Chapter Text
As the howling wind died down, the hall was still flooded with startled voices. One by one torches and hearths burst into flame slowly lighting the room more and more. With each new burst it became clear they were no longer in Winterfell and there were far more people present than before.
Robert knew the hall they were in and couldn’t believe his eyes. It scrambled his mind to try and understand how they went from the North to his own throne room in seconds. He needed another drink but he’d already had so much over the night he worried he might piss himself. When the fires lit the room enough that he could see the walls clearly, Robert stomped his foot. His tapestries were fucking gone, so were his banners, as a matter of fact so was- “Where is my throne?”
“Technically, it is no longer your throne,” the silvery bastard pointed out.
The eldest of Lyanna’s three redheaded grandchildren stepped forward. “You have no idea how right you are Grandkepa. Anyway, the lack of swords would be our father’s doing.”
A thought came quickly to Robert’s mind and he chuckled. “What? Did he prick his ass one too many times?"
“No.” One of the Dornish ones said, Robert thought it was the one that didn’t threaten to poison him but you can never be too sure with their kind. " Kepa thought it gaudy and distasteful. A symbol of conquest and domination rather than unity and fealty. Muña is quite persuasive."
Shireen, he liked that one even if she was a pinch mad and a quarter Targaryen, giggled while scratching behind the ear of the shadowcat cub draped heavily across her shoulders like a cloak. With a Baratheon name and looking as close to a stag as a Stark can get without the blood, Robert found he liked this one, it helped that she was a pretty thing too. “He only told me: 'swords make a rather shit throne.'"
Gods, he liked Lyanna’s boy even more, if only he had been a Baratheon… the world would have been better. Robert had hated that bloody chair, he was quite pleased to see it replaced. "I should have got rid of the fucking thing myself. My ancestors' swords are in the damn thing."
Sighing, Rhaegar shook his head. Baratheons… or rather a single Baratheon. “You are aware that one of your ancestors made the Iron Throne."
“Don’t remind me.” The large man crossed his arms and turned away. "It is barely a drop."
Rhaegar was inclined to agree but the enticing opportunity to tease was too great to disregard. “More than one drop." A smile grew on his face. "Surely a proud Baratheon such as yourself would also remember that the founder of their house would be a Targaryen bastard.”
Robert grumbled and tried to block out the unmanly prattle of the dragonspawn, but the bastard’s voice still found its way into his ears. "Need some damn wine. I'm not drunk enough for this shit." Without a second thought he marched away looking for some good drink.
He searched half the damned hall and came up dry, if he was still king, he’d demand a full cask be in the throne room at all times. Frustrated, Robert decided to make it easy on himself, he was already away from the Lyanna-stealing fucker. “Your king demands wine!” he shouted for any servant to hear.
A man nearly as large as himself turned, well as tall as himself, he wasn't fat. The Baratheon froze at the sight of his face. “Robert?” That was his father’s voice, coming from his father’s face.
To think Robert had thought himself sober, or mostly sober, but now he was too drunk to put any words together.
Steffon took in the sight of what must have been his son, he knew Cassana’s curls well, he’d pulled them enough to. The Baratheon finery only made it obvious. He’d not thought his boy would get so fat so quickly, in time it was expected: his son had a hunger, but so young, no. "Robert? You're my Robert? Big hulking Robert?"
A singsong-like voice spoke up to Steffon’s right and he looked over his frozen wife’s head. Steffon’s gaze was met with a handsome face and blue-green eyes like the sea. "I'm afraid he is Big Bulking Robert now." The jest made one thing clear: he certainly wasn’t Stannis.
Blinking, Cassana Baratheon snapped her eyes towards the newcomer. "Renly? My baby boy! You're so grown!" Her chest was simultaneously filled with elation as well as hollow over the many years she lost with her baby. She wasted no time in greeting him with a nice embrace, Robert needed one too, even if her arms couldn’t reach around him like Renly.
As his youngest got smothered by Cass, Steffon got a good look at his boy. "That's a lot of green on you, lad."
Cass, dropped out of the hug to level a flat glare at him. "Green is an Estermont color, Steffon." That it was.
