A/N: Hey guys. Hope all is going well.

Published a new story called three heads. Be sure to check it out.

Also, baby Littleclaw is gonna be a boy :D

Enjoy and comment!

Chapter 16: Courtly Favors

Gliding through the garden path - each side of the stone surrounded by bushes filled with red rose donated by a Lord Tyrell generations before - not for the first time did Queen Lyanna Targaryen feel quite mystified as to her situation. The she-wolf of the North, dressed in trousers and ever eager to leap onto her older brothers or other boys in Winterfell for a wrestle in the mud… and here she was with a crown upon her head, her chestnut locks tied up in fancy braids, jewels about her neck and fingers, and the imported silk dress that hugged her body like a sheath. Never had she imagined herself as such a southern highborn, insisting on perfection in her appearance.

Yet she hadn't imagined dressed in plate armor and sparring with elite knights of the Kingsguard, famous the Realm over, but several hours before it had happened. Much changed when she fell in love with her beautiful Rhaegar thirteen years prior.

Smiling, her hand extended to ruffle Spirit's furry head as he bounded next to her. Lyanna wouldn't have changed anything. Her life was perfect, even if completely unexpected.

Speaking if unexpected… "I am used to brooding from our handsome husband." Out went her arms, encircling a trim waist left exposed in places due to the strategic cut of the Dornish dress, exposing delicious olive skin. "But to see my Dornish beauty in such a brooding manner makes me question a lot of reality." Behind, Spirit sat on his haunches, guarding the gazebo situated at the edge of the cliffs. Giving his munas some privacy from the outside world if only for a little while.

While she snorted in annoyance, Queen Elia Targaryen nevertheless leaned back into her wife's embrace. "For a wild direwolf, you can be quite poetic if you wish to be, Lya."

"Would you rather I be a direwolf in this moment?" Leaning forward, she licked the shell of Elia's ear before nipping the lobe. "I'm sure I can make it quick."

Elia moaned and instinctively pressed her ass back into Lya, but demurred. "Down, girl. I'm still sore from this morning."

A grin. "Aye, that was quite pleasing. The benefit of having nursemaids for our babes." Truthfully, Lya was sore as well from the attention of Elia and their lustful dragon, so the kiss that followed was sweet and loving rather than a rousing of passions. "So, what troubles you?" She nuzzled Elia's sweet neck, smiling as she purred. "Tell me, please."

Sighing, Elia nodded. "Today is when Rhaegar formally announces Egg's knighthood."

"I believe that is a good thing, my love."

"Oh, certainly. He's struggled so much his whole life, and now it's his time in the sun." Lyanna agreed. She remembered her sweet son short of breath, thin as a reed as he tried to copy the exercises of his sister and brother and aunt. Only when he bonded with Tessarion did he start to overcome… and even that only slowly. "Just that… soon he'll be in Dorne."

Lyanna pursed her lips, kissing the crown of Elia's head. "Aye, I know. Our eldest all off on their adventures."

"More than that… practically I'll be alone." As Lya pulled back to raise a brow at her, Elia shook her head. "I know, I know, but hear me out. All the Valyrian and Northernness around… with Ash gone and Rhaenys gone, need a bit of home." She chuckled a bit. "Even my guard is of the North." A smile crossed her lips as she pointed at Spirit, who was busy sniffing one of the roses.

The sight made Lya giggle. "Part of me should be offended… but I understand. Gods, if I didn't have something of the north with me I'd frankly go mad." She pressed their foreheads together. "I know for a fact that your brother is bringing Tyene and Nymeria along with Ari. Perhaps I can ask for them to stay and keep you company."

Blinking, Elia beamed and kissed her deeply.

Near a third of an hour later both Queens, their hair affixed to near perfection once more by the other, arrived under the escort of Ser Brienne and Spirit. As they entered the hall of the Iron Throne, all of court bowed low to them. Even Lord Tywin, though by virtue of his rank it was only shallow. "Your Graces."

"Lord Tywin," Lyanna replied. Not unfriendly but not informal. Such frostiness changed quickly upon spotting her son. "Prince Aegon."

Egg grinned at her. "Your Grace." He tried to bow, but Lyanna kissed his cheek instead. A greeting he reciprocated.

