Chapter 42: Fights and Reunions

"Swords up, swords up." Ser Rodrik circled them, his eyes peeled for any mistakes. "Lord Robb, you will be a glorious swordsman, but not if you keep slacking your arms as if they're injured."

Robb gritted his teeth. "Aye, Ser Rodrik." Gods, did his arm hurt. Why did he challenge someone two years his senior?

He knew why… The heir to Winterfell wanted the challenge. Wanted to burn away his anger. With Jon and Aegon gone - even Daenerys - Torrhen Karstark was the best choice. Tall, muscular Torrhen Karstark, one that spent time fighting wildling raiders that could pass as giants.

Wildlings… Thinking of them made him see red, charging with a sudden fury as he slashed at Torrhen.

"Whoo!" While Robb was not averse to sparring in front of an audience - preferably cute little Jeyne Poole, his cousins from his mother's side, or most preferably that beautiful nymph Margaery Tyrell - his snarky little sister was another thing. "Go Robb! Not every day you try to be the bear in bear baiting!" She dissolved into laughs.

Robb shot her an obscene gesture.

"Lord Stark, never defame a Lady!"

"Aye, never 'defame a Lady,'" giggled Joanna."

"Careful, my Lady," Rodrik crossed his arms. "Do you not wish your mother to ask if there is a lesson you are missing." At that Joanna quieted down, sulking. She looked so much like their mother that it was uncanny.

Narrowing his eyes with that distraction taken out, Robb spun his sword. Wrist bending and flexing just as Baelon taught him. Circling, deep breaths tempering his anger as he waited for Torrhen to make the first move. To which he did, lunging for Robb's feet. The Heir to Winterfell jumped back, youth and shorter stature giving him more agility in darting away from Torrhen's further attacks. Blades clashing, the wooden swords thunking against each other in swift slash and parry.

But strength and size did count for something. Bullrushing forward, Torrhen caught Robb unprepared in the middle of a slash and shoved him to the ground with a shoulder push. His trousers splattered into the mud. A curse and he hauled himself up. "I yield," he growled, knowing how he was vanquished.

Huffing, Ser Rodrik patted his charge on the back. "You held longer than I thought, Lord Stark. Continue your drills and you'll be able to defeat whomever comes at you."

"Unless their name is Baelon, Rhaenys, Arthur, Obara, Lyanna, Alyssa, Aegon, Daenerys…"

"Enough, young Lady."

Joanna closed her lips while still simpering with glee, kicking her legs as she sat upon the barrel holding a pitcher of water. Shit, now I have to go to her. He snatched a wooden cup from her grinning face. "Don't think this means I like you," he growled.

"I'm your beloved sister. Mother and father make you love me."

"You're too much like mother for your own good." If it hadn't been just him and mother for all those years at Casterly Rock, Robb was sure Joanna would be her favorite just like Arya was grandfather's - or Sansa was father's.

Walking up behind him, Torrhen Karstark took another offered cup. "Your master-at-arms is right, Stark. You fight well. As fierce as your wolf… where is he by the way?"

"Grey Wind? Oh, he likes to hunt around for rodents with the others."

"Aye, servants love them more than cats," chuckled Joanna. "That is until they grow to be the size of ponies."

"Gods…" Torrhen muttered.

"Oh please." Joanna had her hands on her hips. "You're in love with a Targaryen Princess with a dragon half the size of Winterfell… and she has a wolf bigger than all of ours. Tell me you're not complaining."

Torrhen opened his mouth to retort, only to clam up. "Aight. You're right, I suppose."

"Damn straight." From the look in Joanna's expression, she didn't see what Rhaenys saw in the… rather not intuitive heir to Karhold. Robb didn't blame her, but… "Woah, what's crawled up your rear and died?"

"Language, Joanna."

"Don't give me that. I just heard you mutter some curses only mother can use."

"Robb, if you are upset about the spar…"

He shook his head. "No, stop… that's not it." He groaned - damn Rhaenys. It just couldn't get out of his mind, seeing her with that… that savage. Well, I'm in the right. Those wildling savages killed and raped and burned all across the North since the Wall was built… they were why it was built in the first place! He was being a good Stark, a good northman by opposing them. By trying to save Rhae from one's clutches. Not the 'bastard of Casterly Rock,' but Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell.

Any good northman would save his cousin from the wildling whore bewitching her.

