Chapter 40: Dragon and Wolf

"Dragon!"

Lips pulling away from each other, Robb's eyes lit up even more than when he and Margaery had been locked in their kisses. "She's back!"

While Margaery would've been happier still kissing him - it was always a thrill kissing Robb Stark, feeling his hands over her body - she was excited too. "Thank the gods she's alright." Hearing of Rhaenys' return… it was like a cloud had been lifted off Winterfell. "Wait, wait!" She went to Robb before he could leave, running her hands through his hair to smoothen it out. "Best they not suspect what we're doing."

But when they arrived in the courtyard… "Did you do the deed yet?"

"Shut it, Theon," Robb shot back, thumping the boy on the shoulder. The boy's japes aside, Margaery was glad they hadn't gone that far. Sure, their kisses since that first time were delightful, leaving a warmth in her belly and the realized desire of caressing Robb all over his body - one he reciprocated - but they hadn't gone any further.

Because her grandmother would've killed her, certainly.

"I heard a rumor the other day."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, apparently Rhaenys returned with a wildling."

Robb scoffed. "She did not."

"Eh, one that saved her life."

"Even if she did, probably did it only for the coin, or land." Robb shook his head. "Greedy brutes should all be killed." Margaery squeezed his hand, calming him just as the roar heralded the arrival of the Princess.

Nymerion was a great beast, the orange-red giving her an almost fiery appearance that could intimidate even the most resolute of warriors arrayed against her. But she wasn't as large as Aegarax or Valyrax, not yet at least. Plenty big, but small enough to be able to land in the Winterfell courtyard rather than needing the Godswood or outside the castle entirely.

Even so, the gusts of wind kicked up by her wingbeats threatened to topple Margaery over if she didn't plant her feet upon the cobblestone and widen her stance. Thank the gods she bound her hair in a tight braid. Not that Arya would care, but her unbound locks went every witch way. Didn't shake her excitement at seeing Rhaenys back - everyone was happy Rhaenys was back.

And there she was, seated atop the dragon. Her visage was proud, wearing her riding coat and with sword clipped to her waist. Some clapped at seeing her, some even whooped and whistled, while Margaery beamed.

"Who the fuck is that?"

Initially scowling at Theon's comment, that anger disappeared into confusion when Margaery realized that Rhaenys wasn't alone. Straddling Nymerion's saddle behind Rhaenys, hands wrapped around her waist the way double riders would on horseback, was a second woman. She was shorter than Rhaenys but even more slender, hood drawn back to reveal hair kissed by fire and very pale skin. Nothing looked amiss about her appearance, but it was clear to someone raised to be the delight of southern feasts that this woman was unrefined.

Margaery had seen the same look to a lesser extent in Arya, or Queen Lyanna. Wild. Free.

She had a bad feeling about this.

Robb seemed to notice a second after she did. "Never saw that girl before." Rhaenys was dismounting Nymerion with a nonchalance almost second nature. "I heard Alys Karstark had hair that shade, and she's close with her brother."

"Nah, I remember her. That ain't Alys Karstark." Theon licked his lips, watching the unknown girl very gingerly dismount from Nymerion. "Much prettier."

"Oh Theon," Margaery rolled her eyes. "I commend your ability to expand the perception of your people away from the typical lecherous thief." Her eyes flickered back to the girl. "I think that's the wildling you were speaking of earlier."

"What?!" Robb was incredulous. "No, she wouldn't bring that vermin to Winterfell."

"Dunno, I have a feeling…" Suddenly, before the girl could reach the ground, Rhaenys grabbed her by the waist and eased her down - a gesture Margaery remembered seeing the King do for Queen Elia once. The two didn't kiss as the King and Queen did, embracing, but the redhead did giggle while Rhaenys regarded her with a beaming smile. Uh oh. The bad feeling returned tenfold.

When Rhaenys approached however, the girl alongside her, Margaery and all of the Winterfell household fell to one knee. "Your Grace," Cersei spoke for all of them. "Winterfell is yours."

"Rise, Lady Stark." They did. "Lord Stark is a day behind, alongside my grandmother - they will be here by nightfall." And then her regal bearing left her and Rhaenys approached Cersei with a hug. Easily reciprocated. "Aunt Cersei."