And with her son taken care of, now it was her husband to greet. He had already pecked Elia's lips as the Dornish beauty took her seat on the chair to the left of the throne. Lyanna leaned to Rhaegar on her way to the chair on the right. "My handsome dragon," she murmured, kissing him.

He smirked at her. "Wife." A hand moved up to brush a strand of hair back. "Out of place." The wider observation was left unsaid. "Where?"

Lyanna's eyes sparkled. "Gardens."

"Madly sensual," he whispered back. "I'll expect an encore for my viewing pleasure later." She grinned sultrily at him before taking her seat, regal bearing returned about her. So many were gathered for court, including quite a few maidens and Ladies. Some had husbands, but all spared flickering glances to King Rhaegar Targaryen. Stroking the inner wolf inside her.

All that kept the wolf at bay was Rhaegar himself. That telltale glint in his eye… it was reserved for her and Elia alone. Lyanna felt the luckiest.

"Now, Lord Hand, what is first?" Rhaegar asked of Tywin.

Tywin nodded. "Prince Oberyn Martell and Princess Arianne Martell." The herald proclaimed the call much louder, and the guards opened the large doors to allow the party entry.

In the years since she saw him last… Oberyn didn't change one bit. Sure, he had a few more scars and wrinkles than before, but his hair was still a dark black and eyes still gleaming in that wicked manner of his. Ellaria was still beautiful and practically as close to him as could be without ripping his clothes off and fucking him on the floor. Lya was married to a Dornishwoman too, so understood quite well.

Accompanying the two were Arianne Martell - rumors of her beauty unable to comprehend the true nature of it, as stunning as Elia albeit with a slightly darker skin tone and voluptuous figure - and the similarly sultry cousins Tyene and Nymeria Sand. Tyene was young and still childlike in some manner, but Nym… The young lads of court would be begging to court them… or do other things.

Reaching the base of the Iron Throne, Oberyn and the other Martells bowed. "Your Graces," he greeted.

"Your Graces," said Arianne, her lips in a smile as she looked at her aunts.

"Prince Oberyn, Princess Arianne, welcome to the Red Keep." Rhaegar clapped his hands. "As both the Prince and heir to Dorne respectively, and my goodbrother and niece, you and your family are welcome here as long as you wish… I trust you were given guest right as soon as you passed underneath the gates."

"Naturally," answered Arianne.

"Wonderful. We will dine together for dinner, family and family." The Martells passed to one side, only for the herald to call in the next group. Unlike the Martells, Lyanna was not eager to see them. Lord Randyll Tarly and his family, a wife, two sons, and a daughter.

"You have previously risen arms against his Grace in battle, Lord Randyll," Tywin said firmly. "Perhaps you should start with a declaration of fealty." While harsh, Lyanna saw the wisdom in this. Best to have Randyll speak on this - at the very least, it could be used to judge his sincerity.

As for the Lord of Horn Hill, he bowed his head. "There are no easy choices. I followed my liege and conducted myself as honorably in battle as I could. You are my King under the laws of gods and men, and my sword is yours until my dying breath."

Weaving her fingers together, Lyanna leaned towards the Iron Throne. "My love… he has no joy in him for anything, but he seems honest here."

Pursing his lips, Rhaegar looked to his left. "Elia?" Their words were whispers, heard by only them.

Elia locked eyes with Lyanna for a moment. "I agree with our wife, but we should watch him."

Rhaegar nodded. "Lord Randyll, my Queens have spoken to me and told me of your sincerity, and in this I agree. It is best that we do not look back but only forward. Greetings and welcome to King's Landing, and I hope we can speak together after this session of court on how House Tarly and the crown can cooperate on issues going forward."

The Lord of Horn Hill kept his face to the ground. Luckily for Lyanna, for her mood soured at every glimpse of his scowling face - she pitied the quiet Lady Melissa, poor woman stuck with a husband devoid of any form of happiness or joy. "The honor is mine to be in your presence, your Grace. Mine, and my dear wife's."

"Lady Melissa," Lya heard Elia speak. "Your dress is lovely."

Lady Tarly looked up. "Thank you, your Grace."

"Your daughter, her name is Talla, correct?" At Melissa's nod she continued. "The same age as my daughter Alyssa. I should hope they become fast friends."

"I should hope as well, your Grace." Melissa smiled and nodded her head, coming out of her shell.

Allowed to rise, Lord Randyll looked Rhaegar in the eye. "If it may please you, your Grace, my family is tired and we wish to retire."

