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Chapter Text

Chapter One

It had been years since The Rebellion – a lifetime.

Time had passed, life had moved on, children had been born and had grown taller around him as those he’d lost had faded to nothing more than bones and memories.

But the North remembers – that much would always be true. Despite the years that had come and gone, Ned Stark remembered those he’d lost almost as if he had only just seen them.

When he closed his eyes he could still see Lyanna atop her horse, her hair whipping around her face; Brandon’s sly smirk as they practiced in the courtyard; Robert’s jovial smile and booming laugh; the grim faces of the men who’d gone to war with him and had never returned home; Jaime Lannister’s cold determination as he delivered the final blow…

But those days were long gone now. The Rebellion was a thing of the past, something that could have been, but had died along with Robert. But even now, with a new king soon to be crowned, Ned wasn’t sure the Rebellion had ever really ended for him – or for the men who had followed him all those years ago, and now stood behind him in stony silence…  

They were waiting, waiting for their new king, the boy who had been just a babe when thousands had left their blood out on the battlefield, when the North had bled for House Stark. The boy was travelling across all the Seven Kingdoms, handing out invitations to both his sister’s wedding and his coronation, giving each Kingdom a chance to finally see their future king and his loyal beast.

Some eyes scanned the sky, waiting to finally catch a glimpse of the boy and his creature, but Ned’s stayed firmly fixed on the field before him and the large royal retinue approaching them. At the very head rode a tall figure, sat proudly atop a brilliant white horse, his blond hair catching the midday sun as his blood red cloak trailed behind him.

Ned’s mouth turned grim. “Kingslayer,” he thought with disgust. How on earth would he stomach the presence of such a man at Winterfell? How on earth would he be able to call this man – this oath breaker – “Lord Lannister” when after all these years Ned could still barely stand the sight him?

‘Which one is he?’ Robb asked quietly as he straightened himself to his full height – gaze intently following the group of white-cloaked men that trailed close behind Jaime Lannister. Each and every one of them were fine fighters, but Ned knew exactly whom his son was looking for.

‘The one with the silver and purple scabbard,’ Ned said with a nod towards the resplendent white knight who had rode right beside the royal carriage. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the Commander of the Kingsguard,  and the hero of every boy who had ever picked up a sword…even in the North. He dismounted far too graceful for a man his size and it seemed as if the years hadn’t wearied him at all. To Ned the Sword of the Morning was still just as imposing as he had been at that damned Tower all those years ago.

‘Where are the dragons?’ Ned heard Arya ask – a little too loudly for propriety as she strained her neck trying to get a better look at the royal retinue.

‘Maybe they’re in the carriage?’ Bran said.

‘Aren’t they too big for a carriage?’

‘That’s the queen’s carriage you idiots,’ Sansa hissed.

‘Children quiet!’ Catelyn ordered as she grabbed Rickon’s upper arm to keep him for wandering off. ‘And stand still! What will the Queen think of you?’

The carriage door was opened with much pomp and the men and women of the North followed their liege lord and kneeled for the Queen Regent.

Elia Martell was an entirely different woman than Ned remembered. Gone was the sickly child bride whose crown had threatened to topple over her frail body – instead he saw a woman thriving and radiant. Despite his defeat, his personal loss and his loathing of House Lannister – Ned held no ill will towards Elia Martell. The girl - woman now - had done what she had to do to protect her children and had done it well. There had been nothing vengeful or spiteful about her behavior after the war – and Ned respected her for it.

‘Please rise,’ Elia said with an amiable smile and a dainty wave of her hand, as if embarrassed.

In a flash Jaime Lannister appeared by her side – he bowed for her with exaggerated gallantry and offered her his hand grinning smarmily.

‘That’s Jaime Lannister – the queen’s husband,’ Arya said, again too loudly for her own good.

‘Would you please shut up!’ Sansa snapped.

King’s Landing - 283 AC – after the battle of the Trident

It was a simple fact of life that Jaime Lannister had never been expected to think for himself.

He was a born warrior and had very little time or patience for politics and practicality. His tutors had despaired over his behaviour – often wondering aloud how a man as sage and shrewd as Tywin Lannister could have sired a son so disinterested in using his mind as Jaime was.

The answer, to Jaime at least, had always been quite simple: no man could ever possibly match his father, so the Gods had divided his talents amongst his children. Cersei was the shrewd one, Tyrion the brain and Jaime the brawn. But with shrewdness came being born a woman and with intelligence came being born an imp – and Jaime had always thought he would forever choose to be strong but stupid over the other two options. Because he’d never been expected to think for himself – between his father, Cersei, and Tyrion – all his thinking was done for him.

The past few days had taught him a lesson though…and he almost wished that he had been born the imp. Either so he could think of something clever to do, or because it would have meant that Aerys would have never made him a Knight of the Kingsguard and he wouldn’t have been stuck in this wretched place. Because that is what King’s Landing had become – a wretched place.

A cesspool of death where a mad man held court.

When word of Robert’s Rebellion had first come, Jaime, being the fool that he was, had been eager to bloody his sword. But when he had been assigned to guarding the King instead of being allowed to take to the battlefield – he had very quickly become disenchanted.

Jaime had always known the King wasn’t quite…right. His father had outright shouted it at him when Aerys had first claimed him for the Kingsguard. But the rebellion had brought out a madness in King Aerys that Jaime could not have dreamed up even in the worst of his nightmares…

He would never forget the scent of burning flesh; the charred, twisted bodies of the dead – their mouths open in a twisted echo of their cries; the pained screams and pleadings of the queen from behind closed doors; or that damned muttering of “burn them al”

A woman’s screams came from inside the Great Hall – cutting through the heavy, wooden doors like a knife: ‘I will never let you touch him!’

Elia.

Jaime anxiously gripped his sword a little tighter and he could hear his own fast, nervous breaths echo through the deserted corridor. It was late, and what few servants the King hadn’t sent away in his paranoia had long scampered away into whatever dark corner they could find to get some reprieve from the mad man’s wiles. Jaime wished he could do the same.

Being a knight meant taking vows - so many vows - and being a knight of the Kingsguard meant even more vows. Defend the king – even when he was a monster? Obey your King – even when he demanded you do horrible things? Keep his secrets – even when they made your skin crawl? Keep quiet – even when all you wanted to do was scream?

He’d once dreamt of being a Knight of the Kingsguard. To be more than just an ordinary knight. To be counted among one of the seven finest swords in the realm and to wear that white cloak with pride – another shining testament to his reputation of idiocy.