"Welcome home, my dear." A kiss on the cheek. "And… who is your companion?"

Rhaenys' facade returned, though her tone tried to be amiable. "This is Lady Ygritte, of the Free Folk." Aye, Margaery's suspicions were true - a wave of tension seemed to cross over all of the Stark household. "She saved my life north of the Wall, and thus I have granted her the honor of being my sworn sword."

"Sworn bow, rather," Ygritte replied to shock from the others - if hidden. She speaks so freely, contradicting the Princess in public. Either she had no knowledge nor care of proper behavior or… she and Rhaenys were so close that the latter gave her leave to do it. Margaery suspected the latter.

Cersei, ever the consummate hostess, merely curtseyed - enough to be respectful, but not indicating Ygritte was of the superior position in the hierarchy. Mayhaps she occupies the superior position in other ways. Margaery grinned to herself at the ribald pun, cheeks coloring a little. "Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Ygritte. Your service to my niece is much appreciated by all of us."

However disliked she was by all the Northmen, Cersei's position and reputation in Winterfell and Wintertown made clear that no one would outwardly disagree. Outwardly.

Ygritte seemed to grasp that, bowing as well. "Thank you, Lady Stark."

A nod. "I shall make arrangements for you. A hot meal plus your own quarters."

"Her own quarters won't be necessary, aunt," Rhaenys insisted. "I will arrange that, so no more care is needed." Her expression was clear, order unsaid - and to anyone with a keen mind the explanation clear as well.

Margaery understood, Cersei understood, and from his widening eyes it was obvious that Robb finally grasped it as well. As if he was knocked back. Theon, for his part, merely grinned. "Alright, we will prepare a meal for the two of you."

"And a bath," Rhaenys insisted.

"And a bath."

The growing tense moment was broken by Arya, who ran over and hugged Rhaenys' legs. "You're back! You're back!" She jumped up and down in place. "I was so worried."

Rhaenys giggled, ruffling Arya's hair. "I couldn't leave you, wee one. After all I saw, I knew I owed my dear cousin some stories."

Arya looked up. "You saw giants?"

"Saw them? My friend here knows giants personally."

Gaping, Margaery watched Arya regard Ygritte with awe. "You know giants?"

The wildling smiled. "Aye, friends with one of 'em. Wanna walk with me?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"My Lady," Ser Rodrik insisted. "I'm not sure how…?" He stopped as Rhaenys glared at him, as did Nysar, though the direwolf didn't growl.

"It would be fine, Ser Rodrik." That was the end of that matter, though with how many - especially Robb - glared or muttered as Ygritte and Arya walked together to the keep chatting up a storm, it was only the end for the moment. "Margaery."

Blinking, Margaery curtsied herself to Rhaenys. "Your Grace."

They began to head to the keep, side by side. "How did you hold up, while I was gone?"

"Well," she murmured, smiling in spite of everything. "Robb kept my worries to a minimum. He was… a delight to be with."

"Oh?" The Princess smirked. "I think I know plenty on how he did that."

Just thinking of his kisses made her cheeks warm, though a thought came to Margaery. "Did… the Lady Ygritte do the same to you?"

There was a long silence, but before Margaery simply gave up and moved on she heard a very soft "Aye." She looked at Rhaenys, whose eyes were downcast. "I feel that I am not very welcome in Winterfell anymore."

"I wouldn't say that. It isn't you they hate." Alright, that didn't seem like it helped any. "None will say anything as long as Lord and Lady Stark back you up… except Robb. Or Theon Greyjoy, though he's more likely to make a lewd comment here and there or pester to join you and her in bed."

Rhaenys snorted. "That I could handle." Then she sighed, face worried. "Can you speak with him?"

Margaery bit her lip. "I can try… though mayhaps it would be best for you to head south as soon as possible. No one likes wildlings there, but they don't… hate them if you understand what I'm saying." Rhaenys clearly did. "I'm sorry."

"I know… but I don't regret it." Would Margaery understand? Mayhaps she would, but that didn't help either of them in the moment.

"I cannot believe that they're back."