While Rhaegar was inclined to grant that, Lyanna leaned forward. "Lord Tarly, may I ask something of your son?"

"But of course," came the reply. "Dickon." Up walked a young boy Rickon's age, promising to be as tall and broad-shouldered as his father.

Lyanna shook her head. "While I have no doubt your youngest boy would be a welcome addition to court, I meant to ask a question of your heir… Samwell, was it?"

Whatever levity was present on Randyll's face - not much to begin with - changed as a dismissive scowl appeared. "Alright, your Grace. Sam," he growled. Up walked the meek, portly form of Samwell Tarly. He was Baelon's age but already rather plump. No muscles to speak of though he didn't have the look of a simpleton. "Bow your head to the Queen," chastised Randyll.

"No… it's quite alright. Samwell?" Lya addressed with a smile.

He looked up. "Your Grace."

"Do you have any interests?"

"Ummm… books, your Grace."

Lyanna could almost hear Randyll mutter profanely. "My son, Prince Baelon, loves to read as well. Perhaps when he returns to Westeros you can discuss history or philosophy with him?"

Blinking, Samwell smiled shyly. "I… would very much like that, my Queen." For some reason Lyanna felt she had just won Baelon a lifelong friend.

Something for him to consider when he returns, no doubt.

Tywin bent to near Rhaegar's ear. "Is that all, your Grace?"

"All but one other thing, Lord Hand." Gesturing to the herald, he banged the staff on the stone floor to quiet the hall. Rhaegar cleared his throat. "And now one more announcement before I dismiss court for the day." With a grin, he pointed to Prince Aegon, the boy standing ever straighter at the attention. "The rumors may have spread, but I officially declare today that while in Winterfell, my son - Prince Aegon - has been knighted as Ser Aegon of House Targaryen. To highlight his momentous overcoming of physical ailment and proclaim his future potential, I have granted him the Valyrian steel sword Red Rain to henceforth be known as Fyrefist. It shall be the hereditary right upon his line of House Targaryen."

"Ser Aegon," proclaimed Lord Hand Tywin.

"Ser Aegon," shouted the hall, Lyanna the most enthusiastic of all of them.

Soon after, Rhaegar and Elia had the distinct displeasure of conversing with Lord Tarly - patching up the last wounds between his house and the crown. Lyanna, thankfully, was left to entertain Oberyn… or was that the worst option? She could never tell. "Goodsister." He hugged her close. "I can always tell when a woman is sexually satisfied, and by the looks of you my sister and goodbrother have been giving it to you good."

Years ago that would've made her blush. Now… "I would be offended but I am a Targaryen now. Such things make me perversely proud."

Oberyn laughed. "A Dornishwoman you can be, now please show me my knightly nephew." Clicking his tongue, Oberyn grabbed Egg's shoulders. "By the gods, young man. You've turned from a skinny runt into a strapping warrior since the last time I saw you."

"Oberyn!" Lyanna cried, worried.

But Egg only laughed. "I was pretty skinny that time, uncle." The smile upon his lips reminded Lya so much of his kepa, it was uncanny. "Gotta be ready to charm those back in Sunspear."

"Oh, you most certainly will. Maidens and boys alike. Hopefully for your sake out of their dresses and trousers." Before Lyanna could bark at him, he held his hands up. "Alright, alright, I was japing." Only for Oberyn to wink at the blushing Egg. "Allow me to ensure our kin is properly bunked in the Holdfast, then I want to see just how well you can wield that Valyrian steel blade of yours."

Lyanna shook her head. "No sparring with real blades, Oberyn."

"Calm down, Lya. He may be a dragon but he won't harm me. Will take quite a bit more training where I'll need to break a sweat." Another wink, this time causing Egg to scowl.

"Bring it on, uncle," he ground out.

Oberyn laughed openly and ruffled his hair. "He will be a delight back in Dorne." One more ruffle and the Prince was off, whistling a tune.

Shaking her head, Lyanna gave her son an apologetic look. "Forgive him for that. He's still too much a child." Smile curling on her face, she immediately scooped him up in a tight embrace. "Oh, my sweet son." She pressed kisses all over his face.

A groan left him. "Muna, enough."

"Sorry, I'm just so proud of you." Lyanna cupped his cheek. "You're everything I could ever hope for, always remember that."

