone to step forward, to demand that this farce be ended. But she knew as well as any of them, that if someone did, they would die right alongside her and the boy.

Thick smoke was beginning to cloud the room, and choking Lyanna's senses, but she bucked and pulled and reached and coughed and tried, tried, tried.

The more she struggled, the tighter the rope seemed to constrict around her throat. Black spots danced before her eyes and she had to stop several times to regain a fraction of breath.

If I could only get that sword, I'd be free. And she'd cut down any man who tried to stop her from saving the little boy. Jaime had taught her how to properly wield a blade, the beautiful young lion. She would kill Lewyn, and Jonothor afterward.

Then, movement caught her eye. Behind the throne, coming through the king's door, was Jaime, bright like the dawning sun in golden Lannister armor. His golden curls were free and loose and Lyanna imagined she could see the green of his eyes from even where she stood.

Jaime's eyes swept around the room in confusion before settling on her. Then they widened in shock and sickness.

Lyanna's vision went half black, and she slipped twice, choking herself harder as she was reaching for the gleaming sword. The harder she struggled, the tighter the noose became. It was becoming more and more difficult to draw breath, her throat tight from the pressure of the noose against it.

Jaime, she wanted to call out, but her voice was stolen. In that moment of limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness, Lyanna wished more than anything in the entire world that Rhaegar was there.

Her Dragon Prince, with his tumble of silver-gold hair and those deep purple eyes, and those strong hands that could cut down his father. Please, Rhaegar, please.

She dug her fingers around the noose to alleviate the pressure against her neck, but the orphan boy was still screaming hideously, screaming at her to save him, and she couldn't just let him burn.

She dug her feet into the floor, trying for the sword once more, but there was so much pressure in her brain, so much smoke around her that she wasn't sure if she would ever breathe again. Somewhere she heard people screaming, but it sounded far away, like in a dream...or was that because her brain was so cloudy?

She could feel herself falling forward, her eyes watering as the noose strangled the life out of her; her throat was closed, her brain dizzy, dizzy... I'm so dizzy.

Her thoughts were tendrils of smoke she could not grab ahold of, and her head felt like it was a grape being squeezed between a giant's fingers. She couldn't stand straight, think straight, or even breathe. She just wanted to sleep, and see Rhaegar, and never come back to this hellish nightmare again, but there was so much smoke and too much pressure in her head.

She opened her mouth to gasp in air, but her noose held her hostage like a feral dog. The sounds around her seemed to cease, disappearing, and her vision turned completely black. Her hands went slack.

Lyanna closed her eyes and dropped...and then there was nothing.