Suddenly he heard a slosh of water hit the ground, cup joining it. Looking up, Robb saw Torrhen going pale before storming off. "Wait, what just happened… ow!"

Joanna smacked him on the head again. "Idiot. You just thought out loud and told him about Ygritte."

"You knew?!"

"I'm no fool. I see the way they look at each other… plus her chambers are next to mine… idiot!" smacking him a third time, she raced off to the keep.

Robb shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe he can talk some sense into her… or kill that bitch." No bad options, he supposed.

"This is stupid."

"That's what I've been sayin'," Ygritte remarked, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall. "But ye' southerners baffle me."

Rhaenys, dumping one of her dresses into the saddlebag - one of many that Nymerion could carry - ignored her lover. She was pretty much habituated to Ygritte's ribbing and snark. "I know it's stupid, Margaery," she told her lady in waiting, motioning for the next dress to stuff in. Gods, I love Winterfell, but it'll be amazing to wear dresses that don't weigh as much as me. "But reality is reality."

"It makes no sense!" Out of all three of them, it was the Tyrell that held the most indignancy for being kicked out of Winterfell. A bit harsh to Lord and Lady Stark, but Rhaenys refused to sugar-coat it. "You're the daughter of their beloved Queen, the one who's most tried to be northern since arriving here, and they kick you out over your choice of lover?"

"Maybe they don't like ye' fuckin' a girl." Ygritte chuckled dryly. "Ye' should try it out, rose. Very fun." She walked behind Rhaenys and wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her neck.

While her soft lips felt good, this was not the time to… indulge. "Save it for the Red Keep, fox." Ygritte winked, cocking her hips in a flirty way. Oh, I can't wait to bring her to Dorne. "And it's not that - if I seduced one of the Mormonts they wouldn't have a problem."

"Mmm… they did look delicious."

Rhaenys shrugged. "They did."

"Are you two serious right now?" An indigent Margaery was a hilarious sight. "You've literally been kicked out of Winterfell by your own uncle!"

Closing her eyes, Rhaenys… she didn't blame her uncle Ned. He loved her, and they had their special bond. But damned if her love for the homeland of her muna wasn't dampened after this. It was… the greatest shame - but she didn't want to talk about this again. "Margaery, I know you wish to stay here for a certain someone."

Margaery blushed. "No…"

"A certain Robb Stark."

"Oh, Little Lord Scowl?" Ygritte chortled. "You like him? Wait… I can fuckin' see it."

She blushed even harder.

Shaking her head, Rhaenys patted Margaery's shoulder. "Trust me. If you want to be with him, then he'll wait. It's innocent now - learn how to properly be a woman and grow all your features, and when you meet in a few years the feelings will return."

Biting her lip, Margaery looked up. "This is still all ridiculous."

"I know, but it's my indignity to bear, not yours." As her kepa always told her, to be a royal - to be a dragonrider - the power and greatness came with a price.

About to pick up another dress, the door opened quickly and it revealed… "Joanna?" Margaery asked.

The golden lioness of the North - bearing practically none of her father but for a strong will - was panting from exertion. "Rhae… Torrhen… coming… knows of…" In lieu of speaking further, she points at Ygritte.

Ah fuck.

"And how does he know?"

"Robb spilled the beans, and he's coming here now."

Ah fuck. She was not looking forward to this.

"Jo, go. Marg, Ygritte, go as well."

While Margaery nodded and left with her cousin, Ygritte remained perched on the wall. "No," she said simply.

"Please…" Ugh, she couldn't deal with this right now.

"Not leaving."

Before she could answer back, Torrhen appeared through the open doorway. His eyes were frantic while gazing at Rhaenys, but narrowed as they noticed Ygritte. "What's the savage, doing here?"

Rhaenys sighed. "Torrhen…"

"Oh, 'savage.'" Ygritte rolled her eyes. "Best you got?"

"Ygritte…"

"My knife is the best I have," Torrhen hissed. "Wildling."

"My knife is bigger than yers'..."

"Enough!" The chamber silenced. "Ygritte, leave." There was no room for argument.

Her lover blinked, but gave her a longing, apologetic gaze before obeying. Making sure to cock her head at Torrhen on the way out - a thinly-veiled threat to a rival.

Not a rival. Ygritte never needed to worry about her affections. "Torrhen, what are you doing here?"