He shook his head, but smiled back. "Thank you… all I've wished is to make you, muna, and kepa as proud of me as you are of Rhae and Jon."

"You need not worry. We all are." Lyanna patted him on the shoulder. "Your uncle Oberyn is skilled but a showboat. In spars it's easier to beat him than in battle… your real challenge will be facing me." She kissed his cheek. "I'm your muna, but I shan't go easy on you."

"I've seen you spar with kepa… I know you won't. Though perhaps you'd go tougher on him than you would with me."

A chuckle. "Smart boy, just like your muna." Extending his arm, the Prince provided his Queen with an escort outside the hall of the Iron Throne.

"Gods," Jaime remarked as he leaned against the wall, waving over a serving girl carrying a mug of ale - something common to all feasts of the crown given it being Queen Lyanna's drink, the authentic northern brew personally shipped from White Harbor for the purpose. "I should be given hooves. Mayhaps my feet would ache less."

"You're not even in your armored boots," laughed Tyrion, instead availing himself to a fine Lannisport vintage. "Gods forbid you're asked to dance with your paramour. The horror that must befall the great Lion of Lannister." He snickered at his brother's expense.

Jaime glared down at him. "You try dancing with a Targaryen dragon." Their relationship the worst kept secret in the Red Keep after both of Prince Viserys' kept mistresses. While Rhaella refused to show the most obvious of affections in public, they did everything but. And that included the most sensual of Valyrian and northern dances that had gained popularity in Rhaegar's reign. "Fuck, she's walking to me again… tell her I'm dying." Jaime then buried his face in his mug, sipping the bitter black ale of the North.

Her own goblet half-empty, Queen Dowager Rhaella Targaryen disengaged from Lady Melissa Tarly and Marya Seaworth to approach her paramour and his brother. "Lord Tyrion," she addressed him.

Tyrion couldn't help but notice, yet again, that the Queen Dowager still held the beauty of someone far younger. The life force of a great dragon tends to do that for their bonded rider. Hence the generally long lifespans for most of the Targaryens that survived battle. "Your Grace. You may call me Tyrion, for I am no lord. Yet, you are still a beautiful woman so I must bow ever lower." He did so, causing Rhaella to chuckle.

"Your sister says you must pay for your liaisons, but with such charm I doubt you do."

He grinned. "The charm works on smallfolk girls, mostly. Less arrogance."

"No coercion, I hope."

"Oh, father wouldn't let me seduce his own girls. Bad for a Lord." This was fun. "Let me hazard a guess, you wish to borrow Ser Jaime for another dance."

Rhaella smiled. "You've inherited your father's mind, I see. Only not so droll." Lord Tywin at the moment was conversing with Randyll Tarly and Alliser Thorne, with a very bored Gerion Lannister looking for any form of escape. With those three, I'd ask Jaimexes to burn me alive. Just a shame, for she was unburnt. "And yes, I've been without my man for too long. Jaime?" She extended her arm. "Shall we?"

Jaime glanced down at Tyrion, expecting a lifeline. "Forgive me, your Grace, but Jaime does not wish to dance with you further."

Her brow rose while he seemed to wince. "What, why?"

"You'll have to ask him."

Scowling, Rhaella crossed her arms. "Care for an explanation?"

Sparing one further glare at Tyrion, he reached out to clasp Rhaella's hand. "My dragon…"

"Be careful," she warned, though made no way to pull back her hand. A hope. "I'm waiting."

Based on his expression, Tyrion knew Jaime would go for broke. "Please, my love," he murmured. "You're killing my feet. I think one more dance and they'll blister."

Rhaella clearly didn't expect that. "My feet aren't hurt."

"Dragons…" Both looked as Tyrion spoke. "Can't expect mere lions to match them. Only direwolves and those of the water wizards of Rhoyne in their blood can hope to." He pointed to the dance floor, Rhaegar spinning Lyanna around before the Queen handed him off to Elia, both Queens grinning at each other. "Please take pity on my brother, though. It's killing him to admit this to you."

Giving Jaime a withering look, just as he was near squirming she smiled. "You are too wonderful for words, Ser Jaime." If they were alone, Rhaella would've embraced him tightly with a kiss. "Alright, I'll stand with you two."

"No, my dragon, enjoy the feast."

"Eh, this conversation is too tedious. Give me a northern or Dornish feast any day, they know how to keep things lively."