‘Hand me the boy!’

The King’s rasping voice sent a shiver down Jaime’s spine.

‘You’re not taking my son!’

Jaime could feel the beating of his heart in his throat. How could a knight of the Kingsguard even be considered a knight if their vows to the King meant going against everything that made a knight a knight?

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women.” He could hear Arthur Dayne’s deep, booming voice as if they were still standing on that very battlefield where he had knighted Jaime. And yet here he was, standing by as an idly coward as that crowned beast terrorized Elia and her little babe.

There was a crash followed by a scream – Elia’s scream and an order that made Jaime’s skin crawl: ‘Rossart get me the boy!’

And that was it – the exact instant Jaime would remember as the moment he couldn’t just go away inside anymore – that being a member of the Kingsguard could sod off to the seven hells if this was what it meant to be one. He turned his heel and pushed open the large, heavy doors, not even bothering to be discreet.

‘Jaime, finally decided to make yourself useful have you?’ the King sneered as Jaime marched up to him, a hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘Bring me the boy – bring me my grandson. The rabid bitch refuses to obey her king!’

Rossart had clearly failed to wrestle a now wailing Aegon from Elia’s grasp and a quick look towards the pair of them showed Jaime exactly why. The frail princess had apparently been carrying a dagger on her, which she was still clutching as her eyes darted nervously from Rossart to Jaime. Judging by the dagger’s blooded tip and the way Rossart was sweating as he clutched his arm – Elia had managed to cut the slimy toad. Jaime couldn’t help the stab of fierce admiration he felt for tiny, little Elia Martell. So there was a bit of Dornish fire in her after all…

Jaime marched past his king with determination; refusing to so much as acknowledge that stinking mockery of a man for fear it would weaken his resolve. And instead of turning towards Elia to snatch her babe away, he drew his sword and ran it straight through Rossart’s belly.

The pyromancer’s eyes went wide when he realized what was happening and Jaime’s only regret, while he remembered the screams of Rossart’s victims, was that he could not draw out the man’s death longer.

‘Treason!’ Aerys howled scampering backward, as Elia gasped loudly, pressing a squirming Aegon closer to her chest.

Jaime hardly noticed, too preoccupied with the dying man in front of him: blood bubbled from Rossart’s mouth and oozed from his belly as he uselessly clawed at Jaime’s arm. Jaime shoved him off without second thought. It wasn’t a clean or an easy death, but it was still far better than the pyromancer deserved...

It was then that a sound caught Jaime’s attention; the king’s laborious, rasping breath as he hurried away from Jaime – hurried towards something, something he kept stashed behind the Iron Throne.

Wildfire

But the king was little more than a living corpse while Jaime was young and fit – and in just a few long strides Jaime had caught up with him, grabbing him on the steps of the throne. And for a moment he hesitated, but then he saw that strange glint in his eyes and Arthur’s voice came back to him: “I charge you to defend the young and innocent” - and so he would.

‘Traitor!’ Aerys wheezed raising one claw-like finger towards Jaime. ‘I want him dead, the traitor – burn he will, yes, he’ll burn with the rest of the traitors. All the traitors. Burn them all…burn them all,’ he rambled. ‘Fire will wake the dragon and then I’ll burn them all – burn the traitors. Burn them all -,’

‘You’re not going to burn anything,’ Jaime muttered before grabbing the madman roughly by his upper arm and slitting his throat with one, swift stroke of his blade, sending the horrendous, dragon-emblazoned crown tumbling from Aerys’ head and slamming into the ground with a loud clang.

Aerys stared at Jaime with wide eyes – as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. He uselessly gasped for breath and with each try, the gash in his throat made a sickening bubbling sound. Finally, he fell to his knees, but his eyes never left Jaime. And in the final throws of his death, Jaime could see he was trying to say something, it was only when Aerys’ squirming and twitching finally stilled that Jaime realized what he had been mouthing.

Kingslayer.

Yes, that is what people would call him wasn’t it? He had killed his king – the very King he had sworn to protect. Mad or not, dangerous or not, people would judge him for it…

It was a tiny little sound that reminded him he wasn’t alone – a child’s sob.

Elia and Aegon. He’d actually forgotten about them.

Elia stood at the bottom of the steps, Aegon’s fair-haired head pressed against her shoulder as she rubbed his tiny back soothingly.

Aerys was dead. Rhaegar was dead. By the laws of the kingdom this little boy, who’d barely seen his first name day, was now their rightful king. An infant king of a country torn apart by civil war and madness. A madness he might as well have inherited.

For a single, awful, moment Jaime considered damning himself completely and ending that cursed line then and there. It would undoubtedly please his father who would then have free rein to crown himself, or Robert, or whomever he was currently plotting to put on the throne. But then he caught Elia’s eye – Elia’s kind eyes and he remembered that this boy wasn’t all rotten Targaryen, that his mother had never been anything but kind and gentle…

‘The Iron Throne is yours, your grace,’ Jaime said as the blood of the former king still dripped from his sword and stained the stairs a bloody red.

‘Ser Jaime, what are you doing?’ Elia asked, her voice soft and hesitant.

‘Proclaiming a new King,’ Jaime said with a soft, somewhat mad, chuckle at the absurdity of his situation. ‘I have no idea how to do it properly, but I imagine you understand the gist of it.’

‘You’re proclaiming Aegon as your king?’

‘Might as well,’ Jaime said sitting down and placing his sword across his knees before rubbing his temple. ‘I just killed the old one and I don’t fancy pandering to the wiles of that buffoon Baratheon for the rest of my life.’

There was a long moment of silence between them and the quiet drip-drip-drip of Aerys’ blood thrummed in Jaime’s ear, grating his nerves.

‘Ser Jaime, did you do all this – on a whim?’ Elia asked, mercifully drowning out that dreadful sound.

Jaime looked up from his knees and down at her bewildered face. He tried to give her a charming smile but it came out rather crooked and forced. ‘Have you ever known me to think things through, Your Grace?’

‘Why did you do it?’

‘Because I heard you scream – and I couldn’t stand it anymore,’ Jaime answered truthfully.

‘He wanted to test if Aegon was a true Targaryen,’ Elia said, carefully sitting down on the steps, Aegon still held close as she rocked back and forth. ‘He wanted to throw him into the fire – a true son of the dragon wouldn’t burn, he said.’

Jaime laughed joylessly. ‘Our wise and noble king,’ he said scathingly.