Crossing his arms, Steffon loosed a huff. "He is dressed like a bloody Tyrell, all green and gold. Just one of the boy's jewels probably cost more than his armor."
"His armor is excessively expensive as well." a new voice added. The speaker was tall like Robert and Renly, but lacked the jovial nature of the two.
Steffon smiled, his sons. "Ah Stannis, my boy, you look…"
Harshly and openly, Cassana elbowed her husband. She’d clean up after him. "Strong, strong as iron."
Robert snorted. "And just as rigid and brittle."
Somehow Stannis’ face grew even more stern. "Better hard than soft or flamboyant."
"I see your flight back to your island has made you no more personable." Renly smirked at the Master of Ships.
Turning his dark blue eyes on his fool of a little brother, Stannis frowned. "I need no lickspittles and brown noses, I have only need of the law. By rights Storm’s End should have been given to me."
Glancing between her feuding boys, Cassana intervened. "Should it not belong to Robert?"
As the intelligent son, Stannis elected to answer his mother’s inquiry. "Robert is king. Speaking of, where is your crown?" If his brother gave it to another whore…
Motioning his head in the direction of he-who-must-not-be-named, Robert shrugged. "I gave it to the boy."
"Joffrey?" Stannis was flooded with dread at the thought. Only his brother could be so irresponsible.
"Gods, no!" Robert may love the boy, but Joff was not ready to be king and never would be one now.
"Tommen?" Better, Stannis thought, but the boy was still a bastard, a product of adultery and incest, with no claim to the throne. He spoke none of that, his brother would never hear him. Not without Jon Arryn.
Shaking his head, Robert smiled. "No. Lyanna's boy."
Renly rolled his eyes. "What a surprise, he is already drunk."
With his brows furrowed, Steffon spoke in his commanding voice, his lordly voice, the deep booming one. "Forget about a bloody crown, Stannis claimed Robert was king. What of my cousin and his boys?"
"The madman called for my head. If only I got to crush him the way I did his son, but the Kingslayer beat me to it." Robert swung with arms imagining the scene and how his war hammer would have felt as it crushed the scab king.
His lips pulled downwards, Steffon figured he looked much like Stannis at that moment. "What did you do to piss Aerys off?" Admittedly Aerys had become even more quick to anger after the incident at Duskendale, but to turn on Steffon's son, unthinkable.
Robert threw his arms up in innocence. "Nothing! He executed Ned's father and brother, then called for our heads. I had to fight.” One hand formed a fist.
Blowing a disapproving breath out his nose, Stannis crossed his arms. "You set yourself up to join an alliance of at least two other great houses. One of which had just committed treason by threatening the crown prince."
"What would you have had me do? Send the Mad King my own head on a platter? Or should I have let the silver prince rape Lyanna, Ned's sister?" Robert moved to close the distance between the two.
Before the two could come to blows or simply size each other up as men do, Cassana stepped between them with an impeding hand on each of their chests or the clothed space between Robert’s man-teet in his case. "Wait, wait, wait! Rhaegar, as in the crown prince Rhaegar, raped a girl? Pardon my language but that is horseshit. That boy is a sweetheart."
Robert’s world flipped as he looked over his shoulder towards the silver-haired bastard. The dragonspawn was looking their way, and winked before blowing a kiss towards Robert’s precious mother. However when he blinked the fucker was looking the other way listening to Lyanna’s grandchildren.
“Bastard.” Robert mumbled under his breath. “We thought he did! She was my betrothed and the bastard was already married and had dragonspawn of his own!"
Lifting a brow Steffon directed his stare to his son’s middle. "And did you look like this then?"
"No, gods no, I was handsome then, Ned once called me a maiden's fantasy and gods was he right. I'd done over well over half the eight by then." Robert recalled those days fondly. He really needed to lose weight so he can kick the bastard’s ass all over again, without a crown he can finally fuck off to Essos and kill savages and slavers, it’d be a hell of time. He wondered if Ned would be interested, or his older brother.
Confusion filled Steffon’s mind, eight? Nothing in Westeros was anything but seven. Seven this, seven that; seven kingdoms, seven gods, seven days, seven bloody shitters. “The eight?”