Tyrion laughed. "That they do." The feast held in the honor of the arrival of Prince Oberyn was a lively one. Not the most formal or extensive affair, only those highborns within the capitol or the surrounding keeps arriving. That didn't mean the kitchens weren't busy with preparing the meals for the evening, nor did it mean that the guests were as lively as any southern gathering could be. And Tyrion especially… "I for one am quite the admirer of the Martells."

At how Jaime rolled his eyes, Rhaella's curiosity was piqued. "What is wrong with that, my lion?" Her man hadn't gotten into a spat with Elia, did he? Or Oberyn, given the man's penchant for practical jokes.

He shook his head. "Nothing, my love… just that my brother's cock sometimes thinks itself far above its station given that mind of its own."

"Worried, dear brother, that I will make you humiliate yourself?"

"Enough with that. A drunken boast, nothing more."

"There is a story behind this and I would like to be made aware of it." Rhaella glanced at the both of them, Tyrion pointing to Jaime and Jaime looking as if his brother began singing like Mushroom. "Ser Jaime… must I give you an order as your Queen?"

"Lyanna and Elia are my Queens," he replied weakly.

"Care to ask his Grace of that?"

The two lovers stared at each other for the longest time until Jaime finally folded. "Apparently Tyrion feels that since Cersei married a Stark and I am with you, a Targaryen…" Rhaella's eyes danced with mirth, knowing this would be juicy. "She, Tyrion, and I have a wager going that he will complete the royal trio by marrying a Martell."

"Trueborn or baseborn, it can be either," Tyrion insisted, winking at Rhaella while drinking from his goblet.

"It was at the time of the first royal progress to the North, where his Grace took their Graces to wed under the Winterfell heart tree. There was no chance it was ever going to happen so we humored Tyrion… you know how he can get."

"Aye, stubborn as your mother was." Rhaella found this so greatly amusing it was hard to contain her giggles. "If Tyrion failed as you and your sister both believe, what would be your winnings."

Jaime snorted. "That he dress up and dance as Mushroom for a moon." He shook his head. "I won't force you to do it if you don't wish to…"

"But I do believe our sister would, yet you haven't told the mother of your daughter the best part. What happens if I win."

"Ah yes, I do wish to be aware of that eventuality, Ser Jaime."

With Rhaella's sparkling violet eyes trained on him in that loving way of hers, Jaime melted - eyes downcast. "Cersei will need to declare to all court that Tyrion is the smartest Lannister and that she loves him greatly. As for me… I'll have to wear a cloak dyed pink for a moon."

Fingers flying to her lips to stifle a giggle, Rhaella shifted her gaze to Tyrion. "Well… allow me to impart some feminine assistance to you."

"Oh gods, please no," Jaime whined, but Rhaella ignored him.

There were only a few Martells among Oberyn's party, and all were at various points in the great hall. Starting with the one dancing with Queen Lyanna at that very moment… "While Prince Oberyn isn't averse to someone with your parts, I believe you are so he's out." That drew a hearty laugh from Tyrion, while Jaime just buried his lips in his drink. "Lady Ellaria is quite comfortable in her relationship with the Prince so no dice there, which leaves the generation of my grandchildren's cousins."

Stroking his chin, Tyrion quickly found Princess Arianne surrounded by male admirers, and a quite protective Prince Aegon. "I feel that even were I to want Princess Arianne, neither would Prince Doran allow me to court her nor would she pick me out of her many suitors."

"Don't discourage yourself. Arianne is quite iconoclastic in her own way."

"I appreciate the sentiments, your Grace, but a future consort of Dorne I am not." Tyrion didn't loathe himself but was realistic. "Which leaves the Sand Snakes."

Rhaella nodded, finding them alongside Lady Ellaria. "Obara is married and in the North, while everyone younger than Lady Tyene are too young for your tastes, correct?"

Tyrion huffed. "I see no pleasure in deflowering children." Some did, Tyrion didn't. "Tyene is legitimized, and I heard a rumor that Lord Uller was to make her his heir."

"I hadn't heard that?" Rhaella mused. "Perhaps I should ask Elia."

"A wise idea." If Tyene was out… "That leaves only one." She was next to Ellaria, and in an animated conversation with Asha Greyjoy and her sister. "And the prettiest of them all."