He shut the door behind him and weaved his hands together. Pacing about. "Robb told me many things… things I didn't think I would have to believe." He stared at her. "How could you let this happen?"

She sighed, sitting upon her bed. Arms folded together. "My muna desires men and women, and it seems I am the same."

"I understand that." Rhaenys knew he was lying, but didn't call him out on it. "Why a wildling? A filthy wildling…"

"Do not call her that." Rhaenys was harsher than she wanted to be, but Ygritte was her lover and she was protective of her. As Torrhen narrowed his eyes, she softened her tone. "She saved my life, up there. Things just happened after that."

"But you love me."

"Torrhen… what we had I very much enjoyed." Having put it off for many moons even before her captivity, Rhaenys knew it was time to finish this. "But while I do not call it a mistake, it was wrong of me to lead you on further than I should've."

"Do not speak of such things… your mother the Queen is kin to me, and such makes an excellent match to unite Dorne and the North…"

Rhaenys could clearly see true affection in his eyes, and she was loathe to cause him hurt. "I have affection for you, Torrhen, but it was never going to have a true happy ending between us as in the songs. Kepa wants what's best for me but our positions are not equal."

"This is what's best, not some torrid affair with a wildling girl."

"She is no threat to my virtue in the eyes of the Faith - no harm in seeding me with child. What I share with her is… more defensible." Such was the truth when it came to how Westeros looked at it. Many highborn men would consider it rather welcome, hoping that their wife's female lover would join them.

From how her muna told the story of Cregan and Black Aly Blackwood, that had happened between them and Sabitha Frey according to the Stark sources.

"In either case, this has nothing to do with Ygritte."

Torrhen glared. "That savage stole you from me."

"No, Torrhen… I was going to do this when we returned to Castle Black from the ranging, but my captivity occurred." She rose, moving to kiss his cheek. Torrhen tried to kiss her lips, but she pulled back. "Don't make this harder than this has to be."

"This is a mistake… This cannot happen."

"But it has and it will. I'm sorry."

She made to leave, but Torrhen reached out and grabbed her wrist, hard. "We're not done!"

Rhaenys, reacting, shoved his hand away, fire in her eyes. "Do not do that again." Her gaze softened at his hurt. "I'm sorry, I truly am, but we must part." She made for the corridor, waiting until he left her chambers before closing the door behind her.

"Rhaenys! Rhaenys!" she heard him call, but she simply kept walking away.

"You're no longer a boy anymore, my son." Rhaegar enveloped Jon in his arms, tears stinging his eyes. "You're a man. You became a man without me even being there."

It was natural for a boy his age to reject the affections of a kepa that only years before he would beg to have, but to Rhaegar's joy Baelon was as greedy for it as he had been when but a babe. "I'm here now, kepa." He clung to Rhaegar, head pressed into his chest as if seeking out the safety Rhaegar's children always associated with him. "I've still got plenty to grow."

The King chuckled, kissing the crown of his son's head. "That you do."

Finally they pulled apart, leaning against the walls of the Water Gardens. "Kepa…" Jon bit his lip. "You promise that Rhaenys is alright? When Arianne and Aegon told me what happened…" His skin grew pale at the mere thought of his sister's brush with danger.

Rhaegar knew exactly how he felt, as he had felt it himself. "She is in no more danger as you are in now, reunited with me and your munas." Jon's expression visibly relaxed, to which Rhaegar was glad. "Each of you, Rhaenys, Aegon, and yourself, all meeting first blood and coming out stronger for it."

"Multiple times, in my case," Baelon boasted, chuckling.

A glint in the boy's eye, a prideful glint. Rhaegar had seen it before in brash youths, Jon's same expression from prior to the journey. It… it did not worry him, but there was a nagging feeling. "Son, I am impressed with your victories by the sword, but your other exploits are what greatly draw my admiration. Saving Missandei only to set her free, bonding with the son and daughter of a Dothraki Khal… gods, you found an ancient Valyrian house once thought extinct."

"Daenerys found them, in fairness," Jon shrugged. "And Sansa found Bellegere the Black Pearl."

"The Black Pearl?" There was a story there.

"Well, if it isn't our two strong Targaryen men." Rhaegar turned and was immediately greeted by Lyanna's full lips on his. Nearly five and ten years, and she still never ceased to electrify him. "I love you," she murmured into his ear, warrior goddess of the North that she was.