‘I can only imagine what he would have done if he had known,’ Elia said before pressing a kiss to her son’s head.

Jaime frowned. ‘Known what?’

‘We’re in this together, aren’t we?’ Elia asked, her warm, soft eyes staring earnestly into his, demanding the truth.

‘I’ve killed the king I was sworn to protect – without consulting my father - you saw me do it. And since I don’t feel like completely damning myself in the eyes of the Gods by killing a second king, I’d say you and your son are quite safe from me Your Grace.’

‘Rhaegar annulled our marriage by demand of the Stark girl and made bastards of our children in the process. ’ Elia said softly, her head bowed. ‘ The only kindness he did us was not announcing it publicly – though I suppose that had more to do with keeping the Dornish troops on his side than it was out of concern for our safety.’ Her words were tinged with an almost tangible bitterness.

Jaime frowned as an icy sort of feeling crept up his neck – he felt oddly shocked by her revelation.

By no means had he been part of the prince’s inner circle or privy to his private thoughts, but Rhaegar had always treated him decently and in turn, Jaime had always liked the idea of good, noble Rhaegar Targaryen. He had never expected him to commit such a debased betrayal against his faultless wife. For never once during his time at court had Jaime seen the princess put so much as a foot wrong, let alone do anything that would warrant this sort of treatment.

‘Do you regret proclaiming him? Now you know he’s a bastard.’

Jaime scoffed. ‘Everyone with a lick of sense will realize your annulment was a mummer’s farce, probably only granted to Rhaegar for fear of him and his father.’

‘But what will your father say of it?’

There it was – the great conundrum. What would his father say of all of this? Nothing positive probably. His father, a man of glacial consideration, was never much impressed with Jaime’s spontaneous and often foolish actions.

‘My father will be…displeased,’ Jaime said honestly. ‘Last I heard he was planning on clearing the way for Robert to take the throne and then demand he marry Cersei as repayment.’

‘A grandson on the Iron Throne.’

‘A grandson on the Iron Throne,’ Jaime repeated in agreement.

‘Don’t you want a nephew on the Iron Throne?’

‘Not if he was fathered by Robert Baratheon,’ Jaime muttered, tasting his disdain for Baratheon no his tongue. ‘The man is a brute who will follow his cock around King’s Landing, bleeding money in every whorehouse as soon as he’s crowned. If married to him, Cersei will be begging for me to kill him within the decade,’ Jaime answered honestly. ‘Besides, Robert would be a rotten king and he’s too set in his ways and too stubborn to take advice – Aegon is young and pliant, he can be taught to be a good king. I have some hope my father will see reason in that. Maybe then he can marry Cersei off to a better man and in turn marry their daughter to Aegon. It’s not a Lannister boy – but perhaps a girl will do.’

Elia stared at him long and hard for a moment before rising to her feet.

‘A granddaughter for a queen and step-grandson for a king perhaps?’

For the second time that night, Jaime wished he was Tyrion – Tyrion would understand what Elia was suggesting, and Tyrion would have known what to say instead of just sitting there and peering down at her like a gap-mouthed fool.

‘Your Grace?’

‘Bastard or not - Aegon is the rightful King but he has very little allies. Rhaegar’s war has cost those who pledged their loyalty to the throne dearly. And the Reach had very little love for a Dornish princess to begin with. Dorne will be loyal and raise what troops it can – but the Trident has hurt us. Oberyn is on his way from the Free Cities with his own company but what difference will a single company make when we’re faced with the might of Robert’s army?’ Elia ranted nervously. ‘The truth Ser Jaime – is that my children have very little hope of surviving this war without your father’s aid. I am unmarried – and so are you. The certainty of him being Aegon’s grandfather, and the good chance of you producing a true Lannister heir for Casterly Rock sounds like a much more promising arrangement than Robert possibly marrying Cersei.’

Jaime’s mouth hung open rather stupidly. ‘But - I’m a member of the Kingsguard? We’re not allowed to take a wife – and we serve for life.’

Elia climbed up the steps, until she stood right in front of him, her precious boy sleeping placidly in her arms. ‘There’s a first time for everything! You were the first knight of the Kingsguard to kill a king – perhaps you could be the first one to marry a king’s mother as well? And besides, it was what our mothers wanted for us. If they thought we would make a good match – perhaps we will?’ she said, her voice more than a little shaky.

‘The Maesters said another child could kill you,’ Jaime said vividly remembering the chaos that had surrounded Aegon’s birth.

‘My mother was told the same thing after she had Doran – and after every dead baby she bore after him. But here I stand, with another brother only a year younger! I’m sure I can have more – I want more!’

Jaime stared at her long and unabashed. It was true, she was the bride his mother had picked for him. And he understood why. Elia was good, kind and sweet – much like his mother had been. She was easily twice as clever as him and she was a beauty by anyone’s standards.

Any man would be lucky to have her.

He would be lucky to have her.

‘We could try,’ Jaime said hesitantly. ‘But I warn you milady – I don’t think I’ll make much of a husband for you.’

‘You’re already better at it than Rhaegar was. I’m sure we can make each other happy – or at least happier than we were before.’

With every passing moment, Jaime became more and more convinced that for once in his life he’d made the right decision. Elia was clever – more clever than people had ever noticed and perhaps even clever enough to impress his father. Tywin Lannister had dismissed her as unsuitable before, but that had been blind ambition and wounded pride. He’d never really taken the time to speak to her and had probably underestimated her mind and her abilities. A rare mistake on Tywin Lannister’s part – a mistake he wouldn’t care to make twice.

Elia was sitting beside him now, Aegon sleeping soundly against her chest, blissfully unaware of his new title. Jaime imagined that, from a distance, they looked like quite the little family instead of a pair of disobedient children trying to make sense of the game of thrones.

‘But before we host a wedding – perhaps we should tell people about this?’ Elia said, vaguely gesturing towards the bled out body of her former good-father.

‘Must we really?’

For a moment Jaime thought Elia might actually laugh at the madness of it all.

‘People are bound to notice there’s no longer a screaming madman sitting on the Iron Throne.’

‘I’m afraid you're right,’ Jaime said with a glance towards the bloody mess he’d made. ‘Who can we tell that will help us handle this well? We don’t want the entire city in an uproar because Aerys is dead.’

‘You think his death will upset the people?’

‘Normally they’d be glad to be rid of him - but with an invader fast approaching the city gates? The smallfolk know what happens when a city is conquered in such a way and it never ends well for them.’