Spotting whom he was referring to, Jaime whistled. "Careful, brother. Tyene would at least be flirty… that one would smile at you then cut your cock and balls of when you're asleep."

"So like half the whores I've bedded in my life. I've had worse odds." Draining his goblet, Tyrion worked at his hair with his fingers. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," he heard Rhaella remark, only to get another groan from Jaime. Be prepared to dye your cloak, brother.

"Ser Aegon of House Targaryen, wielder of the Valyrian steel sword Fyrefist." Shaking her head, Tyene grinned. "I have to say, I'm getting chills. The spirit of the Dragon's Wroth incoming."

"Oh shut up, Ty," Arianne hissed, smacking her cousin's shoulder. "Don't mock our cousin, this is actually very marvelous."

Nymeria nodded. "Aye, Egg. You've made all of House Martell proud, as I am sure is House Targaryen."

Wishing he could squeeze Asha's hand as she stood next to him, Egg's smile was wide. The Prince loved his siblings, Baelon his best friend and Rhaenys practically the one who helped him train away the illnesses that plagued him through his life. He wished them to be back but… felt good to be at the center of attention for once. All eyes on him in equal parts admiration and envy. And the best part…

Those eyes would be on me regardless of whether Rhae and Jon were here or not.

"Can we see the sword, Egg?" Ty asked, her voice dripping with sweet pleading. While she was Sansa's age, the girl had flowered and was quite older in spirit than she appeared. "Such power, such strength."

"Daughter, enough," said his aunt Ellaria, though in her eyes she seemed perversely proud of her daughter. "I am sure that the Prince has people more important to impress than the family that already love him. Those whom… considered him a weakling only years before while now lining up to beg to suck his cock - both metaphorically and literally, of both sexes."

Asha snorted. "As if anyone would consider a dragonrider weak." Egg wanted to kiss her, but refrained.

Ellaria was right though, the surge in attention from those that previously would swarm over Rhaenys or Baelon or Daenerys was staggering. All the young highborn squires wished to spar with him, while the girls begged for him to introduce them to his dragon or new direwolf pup - Smoke was a hit with them, though Asha was his favorite. He didn't miss the sly looks from the latter and even some of the former.

It was flattering, and insulting at the same time. They mocked him as Aegon the Lame before but now the name Aegon Fyrefist was banded about. Brownnosing cunts. Those were the words Asha remarked about them in bed and he had to agree. "I'm just glad all is well in the world," he finally said. "Don't want to steal Rhae or Jon's attention or be seen as doing so."

"Quite the modest man, much as your father used to be." Eyes turned to watch Tyrion Lannister approach, the dwarf wearing a tiny smirk. "Before the duties of Kingship forced him to put on self-aggrandizing displays."

Aegon liked Tyrion, though not as much as some in his family did. Perhaps it was his innate modesty. "I am but a Prince, not an heir."

"The spare then, but it matters not. Being the son of the King, you will be expected to pull your weight going forward. Keep that sword of yours handy, then."

"Oh, he will." It was Asha that said that, her voice firm and ever protective. "Lord Tyrion, I assume you have met Lady…"

"Ellaria Uller, aye." As best he could, he reached up to kiss the Dornish beauty on the back of her hand - Ellaria had to bend forward a bit for Tyrion to do so. "The woman who wouldn't marry the Prince even after legitimization."

Ellaria giggled. "And be just one more married highborn lady out there? No, Oberyn and I appreciate the value of notoriety. Our children are allowed the Martell name, though, by the grace of my goodbrother the King."

"Not your goodbrother if you aren't married, but the point is well-taken." A beaming smile directed to Arriane. "Sweet Princess, will you be staying long in King's Landing? I do missed our little Cyvasse tournaments when you were serving her Grace."

"I shall, but the only one I shall play Cyvasse with are my aunts. With Rhaenys gone, they need some proper female companionship."

"I understand." He shifted to Tyene. "Tyrion Lannister, the handsomest of Lord Tywin's brood unless you ask my father."

"Tyene Martell, and unless you expect him to shit gold in front of me, I wouldn't." Her grin was quite malicious. "Can you confirm or deny those tales?"

Tyrion's brow rose. "I could." He said nothing further, smiling at Tyene before turning to Nymeria. Aegon bit back a snicker at the expression on his cousin's face. Well-played, Lord Lannister. "And who is this exquisite Dornish beauty?"