Rhaegar nuzzled her hair. "I love you too."

A groan left Jon's lips. "Must you do that in front of me?"

"Oh, my sweet dragon." Elia hugged Jon first, her slender arms enveloping him even though he was near her own height at this point. Cuddling him to the crook of her neck. "That is the beginning of how you were made, my son."

"Muna!" he cried.

"Have mercy on my son, please," Rhaegar chuckled. Allowing Lyanna a turn to embrace Jon while he kissed Elia. Her hand snaked down to squeeze his arse - a promise for later, he hoped. "The lad was speaking to me about his experiences. Sparring with the son of a Dothraki Khal and how Ghost rescued him and his aunt in Lys."

"Aye, husband." Elia observed Ghost, currently having his neck bit gently by Spirit - some form of discipline or male bonding by direwolves. "He certainly looks like a killer."

"I'm a killer, and yet I still hold you soft as a feather."

"And get dressed down by your own mother." Rhaegar rolled his eyes, but what Lyanna japed was true. Gods protect anyone that got in the way of an enraged Rhaella Targaryen. Jaimexes wasn't the biggest of the dragons but could be the fiercest. "Baelon, go find your uncle. He wished to spar with you and Aegon in the training yard."

Baelon nodded. "Aye, kepa. And muna, you promised a ride in the countryside before supper."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world, my sweet pup-pup." Lyanna hugged him tightly and peppered him with kisses, each one making his cheeks go redder and redder. From now on only Daenerys or Sansa, he'll allow to kiss him - till he has kids of his own. Watching Jon jog off, Lyanna was by his side again. "What has you looking like you've seen a ghost, husband?" With Elia's hand on one arsecheek, Lyanna possessed the other.

Two Queens in a randy mood, he should've been jumping for joy. "I'm too young to be a grandfather, what with Aegon marrying and Baelon… wishing for his aunt and his cousin to kiss him and not I."

Elia's eyes widened. "He said something to you?"

"He didn't have to, but after I ask he all but confirmed it."

Lyanna whistled. "About time… those three are like us." No better compliment coming from her. "If this journey solidified them into a proper team, as us or the conquerors, then it was worth it."

"Sansa is already much wiser and more worldly, while Daenerys is aware of her limitations." Elia clicked her tongue. "Has Jon learned humility yet?"

Everything in Rhaegar wished that he could answer in the affirmative, but he could see the joy in his beautiful wives' eyes die when he shook his head. "He's learned much, and has matured greatly, but he still sees the entire journey as an adventure. There's still that sense of invulnerability in him." He lowered his head. "I feel like a monster, speaking horribly of my son. He's perfect, given me nothing to complain about…"

"Rhaegar… Rhaegar stop." Lyanna had him by the shoulders. "You're a loving kepa, and Jon is a good son. But we're preparing him to be a King. Difficult decisions need to be made."

Elia cleared her throat. "Which is why I think he should be allowed to foster at Storm's End." Before Lyanna could rip her a new one, she held up her hand. "Stannis will make sure he's safe, and he'll need to be crafty to deal with Robert's antics."

Lyanna bit her lip. "I don't like it."

"He shan't be far," Rhaegar mused. There were no easy choices for a King to make, especially a dragonrider.

If the dragonriders didn't guide their own, then who would?

Head falling back against the wall, Aegon's contentment was broken as a sharp knock echoed against the door. "What?" he called out, irritated at his enjoyment being broken.

"Your Grace." It was Ser Barristan Selmy, one of the few allowed to disturb him even against his orders - luckily, he wasn't one allowed to enter against orders except in an emergency. "Queen Elia requests your presence."

"Oh…" What could his muna want? "Now?"

"Yes, as soon as possible."

Clicking his tongue, he looked down to find his beautiful, redheaded betrothed grinning around his cock. Eyes sparkling with a barely concealed mirth. "Give me a moment. I've been… napping."

"Of course, your Grace. I will wait down the hallway to escort you." Even through the thick door, the sound of Barristan's armored boots clicking against the floor echoed.

Groaning, Aegon shook his head. "You think he suspects?"

Nymella giggled, a melodious sound as she released his throbbing member with a pop. "Oh, he certainly knew what was going on."

Saliva coated her lips and cheek. She looked like a wanton whore. "I pray he doesn't tell my parents."