Brow raised, Nymella looked upon her betrothed. Handsome and put together he was, fully recovered from his bout of illness only weeks earlier, but he was nervous. Fidgeting and bouncing on the balls of his feet. It was… rather endearing. "Truly you didn't imagine your brother not returning?" From her it was teasing, but truth be told many of Dorne wouldn't be entirely unserious in imagining the disappearance of Crown Prince Baelon.

He peered at her, only to snort. "Quite amusing, wife." But Aegon could never be mad at her, and soon Nymella found herself kissed soundly, moaning and wrapping her arms around him. Why hadn't she accepted this sooner? It was glorious.

"I am glad that you are happy, my love. I… I'm rather nervous actually."

"Why?"

"First time I must meet your family." Smoke, having rose, rubbed along her side as he was wont to do. Nymella ruffled his fur - the beast had grown on her. Her daughters loved him.

Aegon chuckled. "You've met my family."

"House Martell. They are my lieges, I knew them par course. Their Graces are a different matter."

"You'll also be meeting my cousin Sansa." He kissed her forehead. "Do not worry, they will love you as much as I do."

"Well… mayhaps that would get awkward." Aegon blinked, only to shake his head. Nymella giggled and poked him in the ribs, giggling more at the yelp coaxed from him. She loved this man quite a lot, never regretting it. "I think I'll take the dress in your house colors."

A slow, lecherous smile curved on Aegon's lips. "Aye, that one is beautiful." Of course he thought that. Baring her shoulders and hugging her frame even as it was tasteful in most other respects, Aegon had expressed his appreciation for the dress by ravishing her with kisses and touches as soon as he saw her in it.

Mayhaps Nymella wished to tease him a bit as they met his family, but truth be told she liked how the Targaryen house colors looked on her. Best get used to it.

While Aegon had precluded his uncle from setting up the normal pomp and circumstance due for the arrival of the Crown Prince, nevertheless the entire court of Sunspear had arrived at the port for Baelon's arrival. Doran Martell was seated with a hand clutching his cane, his face unreadable but quite gentle. That of his family weren't, excitement on that of Arianne contrasted with unhidden distaste on that of Quentyn. The latter shared by many of the Dornish lords and knights from which Nymella would've stood with had she not accepted Aegon's proposal.

But she had, so she stood with him beside his uncles, their hands entwined as the large carrack docked in the harbor. The same distaste wasn't directed towards him - all of Dorne seemed to love him. Nymella smiled, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

He deserved it.

At first, the movement on the ship was merely that of the crew. Sailors dashing about and tossing lines, the gangway put in place. However that changed when three furry beasts emerged, bounding down. Beside her, Smoke howled - his brother and sister most likely, two answering back while the white one simply stared with red eyes.

Behind the direwolves emerged a simple man with two swords at his waist. Arthur Dayne himself. Which meant…

The silver-haired Princess Daenerys was the first spotted, her sparkling locks shining in the sun. Beside her were two other ladies in modest Essosi garb, a redhead with skin pale as milk and one of darker skin and kinky hair - all equally as beautiful as the other, at least for their age. In comparison, the simple demeanor of the Crown Prince seemed ordinary, at least at first glance.

For if anyone gave him more than a cursory look, one could feel the majesty and power of Baelon Targaryen. His friends and enemies both. Black of hair he was, but Nymella saw much the same features as Aegon had, if leaner. He is a Targaryen, cannot be denied.

A sigil was emblazoned on his tunic, a white three-headed dragon emblazoned on an orange sun. A combination of all three sigils of the three monarchs. Behind, she heard some muttering among the Lords, including an intelligible complaint from Prince Quentyn. Whatever it was, Prince Oberyn smacked him on the head. Luckily only Nymella noticed it.

Stepping forward, Aegon wasted no time in hugging Baelon tightly, his brother reciprocating as they clapped their backs. "Valonqar, you made it back safely."

"I missed you too, brother," Baelon replied, voice emotional. "You look well."

"As do you." They pulled back, only for a slight Valyrian girl - Princess Daenerys - to leap into Aegon's arms. "Aunt…"

"You've grown up, nephew," she giggled, kissing his cheek. "Dorne suited you."