Elia stared off into the distance, gloomily. ‘Is it alright to be frightened by the Baratheon horde?’

‘Only if you don’t tell anyone else,’ Jaime said honestly. ‘We’re on unsteady ground milady – and we can’t afford for anyone to see us wobble.’

‘Elia.’

‘Pardon?’

Elia looked at him from behind her thick, black lashes. ‘If I’m to be your wife you’d best become accustomed to calling me by my name.’

‘Elia –like when we were children.’

‘Like when we were children,’ Elia agreed. ‘And perhaps like children – we should start by telling our families what we have done. The sooner we have their support – the sooner we know if we stand a chance against the Baratheon army.’

‘I like our chances,’ Jaime said. ‘The Seven Kingdoms are united in fear of Tywin Lannister and distrust of Oberyn Martell – not to mention that I myself have quite the reputation as a knight.’

Elia smiled softly as she grabbed his hand and squeezed it softly. ‘I know, I’ve seen you fight and I am glad to have you on my side.’

Jaime tentatively smiled back at her – his usual charm forgotten as the realization dawned that soon this woman would be his wife. ‘What now?’ he asked somewhat awkwardly, suddenly uncomfortable by the intimacy of their situation

‘Send a crow to your father – I’ll send word to my brothers. And then I suppose we shall have to start telling people that there is a new king.’

Jaime groaned. ‘What shall I tell my father first. That I killed the King I was sworn to protect or that I’m marrying you?’

‘I’d open with the first part – it might put a smile on his face.’

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

King’s Landing - 283 AC – after the battle of the Trident

As soon as the letters to their families had been sent out, Elia had gone to work.
While Jaime’s head was still reeling from all that had happened and what they had agreed to do. Elia had been calm and composed; listing all the men who needed first to be informed of what had taken place on the steps of the Iron Throne, and then convinced to join their cause.

Pycelle, Manly Stokeworth and of course Varys.
The Grand Maester, the Commander of the City Watch and the Spider.
Together they made quite a charming little group…A little group Jaime was more than happy to let Elia wrangle into submission as he stared at them threateningly.

He’d been sent to retrieve Stokeworth – coincidentally the one Jaime disliked the least.
Manly had also been quite easy to find if you knew where to look for him that is. Unlike his captains, the commander didn’t shrink away from his duties and instead of spending his nights in his warm, comfortable bed, he spent them on top of the Red Keep’s wall in an archer’s nest, keeping watch alongside two of his men.

‘Commander Stokeworth,’ Jaime greeted with a polite nod of his head.

Stokeworth was a bear of a man, tall and thick, though not nearly as massive as his brother, with slick-backed, dark hair and a full, bushy beard that hid half of his face.

‘Ser Jaime,’ Manly answered with a polite nod of his own. But there was no missing the frown that had formed as soon as he had recognized Jaime or the tension that had crept into his body; Manly Stokeworth was no fool – he knew he wouldn’t see Jaime here unless something wasn’t seriously amiss.

‘King Aegon’s regent summons you to join her in the Throne Room,’ Jaime said somewhat clumsily. As soon as the words had left his lips he saw Manly’s head shoot up, eyes full of questions as his men started whispering amongst themselves.

‘King Aegon?’ Manly repeated slowly.

Jaime nodded. ‘Long live the King.’

Manly and his men echoed him dutifully and Jaime hoped the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would be as easily convinced as them.

After a moment’s contemplation, Manly turned towards his men: ‘Not a word of this to anyone until I tell you otherwise, you hear?’

‘Yes Commander,’ his men answered obediently, faces pale and drawn.

‘What in the Seven Hells did you do?’ Many hissed under his breath as he fell into step beside Jaime, leaving his men behind to whisper amongst themselves.

‘Nothing you wouldn’t have done,’ Jaime answered. ‘Or would you allow a madman to throw a baby into a fire Stokeworth?’

Manly swore lowly. ‘He’s dead?’

‘Very much so – Rossart too.’

Manly actually let out a low, barking laugh. ‘Good.’

‘They were going to burn the city down,’ Jaime added almost conversationally.

‘Of course, they were,’ Manly took a deep breath. ‘What now?’

‘I’m marrying princes Elia.’

Manly actually stopped dead in his tracks. ‘You’re doing what?’

Jaime stopped and shot Manly an impatient look. ‘If we want to hold the city we’ll need my father on board. If we want my father on board there has to be something in it for him. A wedding seemed a good bet.’

‘So essentially we are crowning Aegon but Tywin Lannister will be ruling the Seven Kingdoms?’

‘He’s done so before,’ Jaime said with a shrug. ‘And let’s be honest – he did a better job than Aerys did,’ he made a vague gesture into the distance. ‘People weren’t dying left and right because of two cocks fighting over a little northern hen.’

Manly looked far from amused.

‘Would you prefer Aerys the mad then? Or maybe Baratheon the fool?’ Jaime asked. ‘Say what you will about my father but he is competent enough to keep the Seven Kingdoms from tearing itself apart and perhaps he can teach Aegon to do the same.’

Manly stood in thought for a moment, his stance stiff and unyielding, his face unreadable. ‘The princess - you didn’t force her into this?’

‘You honestly think I’m clever enough to come up with something like this Stokeworth?’ Jaime said with a self-deprecating chuckle. ‘She thought all of this out all by herself – I’m just the footman running errands.’

‘Sounds like a marriage already,’ Manly said lightly, as some of the tension left his body. ‘Seven Hells Lannister – what have you gotten yourself into this time?’

‘I’m trying not to dwell on that.’

The rest of their walk towards the Throne Room was silent and solemn, apart from the occasional question from Manly that Jaime tried to answer – to the best of his abilities.
They found the Red Keep to be as asleep as it had been when Jaime had left it, much to his relief. The quiet meant the rest of the Keep was still blissfully unaware of its former King’s death – and that the Grand Maester and the Spider were at least considering whatever Elia was trying to sell them.

‘Who else did you two invite to this party?’ Manly asked, just as Jaime was about to push open the Throne Room’s door.

‘Grand Maester Pycelle and Varys,’ Jaime answered, his palm on the door, waiting for Manly’s signal to open it.

At the sound of their names, the corners of Manly’s mouth turned down in aversion but he nodded none the less. ‘If we want to hold the city – they’re who need on our side.’

‘We?’

Manly’s dark eyes peered at him intently from beneath furrowed brows. ‘The boy is our best chance at peace – lasting peace,’ he said earnestly. ‘I would fight for that.’