"What? That their betrothed son does what they did to conceive him?" Nymella chuckled a throaty laugh at his groan. "You aren't truly bothered."

"And how do you figure that?"

"Well…" Another grin crossed her face, dainty fingers wrapping around the base of his cock and squeezing. "You've been speaking of your parents, and yet my favorite part of you that will be giving me many more children is still erect and begging for my mouth again."

His violet eyes darkened yet again, lust rekindled in the Prince. "Do not make me command you to provide your Prince release."

Nymella moaned. "What sort of bannerwoman would I be if I didn't service the son of the King." She licked a trail up the underside of his cock, as if she hungered for him. Which she did. "I consider it as vital of me as paying my taxes." Without any delay, she inhaled his cock up to the tip and resumed where they had been.

Gripping her bobbing red hair, tangling his fingers into it, Aegon hadn't long before he spilled his seed down her gullet. Moaning like a whore, Nymella swallowed every drop.

Leaving his chambers, trousers fastened and his hair reasonable again under her caring touch, Aegon passed the smiling Ser Barristan. They made eye contact before the Lord Commander led him to his muna - not a word shared between them.

Queen Elia Targaryen - all official records referred to her as this, including her own personal preference, Dornish heritage reflected by her appearance - laid back in a reclining seat. She dressed casually in a very airy dress, Dornish in style as it only covered up what exactly was necessary for a modicum of modesty. Nymella had a dress exactly like that, which Aegon rather enjoyed oogling. He supposed his kepa and muna liked seeing Elia in it, however the thought repulsed him.

Sipping from a glass of fruit juice, Elia noticed the two visitors and smiled warmly. "Egg." She stood, hugging him close. "Gods, you look more and more like your kepa each day.

"I should hope that's a compliment, for his sake and mine."

Elia snickered. "That is all your uncle." Touching his shoulders, her smile changed to something… quizzical. Looking him over as if knowing something was wrong. "You are… tardy."

She couldn't know… "You asked of me, and I am here."

"Of course." His muna reached to the hem of his tunic and withdrew… a long strand of red hair. "I should very greatly hope this isn't your cousin's hair, and is merely the result of a premarital tryst with your betrothed." Aegon was sure his face was a bright red, so Elia looked over his shoulder to Ser Barristan. "Tell me must I worry?"

"You shouldn't worry, your Grace," Barristan replied, openly smirking as he made his exit, shutting the door behind him.

Wanting to melt into the floor, Aegon felt his muna kissing him. "Come now, I'm no prude waiting to whip you if you enjoy that wonderful Lady whose heart you captured." Gesturing to the reclining seat across from hers, Aegon took it. And the offered fruit juice. Anything to cover his expression and keep from speaking. "Such is what married people do and there's no shame in it. I imagine one of my hairs is on your kepa's tunic, as is your muna's hair on the inside of mine.

"Muna, please…"

"Alright, alright." It was clear Elia was enjoying herself, quite in contrast to the quite dignified and quiet Queen she was in King's Landing. Hanging back and appearing cloistered and docile in comparison to the wild and fierce Lyanna. "I'm sorry for teasing, my sweet son, but it… just being here makes me happy."

Gazing out at the palm and orange trees towering over the grounds and pool below made Egg nod. "I know what you mean."

Elia hummed. "This is where I grew up, spending my days while I was sick, and trying not to get sick the other times." She closed her eyes, sighing. "Our ancestor built it for his Targaryen bride to enjoy - seems like a portend for the life I would live, no?"

"Mayhaps so."

"I've only been close to as relaxed when on Dragonstone or Winterfell. Away from it all, where I can just be close to my family."

Aegon looked at her. "You're your happiest when you're with kepa and muna."

"Three heads of the dragon, your muna calls us. Even though she and I aren't dragons." At that moment the door opened, but instead of the clink of armored boots it was a soft patter. Something large and furry suddenly appeared next to Elia. "Spirit, what are you doing here?" she chided, giggling as the direwolf began sniffing your hair. "Hmmm… seems like a note is tied to your neck."

"What does it say, muna?"

She read it with lips pursed before a smile crossed her lips. "'My Dornish flower, our son and I are going for a ride so we cannot make it to dinner till late. Please allow my bonded wolf to keep you company till I return." Elia sighed, kissing the signature of Queen Lyanna. "She's the sweetest."

Aegon rolled his eyes. "If you say so."