Aegon laughed. "Aye, it did, as did Essos for you." He eyed her over. "Didn't find yourself a lover there, did you?"

Daenerys snorted, while Nymella didn't fail to notice how Crown Prince Baelon's nostrils flared at the comment. Nor how the redhead behind the both of them turned close to the color of her hair. Hmmm… interesting.

She couldn't expect significant emotional maturity from youths younger than even her betrothed, but they clearly had unresolved romantic tension between them. Both seem to be fitting consorts to the Crown Prince, at least. Daenerys was a powerful dragonrider from what she had heard, and the three direwolves belied even Lady Sansa Stark as someone not to be trifled with.

"My love?" She blinked, having not noticed Aegon approaching her till he spoke. "I'd like you to meet my family. My brother Baelon, my aunt Daenerys, and my cousin Sansa."

Nymella immediately curtseyed. "Your Graces, my Lady."

From the expression on the Crown Prince's face, he seemed surprised. "And your name, my Lady?" Nymella blushed - did he not know? "Forgive me, but I seemed to have misplaced your face." Some of the Dornish Lords grumbled softly, but to her the Prince sounded genuinely confused.

"Valonqar, this is my betrothed, Lady Nymella Toland."

The Prince's eyes widened, while Princess Daenerys' jaw dropped. "Betrothed, you got betrothed?" Suddenly she thumped him on the shoulder. "And you didn't tell us?"

"How was I to reach you?" Aegon replied.

"And you." Nymella found the Princess looking up at her. Violet eyes betraying… someone that would be a loyal friend but dangerous foe. Daenerys eyed her, as if seeing deep into Nymella's soul. "Hmmm… you don't seem like a fool or a snake."

Nymella's impression of the Princess improved dramatically. "Thank you, your Grace."

"Hmph, I will still need to know you. My nephew… I have yet to consider whether he makes good decisions or not." Nevertheless, she took Nymella's arm in hers. "Walk with me, my Lady. You are still his betrothed and thus are close to being of our family." It was an honor, and indicative of a good first impression. "Does Smoke like you?"

"Yes, your Grace, he does."

"Good, the direwolves are far better judges of character then men. Dragons moreso, but much less frightening." Her grin told Nymella all she needed to know.

Giggling, Princess Arianne leaned back on her elbows upon the couch. Her eyes sparkling as she gazed in a manner that could normally leave both men and women quivering with lust. But her companion was not any ordinary soul. "Not enjoying your first sojourn to Dorne, cousin?"

Baelon Targaryen - Arianne found herself preferring his pet name 'Jon' strangely enough - shrugged. "It is beautiful, Ari, and the winter weather is… nice."

She cocked her head, brow raised. "But…?"

"I try not to use 'but.' My uncle told me once that everything said after the word 'but' is horseshit."

"A wise man, your uncle." Arianne bid him to sit beside her, to which he did, though he still sat upright rather than her - that awkward expression of a man still in the midst of coming of age all had. Aegon did when he first arrived, though his Dornish blood was far more suited here than Jon's northern modesty. If he had seen me in my usual wear by the pool I swear he'd faint. Hence the reason Arianne wore a gauzy dress that exposed much skin but covered the intimate places well, rather than her usual attire of simply a smile. "Mayhaps what they say of him in Dorne as an honorable fool ruled by his wife isn't true - I never believed it."

His awkwardness changed for a moment with a flash of anger. "I dare them to speak of such in my presence."

"Of course, of course." Her core tingled at the glimpse of the dragon - or was it the wolf? Mayhaps both. "But do not change the subject. Are you sure you are enjoying Dorne?"

A shrug. "I am, apart from the sun." Jon winced. "I pray to Tessarion and the old gods that my skin doesn't burn red, that this damned poultice works."

She suppressed a giggle. "Certainly being covered in the chalky white smear doesn't help showcase your growing beauty, cousin." Without delay, she slid off her seat and rose, holding out her hand. "But allow me to take your mind from it and show you what the Water Gardens can truly offer."

Jon looked at her, slowly smiling. "Who am I to refuse a tour of the Water Gardens from Princess Arianne Martell, heir to Dorne." He rose and took her hand, violet eyes boring straight into her light browns, making her near wilt. "An honor."