A booming chuckle thundered up Robert’s neck. How could his father not know? “You're not a real man until you've done the eight; fuck a woman from each of the seven kingdoms as well as the Riverlands.”
Cassana couldn’t believe what she heard. Her own son, objectifying women into a game. Now admittedly she was a woman with a certain appetite, one not to Steffon’s complaint of course, but still… "And you never considered that such an…accomplishment might not be an attractive feat in the eyes of your future wife?" She paused to sigh and gaze at the ceiling. At least grandbabies would be no issue, a fair enough consolation. "How many grandchildren have you given me?"
Lifting his hands, Robert counted on his fingers. "Five, no seven, they mentioned another boy and girl. Edric and Mya look rightly like Baratheons. Mya must be a woman grown already, Ned and I used to play with her back in the Vale."
Stannis opened his mouth to correct Robert about Cersei’s spawn, but instead held his tongue, his input would be unwelcome as per usual.
While his wife may favor the topic of babes, Steffon still failed to wrap his head around Robert’s little rebellion and all the chaos that occurred. "So the girl ran away with Prince Rhaegar, who was already married, Aerys killed Starks for threatening his heir, then called for your head, you rebelled and killed Rhaegar."
Straightening, Robert stood even taller than his father, he grinned proudly. "Yes, I avenged you. Crushed his chest like an egg."
Jaw dropping in disbelief, Steffon brought a hand to rub between his eyes. "We died from a storm at sea while on a mission to find the lad a bride, Robert. We died aiding the crown, my cousin… You killed your second cousin." His boy, a kinslayer…
"He did." Stannis blandly confirmed.
Renly not one to be left out butted in. "And such a great help you were."
Stannis’ cold dark eyes snapped to his little brother once more. "It was I who kept you alive."
"The Onion Knight kept me alive." Renly argued.
Watching the bickering at a loss, Steffon groaned. "Where did we go wrong, Cass?"
Cassana’s first thought was their death but these issues stemmed from long before. "I don't know. I thought Lord Arryn would temper Robert and with his brother's shadow away I had hoped Stannis might open up…"
"Stannis! Did you know Renly doesn't like women?"
"Robert!"
"Unlike some, I do not ignore my family, nor am I deaf and blind to their eccentricities."
"I gave you Dragonstone and a seat on my council. Named you my heir."
"Slights. I was next in line to Storm's End and you gave me a barren rock in its place. The title of heir; I held for but a year and birth gave me that, not you."
Steffon had hoped with his children now grown that he and Cass might have more time for fun, like on their trip, but it appears his boys still required some mediating. "Do you miss Essos?"
Lys came to the front of her mind, yes, Essos had been enjoyable. The boat cabin had been too until the storm. "Yes. Do you want to try for a fourth and hope they might turn out…normal?"
They’d already done their part, three boys were enough, even if Renly wouldn’t be producing any grandchildren. Steffon wouldn’t complain about the process however. "Shit odds, isn't it?"
"I blame it on your blood." Cass poked her husband with a grin. It had always been fun to jest about his Targaryen heritage and his childhood dreams of riding a dragon like any boy.
His reply was only a grunt of resigned acceptance. "I still love the little shits, even if they aren't so little."
Cass smiled and held his arm against her bosom as he liked. "Gods, Robert certainly isn’t. His poor wife."
"...I am your rightful heir…" Stannis’ words were drowned by Steffons chuckle.
"Do you think we have any grandchildren here?" Cassana prayed there were.
A soft voice sounded from their right. “Hello.”
Her prayers seemed to be answered in the form of a shy little girl. Cass beckoned her forward with a wave. "Oh. And who might you be?"
Try as the girl might to hide her left, the mark of greyscale covered her cheek. Cass couldn’t fault her for her passivity. “Shireen.”
Humming, Cassana smiled down at the girl. “What a sweet name. How old are you?”
“Eight and seven months.” Little Shireen answered swiftly.
Steffon snorted and patted the gentle thing on the back lightly. “So precise. With an answer like that you must be Stannis’ girl!”
Shireen gave him a proud nod.