While Obara would've punched him and Tyene would've giggled, Nymeria only regarded him with a scowl. "Lord Tyrion… an introduction would be pointless since everyone knows who you are."

He perked up. "My reputation has grown beyond that of my father's… today is the greatest day of my life." That drew a mix of chuckles and eye rolls. "In any case, I must go, but not before I can pay respect to such a Dornish flower." He extended his hand, showing his intention to kiss hers. Much as Nymeria sighed, she extended it anyway, allowing him to kiss it gratefully.

"Well, that was strange," Aegon whispered in Asha's ear.

"They're gonna fuck," was Asha's reply, only for her to bite her lip. "As should we… can't take it anymore."

He smiled. "I know just the place." Thankfully, a new song from the minstrels drew the attention of the crowd and allowed them to slip away. The alcove in some dark corner of the Red Keep proving the perfect place.

Not for the first time, Rhaenys wished there to be a bit more light in the chambers and corridors of Winterfell. Torches and lanterns helped banish away the darkness but were an inferior substitute for the sun or moon, especially the sun. Raised for the immense windows and open air portions of the Red Keep or Dragonstone it was quite the shock to get used to such cramped, closed spaces of the great Northern keep.

Oh, she knew why. Closer and more covered kept the heat trapped in and the cold out. When faced with summer snows it was vital, allowing Winterfell to be an oasis of natural warmth against the freezing temperatures… but gods, the stuffiness. All the chambers were stuffy, especially three.

Her bedchamber after a night of passion, the bathhouse after a soothing soak, and the keep's library with the smell of parchment and leather binding permeating everything.

"Never figured you for a booknose," she heard Sandor snort behind her. "You're the type to have your nose in a different fucking place."

Most ladies of court would gasp or faint at such casual vulgarity, but Rhaenys had gotten used to it long before from her valonqar's sworn sword - merely rolling her eyes. "What's the matter, Hound? Bitter my nose isn't in yours?" She smirked at him.

A snort. "As if. Any girl I get - after they decide to get past this fucking cunt of a face." He spat out the last, causing Rhaenys' gaze to soften in sympathy… not that she dared to vocalize it. He hated such pity. "I'd rather them not the type to gut me like a fucking fish in my fucking sleep."

That sounded more like Sandor. "Every woman's capable of that… difference is how much they can take before snapping."

"So you see why there's no whore in my bed… but that doesn't answer the fucking question. Why are you in this shit library instead of out snappin' dicks on the sparring court?"

"Oh, so eloquent, my dear Ser Sandor." His scowl made her laugh.

But he was right in a way. While the topic of her family's history - that of Houses Stark and Martell in addition to House Targaryen - had been drilled in her interest by her munas and grandmother, the steadfast pursuit of knowledge didn't interest her as it did for Baelon, Daenerys, or Daemon. They were the booknoses, while she felt more comfortable in the sparring yard, dragonback, or dance floor

Or between the sheets…

Was that why her kepa tasked her with helping Maester Luwin trace the origin of the dragon eggs and dragon skeleton in the crypts? Perhaps, perhaps not. Rhaenys concerned herself not with dead dragons, only living ones, but the mystery… she found herself curious.

Sandor clearly could tell her swirl of emotions on the subject. "You're easier to read than the Little Prince. Just get the fuck outta here if you fucking want."

"Defy my kepa?"

"He ain't here."

She shook her head, spotting Luwin. "Try and find something to amuse yourself with while I'm busy. Mayhaps there's a book here with pictures you could ogle."

A snort. "Good one, Saucy Snake. My fucking jaw is on the fucking floor." Sandor leaned against a bookshelf, taking out a cloth to polish his blade.

How does Jon deal with him? Near the whole family hated him aside from Baelon and Sansa, oddly enough, him having a soft spot for her. It couldn't be a Stark thing. Her cousins apart from Sansa hated him too.

"Princess Rhaenys." The kindly voice of Maester Luwin - one that reminded her much of her dear great-uncle Aemon - bid her out of her thoughts. "I was unaware that you were here. Come, sit with me."

Putting a genuine smile upon her face, Rhaenys approached and shimmied between the table and bench, smoothing out her dress as she sat down. "My duties are completed for the day, so I was wondering if you wished for any help?"