The honor is mine. Her confident smile nearly faltered, but Arianne could be satisfied with the fact she didn't speak her thoughts.

She denied him nothing within the Water Gardens. They strolled along the pools and in the gardens. They drank fresh juice from fruit picked that day and snacked on sugared balls of dough prepared by the cooks, still warm and chewy. Banter was lovely, the two of them having always gotten along, but to Arianne's sadness Jon ended up descending into brooding once more. "Many hate me here." He sighed. "The son of Lyanna Stark."

"I don't know, cousin." Arianne reached down and clasped his hand warmly. A gesture that in and of itself could be any sorts of intimate, but she was expert enough to tailor it to just a hint more sensual than a friend would, or sibling not in the Targaryen sense. Certainly not enough for Jon to notice more than fleetingly. "You are very much welcomed here by many, dearly so."

He smiled, only for a distant giggling to draw both his and Arianne's attention. Halfway ahead along the colonnade were two ladies, not much younger than Arianne - in the flower of their womanhood, as displayed by their nude, wet bodies just extracted from the pool. Both of them bowed to her and his Grace, while their eyes even from this distance blazed a sense of desire.

She was not naive or arrogant enough to believe those gazes were directed at her.

Jealousy burned inside, and had the two girls - themselves both very pretty - lingered there was a non-zero chance she would've clawed their eyes out. However, Arianne kept her attention on Jon. He was blushing, but not altogether the blush of a boy completely inexperienced. This… intrigued her.

Well, rather made her scream internally in a manner that would shatter glass. Someone has already taken you?

It should've been me!

But she was nothing if not adaptable. "Highborn girls, salty Dornish from north of here. They are beautiful."

Jon shrugged again. "Aye, I cannot say they aren't."

"Would you bed them?" Best be direct. "I could see if I could arrange for you to meet either one - or both." It killed Arianne to say those words.

Hence the relief when he shook his head. "No, I wouldn't. Not my place as the heir to the throne to cavort freely. I am no Aegon the Unworthy."

She snorted. "Hardly. You aren't a fat, cruel waste of dragonsblood." Seemed to lighten the mood, helping transition to what Arianne truly wished to know. "So you're going to your wedding day a maiden?"

That drew an even bigger blush, Arianne knowing then she struck gold. "I…" he trailed off.

Perching herself in an alcove between two columns, Arianne pulled him by her arms towards her. With great fortitude she managed to stop herself from completely closing the distance. "Dare me to ask if there has been someone?" Jon bit his lip, hesitating. "Relax, your secret is safe with me. We are dear cousins, after all, and it is Quentyn, Alyssa, or uncle Oberyn's girls that are the blabbermouths of the Martell clan, not I."

He snickered at that, tension lightening. "Alright… mayhaps I've been dying to confide in someone. I want to tell Egg, but I'm afraid he'd judge me." Arianne was beyond judging, unless it was truly stupid and foolish - but what could Jon do that was all of that? Sleep with the Sealord of Braavos' daughter? Or a Blackfyre? She giggled internally at the thought. "I did… transgress while in Essos."

"Who with?"

"A Lysene girl. She was… I can't truly say because we never really knew all there was to know of each other. She had Valyrian blood, silver hair and lavender eyes, but from how she talked and dressed her parents must be merchants or mayhaps lesser nobility."

Not shocking to Arianne, that he fall for a Valyrian first love. The pull of the Targaryens - she understood it, her past ancestor being a Targaryen. It explained her pull in some respects. "Did you bed her?"

Eyes downcast, he nodded. "A few times." A sigh, Jon leaning against the wall. "Didn't mean for it to happen, but she was simply such good company and…"

"The moment was right and neither of you could resist?" Arianne sighed dreamily. "A very common occurrence when playing with the act of love." Oh, she so desired that to happen right here and now, but Arianne was no lust-drunk idiot to force it. "Mayhaps it was for the best… you worked out that awkward first time bullshit with someone that in the end you didn't have to worry about being embarrassed from."

"Oh? You think so?"