Unable to hold it any longer Cassana opened her arms. “Come here little one.” And she came, melted into Cass’ Baratheon livery. The former lady of Storm’s End embraced the small girl, conscious of her ailment. Hell, Cassana thought it would be worth it, giving this kind babe the love she deserved, letting the girl know warmth would be worth everything.
Mya steadied herself while her heart raced. In all her treks up the mountain she’d never experienced such a powerful gale, it couldn’t have happened in a less opportune spot, between Snow and Sky. Sweet Whitey had kept his footing fortunately. Releasing a pent up breath, Mya recovered enough from the scare to open her eyes. She immediately blinked again, then again, and again. “Whitey? Where are we?”
The mule made a distressed whimper. Too many people, too much noise, too many smells. The mountain and the Eyrie and the Vale all replaced by the largest hall Mya had ever seen, though she’d only seen a meager two halls.
“I know, I know. We’ll find you a nice quiet corner and some food.” Mya gave Whitey a few comforting strokes to the neck as she looked around for anyone she might know. Why her?
Nobody stopped her as she rode the packmule through the crowd despite their fine clothes, nor did they comment on her snagging apples from an empty table.
Bella found her just as she escaped the mass of people to seek shelter in the edges of the hall. Her sister said nothing, simply followed Mya as her head swiveled in paranoia as she cradled two swords to her ample breasts.
Only in the relative safety of a stone mural’s shadow, did she breathe easy. But that was short lived as she soon recognized a familiar face marching over. “Oh, you…”
The woman, even taller than herself, stormed closer. “Off the mule.”
“No.” Mya was no friend to this madwoman and her equally mad brother. She meant no offense to Whitey but she wished she sat atop Kicker instead, Whitey was more like to nuzzle than he was kick. Against this woman, Mya would be outmatched.
“By force it is.” The lady-knight paused before them with a glare. Her white enameled plate and scales looked both glorious and battleworn. Instead of Mya, the woman reached for Whitey; taking the reins and scratching his ears before kissing the side of the mule’s head. The affection made the animal ignore Mya’s kick and earned an appreciative bray. So caught off guard was Mya by the act that she was unprepared to be pulled from her saddle into the arms of the woman. “Muña!”
Mya hung limply as she was spun ‘round in circles, in a suffocating embrace. Her mail clinked everytime the rotation was reversed. When Bella’s cruel giggles met her ears Mya scowled, she was surrounded by traitors.
As if heralded by his own sister, the madman himself made his presence known. “Aunt Bella? We were looking for you.”
The giant woman ceased her spinning at her brother’s arrival, so Mya got a good look at Bella’s confused face. “Me?” She pointed to herself.
Clad in his dark armor, the knight nodded. "After our visit to the Eyrie, we went to the Stoney Sept to collect you."
"Because I'm the king's bastard?"
The third sibling appeared as if out of thin air. "Because you are our aunt."
"And you deserve a better life than the Peach could offer. But you were not there." The elder brother continued.
Madness, Mya thought. She threw her arms up as much as she could in the strong arms of the woman. "Not this again. I am not your mother! You're all insane."
The darker brother shrugged. "It runs in the family."
“Not mine.” Mya countered.
A skeptical sound came from her captor as Mya was released. “Yes, normal families suddenly appear in the throne room all the time. I'd know, as a Queensguard.”
Shaking her head, Mya crossed her arms. "I'm normal! I'm just a guide."
The woman nodded in agreement. "Completely normal, the average man is a king’s get. Though with grandfather that is a near reality."
"I may be a king's bastard but I am no mother! You're older than me!" Mya didn’t understand why that fact couldn’t seem to fit in their thick skulls.
The youngest and sole white haired sibling lazily raised a brow. He was the only one possibly younger than her. “Are we?”
"You might not be but they are!" Mya pointed angrily at the other two.
Those insightful blue eyes stared at her. The young man swept a hand in the direction of the hall. “Explain this.”
Mya pursed her lips. "I don't know. I don't even know where I am."
“When.” The youngest sibling corrected. "This isn't your father’s throne room but our cousin's. You traveled in time as we had. Thirty years."