Jaime felt strangely elated at the Commander’s frank proclamation of loyalty. If a logical, steadfast man such as Manly Stokeworth was so easily convinced to join their cause – perhaps it wasn’t as childishly hopeful as Jaime had thought it was.

‘Open the door, Ser Jaime,’ Manly said with a nod, ‘let’s get your boy a kingdom.’

Jaime pushed open the door, with a little less flair than he had done a few hours ago and for a moment he stood frozen. Elia had played her part well, Varys and Pycelle were both there – and only them. But that wasn’t what had drawn Jaime’s eye.
Elia was sitting on the Iron Throne, Aegon perched cheerfully on her lap, towering over the dead body of the former King. She’d thrown a cloak over his corps, a Targaryen cloak, perhaps the very same cloak Rhaegar had draped around her shoulders on their wedding day. Maybe she’d thrown the cloak bearing the Targaryen sigil over Aerys to honour the man he had once been – or maybe she had only done it because the dark colours hid the blood so well…

‘Commander Stokeworth,’ Elia said, her clear voice ringing through the Throne Room, ‘thank you for honouring us with your presence. Your opinion and advice on all of this are most valued.’

‘The honour is mine, your majesty,’ Stokeworth said moving towards the Iron Throne with large strides, stopping right in front of its steps. With more grace than you would expect of a man of his size, he bowed down onto one knee and presented his sword in one fluid motion. ‘I, Manly Stokeworth, Commander of the City Watch pledge my life, word, and sword into the service of King Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, first and foremost, and his regent Princess Elia Martell – if they’ll have me.’

Elia smiled warmly. ‘We are honoured by your support Commander Stokeworth – and it is our hope that you will agree to stay on as Lord Commander of the City Watch – since both the city and the king need you now more than ever.’

‘Your word is my command Your Grace,’ Manly said with a nod before glancing meaningfully at Pycelle and Varys.

Pycelle’s eyes kept on nervously shifting from Jaime to Elia, squirming, sweating, waiting for a sign that this coup bore the approval of Tywin Lannister. Jaime had always known Pycelle was deep in his father’s pocket – both out of greed and out of genuine respect. He simply hadn’t expected that warped loyalty would extend to him as well…

‘On behalf of my bride and my future stepson – I would like to thank you Commander Stokeworth,’ Jaime said clumsily.

Manly gave him a questioning look.

‘For…being the first to bend the knee to our new…and rightful king,’ Jaime said, all the while keeping half an eye on Pycelle. With every clumsy word, the old Maester seemed to become more and more convinced that being on the side of House Lannister meant being on the side of Elia and her little king.

‘Your bride, Ser Jaime?’ The very sound of Varys’ voice made Jaime’s skin crawl. He didn’t fear the man – physically it was quite impossible to fear the spider – he was everything but imposing. A fat, perfumed and powdered ball of lard. But there was something about his manner, his secrets, his whispers, that was positively unnerving.

‘Didn’t Princess Elia tell you the happy news?’ Jaime said, forcing a charming smirk. ‘We are to join our Houses – soon.’

‘A blessing for the realm!’ Pycelle said in a positively groveling tone. ‘A wonderful match – exactly as your mothers had intended it.’

Elia smiled pleasantly. ‘How wonderful to hear we have the approval of such a wise man as yourself Maester Pycelle.’ She turned her attention to Varys, her smile firmly in place – and Jaime would forever respect the sheer boldness of her next words. ‘And what about you Lord Varys? Do you approve of our union?’

The spider slowly smiled back at her, a smarmy smile. ‘A wedding does seem like a cheerful solution to our current predicament,’ he said evenly, his eyes briefly darting to and from Aerys’ dead body. ‘I do however think some lords might dither over you marrying a sworn brother of the Kingsguard so soon after Prince Rheagar’s death.’

‘Rheagar annulled our marriage to marry Lyanna Stark,’ Elia said frankly. ‘I doubt the Gods expect me to go into mourning as a widow should. And since Jaime killed the previous King – I sincerely doubt anyone expects him to remain a member of the Kingsguard.’

Where both Pycelle and Stokeworth seemed rattled by the very frank admission that Rheagar had gone as far as to annul his marriage to Elia, Varys seemed positively unmoved. His little birds had probably already told him as much…

Varys licked his lips. ‘I hardly dare mention it your Grace but – aren’t you afraid people will expect Ser Jaime to be punished?’

‘The people or you Lord Varys?’ Elia asked without hesitation. ‘Because from what I experienced Aerys was a raving madman who terrorized his nobles and didn’t give a single lick about the welfare of his people. He was planning on burning the city down. Did you know that? So Lord Varys, I’m quite sure that the only person who will truly miss him…is you. Didn’t Aerys bring you to court himself? To work as his spymaster?’

‘Yes, he did but-,’

‘Didn’t he employ you to sniff out all the traitors at court? And sniff them out you did! Tell me Lord Varys, how many spies did you point out to him? True or not? How many enemies did you make along your climb to the top? How many families will expect to see you punished?’ Her dark eyes bore into the spymaster and Jaime saw him squirm under her measuring gaze. Oh, how clever this princess was – how well she played this game Jaime didn’t even know the rules of. If this wasn’t enough to make Tywin Lannister approve of her as a member of his family, Jaime didn’t know what would.

Lord Varys bowed his head submissively. ‘Your grace is as wise as she is beautiful,’ he said. ‘I am no true Lord, I have no lands or a fancy sword to swear to you – only myself and my services, which I offer to you humbly – in any which way you might require.’

Jaime almost laughed out loud – he had long wanted to see Varys squirm before the Iron Throne as he himself had made so many others squirm. But who would’ve expected sweet, darling, innocent Princess Elia Martell to be the one to do it? He knew Dornish ladies did not shrink away from owning their authority. He himself had once witnessed her mother have a very intense war of words with his father, but he hadn’t expected Elia to have inherited that particular trait.

Elia smiled benevolently at Varys as she bounced Aegon on her knee. ‘Perhaps to prove your loyalty to us, you could find out what Robert Baratheon and his men are planning? And perhaps which Lords are helping him.’

Again Lord Varys bowed his head at the neck. ‘Of course.’

‘And Lord Varys?’

‘Yes, your grace?

‘No more masquerading your little birds as my chambermaids, I find it quite offensive.’

Jaime actually did laugh out loud this time.