He nodded. "Any help is appreciated, especially from a sweet girl such as yourself." Luwin spared her a thankful glance before going back to his scribbling with a quill in hand. Scrawl in a thick ledger book barely legible from how Rhae leaned over to look. "And you being a Targaryen is an added help for me."

"Anything I can do to solve the mystery of Vermax's eggs." That did confuse her. If Vermax laid the eggs, then why was a skeleton of a dragon there? Did Vermax fly back after the Gullett? Survive slightly longer to deliver Jacaerys back to his love?

Luwin sighed. "While I would love to give evidentiary credence to such a great love story in popular circulation since the dear Queen Lyanna married the King… only two of the eggs were laid at any time close to be that of Vermax, and even that I cannot be certain of."

Rhaenys blinked, shocked. "And the others… and the skeleton?"

"My Valyrian is conversational… yet unable to discern ancient Valyrian script that I have seen in the tomb. My best guess is that such predated the formation of the Seven Kingdoms. A form of Valyrian spoken in the freehold rather than the high or bastard forms developed since."

"May I see the transcribed text?" Rhaenys learned her Valyrian from her grandmother and great-uncle, both fluent speakers and writers in the language. "That of the Targaryens is the purest form of Valyrian, correct?"

Luwin nodded. "The Citadel teaches the Volentine High Valyrian dialect, not the Targaryen family dialect - the latter descends from the dragonlords themselves."

A snort. Volantis considered itself the bearer of Old Valyria's legacy. Certainly a crock if she ever heard one. "Mayhaps…" She scanned the inscription… "I can't be sure, this writing is basal."

"I was told by an archmaester that was a linguist that Valyrian since the death of the Freehold accepted a lot of grammar and alphabet from the local languages. Explains why the common alphabet took use."

"Aye, aye…" Rhaenys peered at the text. "In this… I think there is a reference to the Doom of Valyria, but an additional mention of the words 'King' and 'Winter' close together." She bit her lip. "Perhaps the date of the inscription is between the Doom and the Conquest."

Taking the notes back, Luwin checked another part of his ledger. "I believe that could account for the age of the other eggs… and why what Qyburn told me of the skull of Quicksilver indicates the dead beast predates it by a significant amount of time."

While Rhaenys had finally gotten into the subject at hand, she was interrupted as Sandor tapped her on the shoulder. "Yer uncle wants you in his solar."

"Can't it wait?" she frowned.

"Considering your aunt communicated, and I quote, 'This is a matter of life and death,' I say no."

"How poetic." Sighing, Rhae rose. "Forgive me, Maester. But I'll have to be going."

He gave her a smile. "No need to apologize, and we should do this again."

"Aye, we should."

When she entered her uncle Ned's solar, already her whole family was there. "Sorry… I had to come from the library." Rhaenys walked to stand between her aunt Ashara and cousin Robb.

Ned smiled. "Not a problem, we weren't waiting long." Him, Cersei, Benjen, Ashara, Robb, Joanna, Allyria, Arya, and Tommen waited with baited breath, and now that Rhaenys was here Ned popped open the seal to read the letter.

"What is the matter, my love?" Cersei asked Ned, her hand weaving around his arm. Rhaenys noticed that even through the concerned looks of her cousins, they relaxed at the expression of affection shared between her aunt and uncle. The smallest of smiles curled on her lips. Children always wished for their parents to express love… Rhaenys certainly had a surfeit of it. Kepa and munas… muna and muna, all needed a bucket of cold water upon them in her opinion.

Such thoughts were pushed aside when Ned responded. "A letter from Lord Commander Mormont at Castle Black." He winced. "Apparently the Wildlings massed under a King Beyond the Wall."

Rhaenys knew what that meant. "They're going to try and cross it."

Allyria gasped. "We'll stop them, right uncle?"

"That's what we'll have to do. I'll let Lord Jorah know, as will I the rest of the Northern Lords to send as many bannermen as they can spare. Lord commander Mormont says they only want a enough troops to allow the Watch to conduct reconnaissance in force but it's best to be cautious."

"Will I be coming, father?" Robb asked expectantly.

Cersei shook her head. "No, you will stay here with me as acting Lord. You are still too young."

"But I am not." Rhaenys spoke firmly. If she expected her family to argue, they didn't. Was it her dragon, or that they knew they couldn't talk her out of it.

Either way, she got her wish.

A/N: So Rhaenys is going for the Wall!

Till Next time. 20 comments gets an early update :D