“Surely not-” before Mya could finish speaking she was once more hauled up into the air. This time she was braced against someone soft, fleshy and stinking putridly of wine. Why must everyone pick her up as if she was a child? At six feet tall she should be long past this embarrassment.
A booming voice sounded by her shoulder. “Mya!” The man set her down quickly enough after a couple rotations and a treacherous totter that nearly sent the world on its side. "Gods, you've grown! You'll be taller than the bastard's spawn!"
She took in the sight of the fat man before her with disbelief. "Father?" Gone was the strong man who tossed her into the air as a child and always caught her. The man looked no more kingly than Lord Nestor, if his fine velvets and silks weren’t stained with sweat and wine he might have at least seemed dressed for the position.
"Father?" Bella repeated the question with her own disbelief and a slight disgusted curl to her lip.
Their father’s round red face snapped towards the younger girl, a wide grin grew. "And you're, Bella?"
The shorter, more curvaceous bastard mirrored the grin. "Named after the battle."
Welcome memories came to the front of Robert's mind. Hell of a way to hide and recover. And shaming Connington… The fool got exiled and for good reason, a traitor to the Stormlands. "That was a good one."
"Leslyn says you favored my mother, Bessy."
Bessy! Robert thought fondly, that was where she was from. "Gods, I remember Bessy, her and her great big tits. Told Ned all about her."
An excited smile graced the girl’s pretty face. "You remembered her!"
"It's hard to forget a wench like that, with tits like that." He could still picture those teets and how they overfilled even his large hands. Those tits had been something else. Robert shook his head, returned his hands to his sides and glanced at the strangers, three of them. "And you three are Mya's with the dragonspawn? You look like Baratheons, I knew my blood would win out, as it always has." He clapped the largest one on the back.
"We are, though she refuses to believe it." The man commented pointedly. His skin was too tan and his hair a pinch too curly, but not even the Dornish sun could clear the storm.
Robert snorted bitterly. "I couldn't believe it either. My daughters married to a dragon. I thought they'd have better taste."
The woman, a warrior, glared. "Don't tell me you prefer a Redfort as well?"
"Over a Targaryen, damn right. If it had to be one it should have been Lyanna's boy." If it couldn’t be him and Lyanna, then it should have been Jon and Mya.
"You know?" Asked Robert’s eldest grandson.
Grumbling, Robert cursed. "It would have been perfect, he was raised as Ned's bastard, doesn't even look like the silver prick. He is practically a Stark."
The taller man looked to the ceiling in exasperation and groaned. "I swear no one wants us to be born…"
His sister just elbowed him. "Well I don't want you two born either."
"We love you too, Lara." The younger one teased tonelessly.
She smiled cockily. "Of course you do."
Mya stared. "So it is true, they are mine?"
"They have the Baratheon look.” Robert was proud of that. Though he eyed the youngest’s strange white hair. “Well not this one but at least he has the eyes and he doesn't look much like the bastard either. Strong, the three of you, like I used to be. Do you use a hammer like Cassana?"
Lara, a nickname surely, pulled a weapon from her back and clanked its butt end against the floor. "A spear: Stormstrike." And a fine spear it was, Valyrian steel and golden ripples streaking like lightning down the shaft. But it was still a spear.
Robert frowned disappointedly. "Damn Dornish corrupted you, didn't they?" The comment earned him silence and a cold glare of sparkling blue-violet eyes.
The elder brother came to the rescue and saved Mya’s lot. "I favor a war hammer." A hammer was presented to the king, former king.
Loosing a long whistle, Robert admired the weapon. If anything besides Lyanna naked could bring him to release from appearance alone it’d be the experienced beauty in his grandson’s arms. "Now she is heavenly. Valyrian steel. Does she have a name?" Rippled with the same lightning pattern of the spear but blue and decorated in the image of stags. Robert judged it to weigh slightly less than his own hammer, even if similarly sized.
"Thunderclap. Forged her myself with Cass' aid." The man replied.
Robert approved. "I had a bird with the name as a boy, never missed her strike.” He turned to the younger boy, seventeen or so. “And you?”