Hours later, Jaime found himself in the nursery, sharing a meal with Elia as Rhaenys sat at their feet, dangling little toys in front of her tiny black cat, who swatted at them with zest. Their little king was fast asleep in his crib, his eventful night having caught up with him. The scene was positively domestic, and Jaime wondered for the umpteenth time how his life had taken such a drastic turn in such little time.

‘Will it always be this exhausting?’ Elia questioned as she tore pieces of a small loaf of bread. Jaime thought she did indeed look exhausted; there were purple shadows beneath her eyes and her features had a pinched, worn look to them – the same look she’d worn on the days that Aerys had burned good and bad men alike.

‘The next few days? Probably,’ Jaime answered honestly. ‘It will get marginally better after my father and your family arrive – or at least that’s what I hope.’

‘Your father,’ Elia repeated with a nod before smiling, ‘let’s hope he’s as pleased with our betrothal as Pycelle was.’

‘A blessing for the realm,’ Jaime imitated mockingly. ‘The man’s head is so far up my father’s arse he could count his teeth.’

‘Better your father’s arse than Baratheon’s.’

Jaime looked up from his soup with an amused grin. ‘I’d never expected such language coming from the mouth of a princess such as yourself.’

Elia laughed. ‘Well, you are going to be my husband – my family…I want us to be able to speak frankly to each other.’

‘I’ve been told since boyhood that I don’t have the necessary intellect needed for court intrigue,’ Jaime said thoughtfully as he slowly chewed on a piece of bread. ‘It would honestly be a relief to at least have a wife who doesn’t constantly speak to me with a double tongue.’

‘I don’t think you lack intellect,’ Elia said, ‘you’re just rash.’

‘Rash?’ Jaime laughed humourlessly. ‘I killed the King I was sworn to protect on a whim.’

‘You simply did what all of us had already considered doing,’ Elia said before sighing deeply. ‘Jaime?’

Jaime looked up to see the princess staring at him, her dark eyes seeking out his. ‘If anyone ever tells you that what you did today was wrong – don’t you dare believe them,’ she said in a voice that vibrated with an earnestness Jaime hadn’t expected. ‘You killed the king you were sworn to protect – but you did it to save us all. You saved all of us Jaime - don’t you ever forget.’

Jaime coughed awkwardly as he averted his gaze. It was remarkably easier to breathe – and think when the princess wasn’t staring quite so deeply into his eyes. And it was even easier to plaster a charming smile on his face and to carry on as if nothing really mattered to him.

‘Let them talk princess,’ he said with his charming bravado, ‘a lion doesn’t concern himself with the opinions of the sheep.’

Elia smiled. ‘That’s a motto I shall have to adapt as my own – once I am a lion of course.’

‘After how you handled Varys – I’m quite sure you’re a lion already,’ Jaime chuckled. ‘Finally, father shall have a worthy protégé to instruct on how to properly defend our house.’

‘It was the single most terrifying thing I’ve ever done,’ Elia admitted. ‘I was bouncing Aegon to hide how much I was shaking.’

‘You could have fooled me – you were downright regal.’

‘I grew up in the same house as Doran and Oberyn – of course, I learned some tricks,’ Elia said. ‘When I’m nervous I like to imitate Oberyn. It always makes me sound so much braver.’

‘Well you sounded plenty brave,’ Jaime said as he reached for another loaf of bread. ‘But speaking of your brother – where has he been? I had half expected him to be at the Trident to kill Rhaegar himself.’

For a moment there was a long silence that stretched uncomfortably around them. Jaime’s brash mouth had gotten the best of him again: perhaps bringing up her dead husband – or well, estranged husband wasn’t the wisest thing to do. Yes, Rhaegar had hurt her, betrayed her and left her behind – as a toy for a madman to play with, as a pawn to demand loyalty from Dorne. But once upon a time Elia had liked him very much, even loved him perhaps.
So, of course, such a flippant remark on his demise was inappropriate.

‘Milady -,’ he started awkwardly, ready to splutter out an apology of some sort.

‘He was in the Free Cities,’ Elia said suddenly, not giving him a chance to carry on, ‘Oberyn I mean - he knows plenty of sellswords there and he was already planning on raising an army.’

Jaime was grateful for her elegant sidestep and the subtle dismissal of his apology. ‘To march on the City and demand Aerys hand you over?’ He asked only half-joking. Oberyn Martell had always been half-mad. But intelligent and dangerous to boot. Few men dared to cross him, and those who did, not always lived long enough to regret it. If the Trident hadn’t killed Rhaegar, Jaime would have wagered all the gold in Lannisport that eventually, Oberyn would have.

Elia smiled fondly. ‘It’s Oberyn. He has a tendency of making impossible things possible by sheer force of will.’

‘Always nice to have a man like that fighting on your side.’

‘You’ll make a formidable pair,’ Elia remarked before sipping from her wine, smiling at him from behind her cup. ‘The Young Lion and the Red Viper – the bane of stags and wolves alike.’

‘Led by our fearless Queen,’ Jaime said toasting his own cup to her.

‘Hardly,’ Elia said as she stroked her daughter’s dark head, ‘but for them, I try to be – I’ll always try for them.’

It was the tenderness of her touch and the love in her eyes that reminded Jaime of his own mother. That distant memory of light and warmth that Jaime had clung to whenever life at King’s Landing had made him go away inside…His mother had died to bring her child into the world and now Elia was playing a terrifying game to save hers. What strange beings mothers were…

Jaime couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to love someone so wholly and selflessly that nothing else seemed to matter to you but them…

Winterfell – Present Day

Ned had always doubted Jaime’s alleged affections for the Queen Regent.
He had always found the tales the bards liked to spin – the tales of Ser Jaime Lannister’s courtly adoration for his once unreachable princess and his undying love for her – a mummer’s farce. He hadn’t thought a man such as Jaime Lannister, a man so selfish, so utterly without honour was capable of true affection and yet…
Though Ned still didn’t trust Jaime’s affections for the Queen Regent, however, well he played the part of the courteous husband, he couldn’t deny the fact that Jaime seemed to love his children and did so openly and unabashedly. And Ned had to admit that the children were very far removed from the Lannister brats Ned had feared them to be.
He’d been introduced to them earlier and was now watching them from his seat at the high table, and he had yet to see them be anything other than well-mannered and pleasant.
He could only hope that their future king when he finally arrived, would prove to be as agreeable as his half-siblings.