Elia shook her head, smirking at her son. "Your kepa and I have been planning your wedding."

"Oh?" He raised his brow. "Was my bride consulted for any of that?"

"It was her idea, as a matter of fact. She's a wonderful woman, and has the strength to be a commanding presence in court - she concurred with your kepa's suggestion to make this wedding the moment of the ages. Another Golden Wedding as a matter of fact."

The wedding between Rogar Baratheon and Alyssa Velaryon, an event they were still paying for twenty years later for its size and extravagance. "Disregarding the expense, is it really necessary to parade me before the entire Realm?"

Elia sat up, reaching out to take his hand. "Sweetling, you're no longer the sickly Prince, you're Aegon Fyrefist. The Prince that took on the Ironborn raiders while covered in an inferno - you have nothing to feel ashamed or sheepish about."

"It's not that… I just want something modest, so that no one can complain that I am a second son trying to usurp the Iron Throne."

Two eyes narrowed. "Why do you bring that up? Has my brother… said anything?"

Aegon realized he had hit a large nerve. That this had gone beyond what he intended out of pure modesty. Wishing Nymella to not be gawked at by the entire capital until she was comfortable at court… not to mention a smaller wedding would lead to a bedding sooner than later. And yet… Perhaps his muna's worries were correct. "He's been proud of my achievements, but you are as well." Uncle Doran, he was peculiar in that unlike Oberyn, his affections were more rarely given. "There… is one thing he asked me."

"Tell me." His muna was firm.

"He asked if I was told of a plan to wed Rhaenys to Baelon… is there such a plan? I thought he loved Daenerys and Sansa?"

Elia sighed. "The reason, my son, we are having a large wedding spectacle for you is to reaffirm the connection of Dorne to the Crown. House Tolland is a respected house in Dorne, and binding of it to you as a Prince would heal the tension from your kepa marrying your muna and your brother becoming the heir."

"I understand."

She nodded, rising, and then kissing his head. "I will talk to your uncle, do not worry yourself about it." Elia patted his cheek. "Now, if I know Dornish women, yours is likely waiting for you in your chambers demanding you reciprocate." He covered his face with his hands as she chuckled, leaving with Spirit bounding after her.

My true friend and sister in faith,

Unfortunately the trail through Lys has grown cold. They were here, I am certain, but the manse now holds empty. What I could figure out is that they fled towards other domains in Essos where our faith doesn't hold as strong sway, most likely inland.

Their backers have deep pockets.

However, I cannot be certain if a link exists between those that tried to poison his Grace and Lord Tywin and our guests here. I will continue to investigate for the benefit of the House of the Dragon - those that will bring the dawn as you have convinced me of.

Kinvara

High Priestess

Fingers curling into a fist, Melisandre forced herself to remain calm. While the memory of the letter would provide nothing but anger, it was useless to get visibly worked up about it. Elia was in Dorne at the moment, and she didn't completely trust Tywin with the information. The poor sod is busy with his infatuation over Lady Shienna… and even still I cannot be certain that Sarra doesn't have someone within his own men passing on information.

Once it had been her that was severely underestimated within these walls. Thought as nothing but a pretty face and a pair of tits - Melisandre saw her reputation increase until it lived in infamy these days, but Sarra… now she was the one underestimated.

Others would make that mistake, but she wouldn't. You've learned much… but I am still the master here. Or mistress rather.

The private dining chamber for the royal family didn't serve the King and Queens, given they were in Dorne, but that didn't mean it was empty. Truly Melisandre was glad it wasn't, for her favorite person dwelled within. "Maester Prince Aemon."

Even blind, it seemed as if the patriarch of House Targaryen's eyes could see right through her as he looked up in her direction. Not that he would see anything. "My Lady. Welcome. I would sit up, but…"

"No need, no need." She could see that he wasn't alone. "Princess Alyssa."

"Lady Melisandre." Elia Martell's miracle child looked much like her elder brother Aegon. A Valyrian through and through apart from the skin tone and facial features more like her graceful mother. Unlike Queen Elia, her ferocity wasn't hidden underneath. "Thank you for not requesting my uncle to rise. Best he keep his knees rested."

Melisandre chuckled a bit as Aemon snorted. "Oh, hush, child. I'm still as spry as I was fifty years ago." Shaking his head, he gestured across the table. "Make note of this, Samwell. As soon as you cross your fourth decade, if you're not siring children off your newly flowered second wife they'll put you out to pasture. The young ones cannot appreciate graceful aging."