The shorter, more slender boy unsheathed a sword, dark as a stormcloud and streaked with ripples. Like its owner and siblings it was of Valyrian stock. Centered in the crossguard was a large shard of jagged obsidian that filled a hollow. "Ill Omen."
A touch too Targaryen for Robert’s taste but it pleased him that his blood were armed with the best. The damn invaders demanded Durrandon swords, now Durran’s line claimed treasures of Valyria. "Better than a spear."
The bitter comment drew a scoff from Mya’s warrior daughter. "Perhaps you're just poor with them, dying to a pig and all."
He was never going to escape mention of that bloody boar. "Fuck off you little shit."
"That is what my father calls me, excluding ‘his favorite,’ obviously." She waved a dismissive gauntlet.
And that made it all the more clear that Robert didn’t know any of their names. “And what did Mya name you three?”
“Velara.” The girl smirked.
The eldest brother, half an inch shy of being as imposing as Robert in his youth, was next. “Orys.”
And the youngest: “Aethor.”
Disappointment crept up Robert’s heart. He didn’t know what to expect, his mother’s name was already taken, it was simply that… “Damnit, those are dragonspawn names.”
To even the children’s surprise it was Mya who huffed. “If you wanted one named Robert perhaps you should have been in my life after I was three. And Lara is my mother's name if you cared to remember.”
Velara gave a dramatic gasp. “Ohh…”
“If I had my way you’d have been in the Red Keep with me. The gods know it would have been nice to have more Baratheons that I can actually stand around. But the Lannister woman threaten you.” Robert regretted many times he had struck that damnable witch, drunk or not, but not that instance.
His girl looked as if a bucket of cool water had been poor upon her. “Still, Robert is not under consideration.” She thought of little Lord Sweetrobin.
An excited squeal escaped the lady-knight. “Did you and Redfort split?”
Mya eyed her alleged daughter with confusion. “Yes. And his name is Mychel. Not that it is your business.” She still remembered their argument over the sword. Her three children looked at her flatly in response. “Who even is your father?”
“Dragonspawn.” Robert muttered under his breath.
“Only the bravest man in the realm, and the best sword in the world. Prince Aegon ‘the Audacious' Targaryen, Aegon the True, King for an Hour, rider of Nymerion, bla bla bla, a bunch of other bullshit he made up to piss people off.” Velara praised with a proud grin.
A blank stare was all Mya could muster. “As if I marry a Targaryen, or any prince.” Though she had a faint recollection of a green eyed little girl claiming otherwise.
Robert pulled his girl close, that was the attitude he liked, rejecting silver hair bastards. “Unfortunately you do, same with Myrcella. You girls disappoint.” Only then did Robert remember that Myrcella must have children as well. "Do you three have more siblings?"
"I wish I didn't." Velara openly complained again.
Orys scratched his beard as he glanced around. "I'm sure they are near. Taelon's smart-ass comments are never far away."
Bella perked up. "Taelon?"
"You know him?"
Nodding, Bella clutched the two blades against her chest. "He and his siblings took me to the Eyrie. I have his sword. And Rhaenyra's."
Blue eyes searched the weapons and a frown grew on Orys’ face. "Sabertooth and Red Rain? Rhaenyra would never give it up."
Mya agreed. "Taelon gave them to me before Lady Arryn imprisoned them, even little Elaena."
"The woman imprisoned my grandchildren?" He knew Jon’s wife was a touch mad but now only Ned would be able to temper Robert’s rage. “How long?”
“A month and a half.” Mya answered. "She refused to let Rhaenyra champion them."
Robert growled. "Damn her." Even if his grandchildren were cursed with Valyrian names, he couldn’t let such an act stand. He needed Ned before he hit another woman. "Come, Cat will talk some sense into that harpy. Besides, I need to show you off to the inbreed."
Mya was reluctant to leave Whitey but he seemed pleased with his wall and his apples. In the end she really didn't have much choice regardless as her father tugged her arm and she and the other four were forced to follow.
Just before the reached the largest group that she'd seen in the hall she slipped from her father's sweaty grasp as an angry disheveled white haired woman stood before Bella, Rhaenyra… The king didn't even notice and continued on.