A nod. "Yes. Otherwise you'd need to find someone you'd trust and who wouldn't mind letting you learn from, but those are tough to find." I would've gladly been that for you. "That's why many seek out whores, often hidden from knowledge."

"That… helps ease my conscience."

"I'd never worry about it again… if you made it worth her while?" Arianne grinned brilliantly. "Did you?"

"Did I what…? Oh." Jon chuckled awkwardly. "I'm sure I did. She wasn't complaining. Enjoying it greatly." He grinned a bit.

"How old was she?"

"I think the same age as Rhaenys?"

"And were you her first?"

Another blush. "Aye."

She nodded. That was good, the younger they were the less likely they'd lead one on or faking it - especially if they hadn't yet been intimate. "So it seems you have skills. Kissing - are you a good kisser, cousin?"

"A-A very good one cousin!" Jon clearly attempted to save face at his shyness - she was under no illusion that her sultriness could rock any man's world. Even her royal dragonrider of a cousin.

Arianne was a bold soul, but this would be the boldest she had been. She drew in a breath to steel herself. "Show me."

His eyes widened. "What?"

Alright, mayhaps a pullback. "I'm curious if your boast is true. Just a kiss, I am a good judge." He hesitated, and she smirked, hand upon her tilted hip as she tried to conceal her beating heart. "I cannot imagine that the rider of the Black Dread Reborn would be afraid of a simple…"

She hadn't considered how bold Jon would be. Before she knew it, he had surged forward and took her lips in his. It wasn't passionate, but a soft meeting of the lips - but gods, how wonderful it was. Plenty of hungry, desperate kisses in the throes of passion in the past meant nothing to this one, simple kiss. Arianne fought a moan, melting at the gentle heat that coursed through her. Feeling Jon's hands on her upper arm while she reached out to his waist. Feeling him run his tongue on her lower lip, to which she immediately granted access to which their tongues touched…

It seemed to bring them to reality again and they broke apart. Arianne's heart beating out of her chest. She looked up at him, and how embarrassed he was. "Apologies… got carried away."

"No… I did like it." Arianne chuckled, for if she didn't she might find herself falling apart - or jumping him. "You are not wrong about your skills. Whomever you end up marrying will not find themselves satisfied in the bedchamber… if you desire them at least."

He smiled. "Thank you, cousin." Jon laughed. "Sometimes even the heir to the throne finds themselves insecure. I am heartened that someone as skilled as you would find me passable."

"More… more than passable." Gods help her.

Sansa loved Dorne. Always striving to be a perfect lady - even according to northern standards - it felt wonderful to be able to relax in the Water Gardens. It was like swimming in the godswood pool. She adored it.

She could do without a lot of the attention though. Apparently while Lysenes had accustomed many in Dorne to the silver-hair and violet eyes of Valyrians, pale skin and red hair were quite rare. Red-gold like that of Nymella were an oddity, but Sansa's fire-kissed locks were practically unseen, and thus the looks. Men's looks, women's looks, they all eyed her hungrily. Sansa appreciated it, but could do without it.

There were only two she wished to enjoy the lovely atmosphere of Dorne with…

Only for her to turn the corner and witness something that made her wish to have Daenerys on Syrax to reenact the Dragon's Wroth. Her cousin Arianne… kissing Jon!

Who does that whore think she is?! Sansa had liked Arianne. Greatly liked her, a spirit of fresh air from prudish northmen and even more prudish and uptight Andals. But now she hated her. Forced to disappear behind the corner as the two broke apart, her hands on Jon, Sansa's cheeks burned with rage. "You could have anyone, why steal my man?" Furious, she tore away out of the gardens, hoping Dany was in her bedchamber.

Thank the gods she was. "Sansa? What's wrong?" Dany asked, expression one of shock at Sansa's sudden entrance.

Sansa immediately went to where Lady and Moonlight rested. Their fur had been sheared by the servants here, and yet they still panted in the heat. "Have you fed them?"

"Fed them? Um… kessa. About an hour ago."

"Damn. Well, Arianne is pretty small. She'd be a nice snack for you two." Sansa ruffled their fur. Lady was still, while Moonlight yawned, disinterested.