The youngest was a boy of Sansa’s age, though he towered over Robb in height already.
Lann Lannister, Jaime’s heir, resembled his father greatly both in colouring as in face, but he lacked his flash and seemed most content surrounded by his group of friends. “Aegon’s army” they were called, a group of young men completely devoted and loyal, both to each other as to their soon-to-be king. Ned had yet to spot a boy amongst them without a good name and good linage. It seemed both Lann and his half-brother were very well connected.

The girl Nymeria, who Jaime and Elia affectionately referred to as Nym as to distinguish her from a cousin of the same name, reminded Ned very much of a little doe.
She looked very sweet: with the dark eyes and warm skin of her Dornish mother and the Lannister’s golden hair. And every time Ned’s eyes glanced towards her seat, which was often, she was smiling and speaking enthusiastically to whoever had approached her.
But however sweet and lovely the young maid was, it was not her who drew Ned’s gaze, it was the woman sitting beside her…

Ned had felt unbalanced as if he were standing on loose snow, ever since he’d spotted her coming out of the Queen’s carriage. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, he should have expected her coming and yet he had somehow forgotten about her, forgotten about the woman who still haunted his dreams no matter how much he forbade himself to dwell on her
Seeing her again had been as if he’d shrugged off all the years that had separated them and he was back at Harrenhal, seeing her again for the very first time. Ashara Dayne, the Queen’s favourite, and the only stain on Ned Stark’s reputation.

Beside him, he felt Catelyn stiffen as she followed his gaze. He quickly averted his eyes. The lady Dayne had suffered greatly for his…folly and Ned would carry the shame of hurting her with him to his grave. But Caitlyn too had been wounded by his past…and the lies he’d spun over the years had cast a long shadow over their marriage.

‘What a fine family you have Lady Catelyn – all strapping young men and fine young ladies,’ Elia said pleasantly as she surveyed the hall.

Catelyn’s posture instantly turned less stiff and she glowed as she always did when her brood was the subject of admiration. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

Ned chanced a look over to Arya. Who had somehow escaped to the very back of the hall to sit with Jon and was now sneakily feeding their direwolves scraps from the table. She’d ripped the sleeve of her dress and her hair only vaguely resembled the style Catelyn had wrangled it into mere hours ago – a great child but definitely not a fine young lady, not yet anyway. Elia was being kind.

‘Sansa looks very grownup for her age,’ Elia remarked before glancing at Ned, her dark eyes dancing in the candlelight. ‘Soon you too will be frightening off boys Lord Stark,’ she said with a nod towards her own husband, who sat beside her but was too immersed with glaring at any young man who approached his daughter to partake in their conversation.

‘As is every father’s duty,’ Ned answered with what he hoped was a cordial smile.

‘I fear all too soon I’ll find myself in your position, Your Grace,’ Catelyn said, ‘with a daughter ready to be wed.’

‘Find her a good husband lady Catelyn, and you will be a lot less fearful. I trust Rheanys’ future husband will make her as happy as Jaime had made me,’ Elia said before reaching for her husband’s hand and squeezing it affectional. He looked at her then and smiled warmly.

‘I’m sure it will be a beautiful wedding,’ Catelyn said.

‘Expect a grand celebration,’ Elia said. ‘After all these years of frugality and rebuilding a bit of frivolity seemed appropriate – the young ones deserve to finally see lighter days. A wedding and a coronation both seemed fitting occasions.’

‘A wedding, a coronation and a grand tourney of course,’ Jaime added with a smirk.

Elia sighed but with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ‘Of course, the tourney is all the men in my family seem interested in. Sometimes it even feels as if Aegon is more excited about the tournament then he is about his coronation.’

‘As a young man should be,’ Jaime said.

‘When will the prince be joining us?’ Ned asked bluntly. He understood Elia’s lighthearted conversation, this forced cordiality between their families, but it was not his way and it was an act he was uncomfortable partaking in and frankly not unsuited for.

‘Soon,’ Jaime answered equally blunt.

Elia put a delicate hand on her husband’s forearm. ‘He wanted to see the Wall,’ she said. ‘It always held a particular fascination for him and of course, he has long wanted to meet his kinsman Aemon. They’ve been corresponding ever since Aegon learned how to write.’

‘His kinsman?’ Cateyn asked surprised. ‘There’s a Targaryen serving in the Night’s Watch?’

‘Yes and he’s been there so long most of the Seven Kingdom’s has forgotten he existed at all,’ Elia explained. ‘He was a son of King Maekar.’

‘He is the Night’s Watch’s Maester,’ Ned added. ‘A capable and respectable man – my brother thinks very highly of him.’

‘As do I,’ Elia said, ‘he wrote to me during my…troubles, he was very kind.’

Suddenly the doors of the hall flew open and a young guard stormed in. He was out of breath and his cheeks were flushed from exertion.
‘The prince – the prince approaches!’ he called his voice alive with excitement and wonder.

The hall erupted in a nervous yet excitable murmur as everyone hurried to their feet.

‘Excellent timing as always!’ Jaime proclaimed clapping his hands together.

And Ned felt that familiar feeling of dread turn his stomach…

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

King’s Landing - 283 AC – after Aerys’ death

It took only four days for the guards atop the Red Keep to spot the Lannister standard approach. It confirmed what Jaime had already known: his father had been marching on King’s Landing before Jaime had done…what he had done. His father had had plans – plans Jaime had undoubtedly completely disrupted. His father would be annoyed and inconvenienced, to put it lightly, and those were two things Tywin Lannister was known not to react well too. 

Jaime did not look forward to coming face to face with his father. But it was something he couldn’t quite avoid. So he decided to gather his braveness and meet his father head-on before Tywin could summon him as if he were little more than an unruly child.  

The Lord of Lannisport’s gaze was colder than the North when he saw his son, and Jaime stood a little taller in response, steeling himself for the scolding to come. Tywin was unforgiving when his best-laid plans were thwarted – even when his own kin was involved. His dealing of Tyrion, whose only sin was being born, was a testament to that. 

‘Father,’ Jaime greeted with a respectful half-bow – but Tywin paid no mind to him, barging past him without so much as a glare sideways.  

‘Come,’ Tywin ordered curtly and Jaime followed dutifully, preferring not to antagonize his irate father any more than he already had. And so Jaime followed his father in a silent trek towards the Small Council chamber. His father’s guard, dressed for battle, marched in their shadow in two neat rows. The clanking of their armour echoed ominously in the silence of the Red Keep and Jaime wondered if Elia could hear them. 