The sudden sway of the ship cabin and the simultaneous snuffing of the lamps made Rhaenys’ heart jump. In the darkness she felt her bedding replaced with stone, her rear and back felt the change immediately and protested just as swiftly. Her golden egg was still safely cradled between her breasts and thighs thankfully.
When her sight returned the first thing she witnessed was her brother juggling his own egg in a grand effort to prevent a fumble, but it was a vain attempt. “Fuck.” Egg scrambled straight after the scarlet ovoid rather than follow the predictable curved path. Achieved only through an impressive effort, Aegon was able to retrieve his egg, not without a moderate degree of embarrassment.
Rhaenys sighed and lifted herself from the floor. “I think that is symbolic of your future parenting.”
Purple eyes snapped towards her with a harmless glare. “I wouldn’t drop my child!”
She simply raised a brow and glanced at his arms. “Just like you wouldn’t drop a dragon’s egg? The world most certainly doesn’t need a mentally defunct dragon on the loose, made even worse with you on its back.”
Childishly, Egg huffed stubbornly. “A little tumble won’t make my children dumb, much less my dragon. A knock on the head is nothing, we’re made of hardy stuff. It would take something mountainous to cave in our skulls.” Despite the distasteful jest, the boy sported a wide grin.
“Must you really go there?” Rhaenys groaned. It was still a sensitive subject, sick children died for them and to make light of their sacrifice was immoral.
“Lighten up. Oswell would have loved it.” Aegon wasn’t incorrect, after all he had inherited his distasteful humor greatly from the Whent knight.
Know your audience, Rhaenys thought. “And is Oswell here?”
Aegon shrugged playfully. “No, he’s obviously still in Dorne, I'm not that dim, even if it wasn’t my big head that almost killed Muna coming out.”
A scoff sounded besides them as their Muña fixed her nightgown, evidently she’d been busy with Mama. “You were hardly easier. And your sister’s intelligence had nothing to do with my troubles.”
“Well I was inside a woman and being fed like royalty all day, why would I want out? That sounds like a good time, even if a little too Aegon the Unworthy.” Egg’s nose crinkled in disgust, he was sensitive about Aegon the Fourth, often crying about bringing shame to the great name, mostly bemoaning that the man died in his own feces.
Their muña stared flatly at her son. “You will be spending less time with Oswell and Oberyn going forward. And I don’t care if she is your time traveling niece or not, Haella too.”
As if summoned by her invoking her name, Jae’s daughter appeared. She would look traditionally Targaryen if only she were not so buxom and wide of hip. The girl certainly shared Aegon’s need to integrate himself into every conversation. “And if I’m actually his daughter?”
“Are you?” If the answer was not to Muña’s satisfaction, Aegon would be due for some punishment.
Before the curvy woman could start a fire with a false reply, Aemon, her sole silver haired brother interceded. “Unfortunately not.”
Haella was not one to back down, she favored taking a different approach. “I am the favorite niece though.” Completely disregarding the presence of her sweet little sister just in her shadow.
A snort escaped Aegon and he held up two fingers. “Second favorite.”
“Only until Sara and Taelon stop reading long enough to finally fuck. After that she doesn’t count.” A threatening digit was directed at Egg.
Rhaenys shook her head. “I still cannot comprehend the fact that one of his children can actually read, much less enjoy it. He still can’t.”
Her step-son nudged her arm gently. “No need to bully our uncle, Muña. It is in bad taste considering…” Aemon tapped his head.
Though the insulting meaning was hardly concealed, it wasn’t in Haella’s nature to let drama go unstirred. “-That he is essentially a simpleton. Is that what you meant?”
Aemon groaned to the heavens. “Sister, your attempts at instigating drama are growing weaker if you are resorting to this. And if he is simple, so are you.”
“I'm not simple, I simply have a mind for swords, not books.” Aegon complained halfheartedly.
“Uncle Loras did too.” The innocent comment from the quiet sister silenced everyone until Haella broke down in a fit of laughter and Rhaenys giggled. Maenara was simply bewildered at the reaction to her input.