Anyone else might've reacted with worry, but Sansa merely felt a hand on her shoulder. "Sans, is there a reason you wish to feed Arianne to the direwolves?" A slight chuckle left her lips. "Mayhaps a bit overdramatic."

A scoff. "Hardly. She was… kissing Jon."

Whatever levity was on Dany's face left, replaced by… Sansa could only describe it as fire and blood. "Forget the direwolves. This calls for Syrax." Her fist clenched. "I'll teach her the same lesson I did that Manderly whore!"

This was news to Sansa. "You did that? I mean… I would've heard if the sister to the King fed a major Lord's granddaughter to a dragon."

Daenerys… seemed to deflate a bit. "Oh, yeah. No, I didn't feed her to it. Just saw Wylla Manderly slutting up to Jon, so I had Syrax screech at her. Sending a message if you will."

"Good job." Sansa sighed. "Mayhaps we should stop with the hyperbole here. Arianne is Jon's cousin and aunt Elia's niece - we can't be killing her no matter how satisfying that would be." Dany nodded, and motioned to her bed. It was a large one, able to fit two people so it was plenty big enough for the two to sit cross-legged on it. "I thought Arianne was our friend."

"She is… but she's much older than us." Daenerys shook her head. "I suppose she was always more closer to Rhaenys and Aegon than those of our age. When the Martells arrived in King's Landing, it was always Tyene I spent more time with than Arianne, and this is the result."

"She can have any man in the world, why would she take Jon?" Before Dany could reply, Sansa answered her own question. "Because he's the most perfect man." A sigh. "Any woman would fall in love with him, not just you or I."

Dany's eyes softened. "Kessa." Her smile was dreamy. "I love him."

"So do I." Was it the first time they really admitted it out loud? Not truly, but perhaps the most explicit they were in their feelings. "I love him, my beautiful cousin."

"My beautiful nephew." There really was no reason why they wouldn't fall for him. He was gorgeous. A Targaryen but dark of hair, which made him amazingly exotic, both for Sansa who grew up in the North separated from Valyrians and Daenerys who was a Valyrian herself. As he grew, it was clear that Jon would be one of the greatest warriors whomever lived and would hold a chiseled, lean figure to match. Not only that, he was kind and confident and intelligent. The perfect Prince and one who would rival Aegon the Conqueror or his own kepa as King. "He needs to be ours."

Sansa nodded. "It needs to be us. We're the only ones who truly care for him."

"Imagine if some whore lures him in and gets with child. He'll be forced to marry her - and end up like Viserys." Sansa shuddered at the thought. Dany's brother… mayhaps in one lifetime he would've been a decent man, but being shackled to Talisa made him bitter. The thought of Jon that way made her sad. "I love Arianne, but Jon is not like Aegon."

"What do you mean like Aegon?"

Daenerys rolled her eyes. "You notice Nymella is much older than he is."

"Well of course."

"Aegon needs that sort of stability, an older girl to take care of him and keep him focused - you didn't see him when he was really sick, at least the worst of it." Blinking, Sansa sighed. Dany was right, she hadn't seen Egg when at his worst. What she did remember from the time the dragon eggs hatched was a scrawny, weak boy, so she could only assume something really horrible. "Jon doesn't need that, he needs a partner to help him rule the Kingdoms," she smiled, face glowing. Violet eyes sparkling as she spoke in such reverent terms of Jon.

By the gods, Daenerys was beautiful. Sansa felt her body start to flush, the feelings having started since the royals arrived at Winterfell moons before filling her in full. I can't deny this any longer. She'd fought it out of fear for so long, but with the discussion explicitly about Jon and finally making him theirs, was there any better time to confess to Dany as well? "Him the King, you or I his Queens. Just like our games." Biting her lip, Sansa's pulse began to race - by the gods, she was going to do it. There was no better time. "And… which one of us will be the one to get him, then?"

Dany blinked. "What do you mean?" She looked at Sansa as if she were stupid. "We share him of course."

"Share him?" Sansa played dumb.

"Oh you can't be this daft, Sans." She swatted her shoulder, chuckling but not noticing how Sansa's skin tingled at the touch - desire burning now that the wolf no longer let herself continue with repressing her want. It was accepted, and so close to bursting. "We'll be like we were as babes, Rhaenys and Visenya and Aegon the Conqueror. Marry him just as Elia and Lyanna did my brother."