From where he sat, young Samwell Tarly nodded - mouth filled with a sweetroll. Swallowing, he cleared his throat. "I'll keep that in mind, your Grace."

"And enough of this 'Your Grace' or 'Prince.' I'm either 'Maester Aemon' or 'Uncle Aemon.'"

"Yes, uncle Aemon," Alyssa said, patting his back.

"Yes, Maester Aemon." Sam's eyes drifted back to the text he was copying in rather decent penmanship.

"Of course, ne… Maester Aemon." Melisandre caught herself at the last minute. Unfortunately, she'd never see him other than the delightful, precocious child he had been. "May I sit with you?" Her stomach betrayed her, rumbling.

Aemon chuckled as if noticing the blush on her cheek. "Of course. There's plenty of food to go around." Long ago she'd learned to resist the temptations of the flesh, but Melisandre couldn't hide her hunger as she took a pewter plate and loaded it with rolls, pork belly, and a healthy serving of porridge.

"Mayhaps I am famished."

"Aye, you are." Alyssa laughed. "That's a dragon's portion, right there." Her plate held the devoured remnants of something similar.

Melisandre knew Aemon was thinking something amusing in that moment, but thankfully he didn't voice it. "Been busy in my chambers."

"What is it you do all day there?" Alyssa tore at some pork belly herself. "Kepa tells me you're his 'religious advisor,' while muna says you traffic in blood magic."

"Blood magic?" Sounded like Queen Lyanna, she figured. "No, nothing so… interesting. Mostly assisting the Grand Maester with the more… spiritual aspects of his studies."

"Hmmm… he hasn't told me much of that avenue of research?"

"Sam, when you mastered the basics of your training, then you will proceed to more advanced studies," Aemon snapped.

"Yes, Maester Aemon."

Aemon shook his head. "Oh, I heard down the grapevine that Rhaenys is returning from the North."

"Thank the gods," Alyssa said. "We thought she was lost… well, I didn't cause I know she can survive anything, but… my brothers and sisters were." Now this was completely Lyanna - desperate to project a powerful image, but still vulnerable.

Seeing such a close and loving family heartened Melisandre. It was much needed for House Targaryen, given what she had seen. "Princess Rhaenys survived, your Grace, and now she will return stronger than ever."

"Just like Baelon and Aegon?"

"Aye, just like them… and soon it'll be your turn for adventures."

The Princess perked up. "Can you show me in the flames?"

"I'm afraid visions don't work that way, dear," Aemon replied. "You'll know soon enough what the future brings for our house, just as Lady Melisandre will know." Again, it seemed like he stared right through her.

A feeling that lasted even after breaking their fast, walking back to her chambers. Thankfully, the person she wished to see approached, providing a distraction from her thoughts. "My Lady."

Melisandre turned, noticing the way Ser Humfrey Waters' eyes immediately began raking awkwardly over her figure. He wasn't the first she manipulated with her looks and wouldn't be the last. "Ser Humfrey… I hope your journey here has been unmolested."

"As it always is… Grand Maester Qyburn informed me to tell you about the added balm he placed in it… what it does I cannot begin to imagine."

A nod. "Thank you, and I'll be sure to thank him." Two sealed amphorae of thick pottery rested behind him, as if carrying wine from Dorne. "And where did this come from this time?"

The knight of the City Watch shrugged, his gold cloak ruffling behind him. "Man caught raping his neighbor's daughter, and a widow killing her kids to seek another husband."

Wretched swine then. Didn't make this any less distasteful for her - she'd learned long ago the price of the ritual. Out of the folds of her dress, the one part that didn't cling to her body as a second skin, she produced a coinpurse and dropped it in Ser Humfrey's palm. "For your continued discretion… unless you wish to end up as those two in your cells."

Humfrey shook his head. "I would not."

Melisandre gave a seductive smile. "Good." She caressed his cheek. "Till next time." He left, eyes lingering, her beauty outweighing any distaste.

A whistle fetched two servants. "Bring these to my chambers at once, and fetch the acolytes." Kinvara's minions would provide the necessary discretion. Even freed from bondage, the Fiery Hand were bound to the Red Temple for life.

Much like Melisandre, though it was her demons she was bound to. A price she paid for her sins.

That all her father's children paid for his own.