Mortified and pale, Egg stuttered. “Two swords, only two swords; the ones that never leave my person. Sheaves, I have a more open mind for.
Rhaenys couldn’t resist sending another tease. “And a second even smaller brain for.”
Turning even more undignified, Aegon looked hurt. “Hey, it's not small.”
“I do not need to hear it.” Rhaenys really did not need to know.
“I have a right to defend myself!” Aegon declared and she could concede that point. “And I mean… Jae is my brother.”
“Don’t” Rhaenys said as sternly as she could, her muña voice as Aegon called it.
Ashara flicked Aegon’s ear before he could give voice to his reply. "If you two are done bickering, please look around."
Rhaenys did so and took in a vaguely familiar environment, one she saw only in nightmares and dreams. The skulls were gone, so too were the banners of black and red, as was the Iron Throne. "Is this…"
"Robert Baratheon's throne room. Yes." Haella continued in a breathy tone.”
Once more, the most quiet of Jae’s half-Tyrell children spoke up. "No, it's Laerra's." This time Maenara’s comment earned her the anger rather than laughter of her older sister.
"I was trying to scare them!" Haella glared and crossed her arms over her bust.
Maenara looked down and whimpered a weak "Pardon."
Huffing, Haella shook her silvered head. "You're not even sorry."
The meek mask dissolved and she looked up with a victorious smile that only widened at the approving nod Aemon gave her. Good, the girl had backbone at least in regards to Haella. She was so reserved and eager to please it sometimes concerned Rhaenys.
There were greater concerns though that required prioritization. "If we are in your time, I think that might be even more frightening," Rhaenys admitted.
Aemon agreed. "You certainly can't solve this with a sword."
"If you motivate the right person you can." Aegon claimed.
Rhaenys rubbed her face as dealing with her brother ritualistically demanded. "Egg, piece of advice: don't threaten the wizard you want to use magic on you."
His shoulders slumped in disappointment. "But that makes things exciting. Who knows what animal they'll turn me into or what time I'll end up. Maybe I was Aegon the Conqueror the whole time."
"And now I suddenly sympathize with Visenya," Rhaenys muttered. She'd use magic to conceive a babe as well.
Mama Ash cut the conversation by addressing her grandchildren. "Do you three recognize anyone?"
"Robert Baratheon." Haella offered up blandly.
Muña’s warm black eyes turned stern as they shifted to the seventeen year old. "Please do not joke. This is serious."
A look of hurt took over as Haella’s mask. "No, I mean it. Tall, fat, Baratheon curls and everything else but a crown. I swear the one time I try to be helpful…"
Aemon sighed, as tired as Rhaenys with his sister’s antics. "You only gave it a voice so you can complain that no one believes you when you finally tell the truth."
Gasping and insulted, Haella took a step back in recoil. "I would never."
A sharp inhale and a peculiar squeaking sound escaped Ashara. Rhaenys followed her gaze to the same man that her step-daughter brought attention to but two more people were visible. Her mama’s voice was so light and thick with disbelief. "Is that…"
"Rhaegar and Lya," Muña finished. Not a second later the two women, hand in hand, rushed to their husband and wife. Ethan Glover rushed forward to protect them. Uncle Oberyn had long since slithered off to who knows where.
Aegon threw his hands up. "Oh yes, let's just head over near the man who wants to crack my skull open like the Egg I am."
Rolling her eyes, Rhaenys clutched her dragon egg. "Everyone who speaks with you desires that."
"I am best served boiled and lightly spiced, not scrambled," Aegon huffed bitterly.
"Your wives have my pity and gratitude." Aegon drove her mad sometimes, especially when she was trying to read or write.
Egg snorted. "At least you aren't one of them."
"On that we can agree. Hopefully you don't require a large dowry for us to be rid of you." A dragonlord with the potential for a Valyrian steel sword should not lead to hard negotiations but with Aegon it may require more haggling.
Scoffing Aegon puffed his chest. "As if they need monetary compensation in addition to myself."
Rhaenys stared blankly. "And that attitude is precisely why I believe it necessary…"
With a snort from Aegon and a sigh from herself, they proceeded in the direction of their parents.