Her heart was beating out of her chest. "Well, Dany…" Sansa swallowed. The moment of truth. "I see where you are going, but that won't work without… something else."

Dany's brow rose. "Oh? What is that it needs to work?"

Eyes shut, suddenly Sansa leaned forward. Before Dany could react, she had pressed her lips against the Princess'. The Targaryen's reaction was startled, stiffening and her hand reflexively pushing back on Sansa's chest. But the feel of Dany's hands on her made Sansa moan, consciously deepening the kiss in spite of her nerves. Her tongue snaked out of her lips, running along Dany's.

Please don't scream. Please don't panic… Dany, I'm sorry…

That held for what was likely a split-second but felt like hours. However, Sansa soon felt Dany relax against her. Resistance falling as she opened her lips and accepted Sansa's tongue. Caressing it tentatively with her own. Her hands fell away and wrapped around Sansa.

Ohhhh… The redhead sighed happily into Dany's mouth as they fell to the bed on their sides, arms holding each other close as they kissed sweetly. No words needing to be said.

"Father, you must do something about this!"

Doran shook his head. "What do you wish me to do, my son?" Quentyn… what was he to do about Quentyn? The boy had his own beliefs, but character and disposition were of his mother's side. Namely irascible and quick to offense, but in a petty sort of way rather than the Martell boldness as Oberyn and Arianne held - not to mention Rhaenys and Aegon it seemed. "Order the Crown Prince to divest his sigil? On this I cannot."

Much as it irritated him.

Quentyn fumed. "It is not just that. The bastard called me his cousin. His cousin! As if he has a drop of Martell blood in his veins! We know what those Targaryens feel for family, and Arianne is close with him."

Oh, Doran knew. He knew very well. "Mayhaps she will earn his favor and they will marry."

"And have my sister be sullied by that bastard?! Are you addled, father?"

He smacked his son upside the head much as Oberyn did earlier - thankfully the boy was short, allowing him to reach up while still seating. "You watch yourself, boy! I am still your father and your elder. You will respect me!" That shut his son up. "You have my leave to go."

As Quentyn left, Doran slumped in his plush chair. By the gods, did he not disagree with his son. While Jon was a bastard in his eyes, it didn't truly matter. Had Elia been the second wife, there would've been no hesitation on his part to marry Arianne to her eldest son… no, even if Arianne were the Queen, she'd bring no benefit to Dorne in a Stark-dominated Targaryen court. Neither would Rhaenys.

No, it wouldn't do at all. Wouldn't do. "Aero."

The door opened to reveal his faithful guard. "Yes, your Grace?" Aero Hoteh entered, shutting the door behind him.

"You informed me three days ago that he is here, correct?"

Aero nodded. "He'd been sending his men into the Stormlands three at a time for the past two moons, but now he has arrived once news of the Crown Prince's docking at Lorath reached him at Myr."

"Good, very good." Doran attempted to rise, but his legs failed him. Not weakness - not yet - but the pain was simply unbearable. "Gods, have a maester sent to me."

"Now, my Prince?"

Doran shook his head. Aero was a powerful warrior and shrewd tactician, but was woefully inept at political intrigue. "After you leave… but do you know where he is? Broken Arm?" It was best to refer to him by that moniker. His name was too… infamous within the lands of the Targaryen Realm.

Leaning forward, Aero whispered so that only Doran could hear. "Aye, only I know."

"Leave it at that. Even I wish not to know where he resides." He coughed. "What does he demand?"

"Five thousand gold dragons now - a further fifteen when the job is done."

"Twenty thousand then… a princely sum." Was Doran the only one that found such a deeply ironic pun. "See to it then. I want everything in place for when our guests leave, but please inform him that I will collect that initial payment if he fails in his task."

"At once, my Prince." Aero departed, leaving Doran to his solitude. Slowly turning till he faced the lush gardens and sparkling fountains underneath the moonlight, he reached for his wine. Praying that the spirits could dull his pain until the long-formulated contingency could provide a far more long-term balm.