‘Wait here,’ Tywin ordered as he swung open the door of the Small Council chamber and for a moment Jaime dithered, not knowing if he was speaking to him or the guards. 

An irritated, pointed look from his father told him all he needed to know and he sheepishly followed him into the room, closing the door behind him. His father sat down in his chair at the council table but made no invitation for Jaime to sit. He simply stared at him with an icy, disapproving glare and a humourless face. His father had always had the ability to make Jaime feel as if he was nothing more than a snot-nosed child – but this was different . . . this was the first time in his life Jaime truly knew what it must feel like to be Tyrion. And it was even more dreadful than he had ever imagined. 

‘Speak,’ Tywin finally said. Jaime faltered, not quite knowing where to even start and his father soon grew tired of waiting. ‘Tell me!’ Tywin demanded as he slammed his hands down onto the armrests of the chair. ‘Tell me what possessed you to not only kill the king and bind yourself to the Dornish girl and her two brats but to do so without my permission!’

‘He was going to burn the city down!’ Jaime blurted out having no other true defence than the truth. 

‘Who? Aerys?’

‘Aerys and his pyromancers. He’d been talking about it for days - constantly mumbling about how he’d rather burn King’s Landing to ashes than to hand over the city. He said Robert could be king over charred bones and cooked meat. And then…’

‘Then,’ Tywin prompted.

‘One night he was threatening to throw Aegon in the fire – something about how a real Targaryen wouldn’t burn. Rossart tried to rip Aegon from Elia’s arms and that’s when I -,’

‘When you ran the both of them through with your sword,’ Tywin said leaning back in his chair. ‘So the mad king was even madder than we all thought.’

‘You have no idea,’ Jaime muttered, earning himself a sharp look from his father.

‘I do remember telling you exactly what sort of maniac you were binding yourself to when you first slipped on that ridiculous cloak,’ Tywin snapped. ‘You killed Rossart – what of the other pyromancers?’ 

‘It was taken care of.’ 

‘Good,’ Tywin said with a nod and Jaime stood a little taller – Tywin was not one to dole out praise and so Jaime revelled in whatever was given to him. ‘Now tell me, what has your bride told you to offer me in exchange for allowing this marriage to go ahead?’ Tywin leaned forward in his seat, staring at his son intently. ‘She is clearly the one orchestrating all of this, so surely she anticipates that the protection of the Lannister name and the Lannister army came at a price. Tell me, what did she think that price was?’

‘You’ll be the king’s grandfather and his Hand you can mold him to be whatever sort of king you feel he should be. And it’ll be many namedays before he’ll be able to rule the Seven Kingdoms until then he’ll need people ruling it for him…And Elia has suggested a marriage between Oberyn and Cersei -,’

‘Oberyn Martell?’ Tywin repeated with a scoff. 

‘He’s a very wealthy man and a prince-,’

‘A second son and a whoremonger,’ Tywin said icily. 

‘Elia looks to find him his own Lordship once this war is over,’ Jaime retorted rather weakly. ‘Elia thinks it will strengthen Aegon’s position if Oberyn is a lord in his own right…’

Tywin looked up at that. ‘At least she’s not a complete buffoon. If this war goes her way there will be plenty of lands without lords. Oberyn’s reputation should be enough to ward off any challenges to his lordship. But if we want to use his position to strengthen Aegon’s reign, and if he’s to marry a daughter of mine he’ll need a grand seat.’

Jaime kept quiet, the way his father was speaking made it sound as if he was agreeing to their offer and he didn’t want to break that particular spell by saying something stupid.

‘And I expect their first daughter to be chosen as Aegon’s bride – if they don’t manage to produce one he’ll marry another Lannister girl of my choosing,’ Tywin added before peering at Jaime expectantly. ‘Run along – give your bride my terms.’

‘I don’t have to. Elia and I already discussed everything you’ve mentioned. Nothing you’ve demanded wasn’t already on offer,’ Jaime said wondering exactly how Elia could know his father’s mind so well, while he, his son, never truly had a clue.

Tywin leaned back in his chair, seemingly pacified…for now at least. ‘You’re blessed with abilities that few men possess. You’re blessed to belong to one of the most powerful families in the kingdoms, and you’re blessed with youth. Up until now you’ve done nothing with these blessings but serve as a glorified bodyguard to a mad man. I’d almost given up on you serving as more than a footnote in the history of our house – but it seems I was wrong.’ 

‘Father?’

‘Your political manoeuvrings are clumsy at best – and you think no further ahead than you can see with your own two eyes. You haven’t the slightest clue how to play the game of thrones but you’ve killed Aerys and in doing so have set the cogs in motion. You played our hand earlier than I would have liked but right now we still have the upper hand. Between myself, the Dornish girl, and her family – it now seems we have some chance of success.’

Jaime felt strangely light-headed as he stared at his father. ‘You’ll support her? You’ll support us?’ he asked as a heavyweight seemed to be lifted from his chest. 

‘Yes, it seems you and your little bride have offered me a better solution to our current predicament. A solution I had not yet entertained. Robert was a means to an end – a way to clear the way for House Lannister to rise. But in the end, Robert is nothing more than a proud fool,’ Tywin said with a dismissive wave of his hand, ‘he thinks very much of himself though he does very little actual thinking. A fool is easily controlled but a proud fool is wilful and unpredictable. Or did you actually think Robert started this war for Lyanna Stark? Robert started this war because Rhaegar slighted him and nothing else. If I can avoid spending the rest of my years pacifying the temper tantrums of that buffoon I gladly will.’

‘Than why consider him in the first place?’

‘Aerys was a mad man, Rhaegar a man child with a head full of fantasies and Viserys will undoubtedly grow up to be a mixture of both - if not worse. In short, Robert was the lesser evil. But now you’ve provided me with a new option. Aegon is a baby – a baby can be raised into whatever kind of man we please especially since his mother has asked for the protection of our cloak.’ 

‘So you’ll allow the marriage?’

‘That marriage is the only way any of this will work,’ Tywin said decisively. ‘I will not fight this battle if I’m not completely sure there is something to gain. You will finally set aside that godawful white cloak and return to your position as my son and heir. You will wed her, bed her, and with some luck, the girl will give us an heir.’

‘Aegon’s birth nearly killed her.’

‘If two births didn’t kill her chances are a third won’t either. And if it does you’ll be free to marry again – we just have to make sure it is clearly understood that in case of Elia’s death you’ll remain the boy’s regent,’ Tywin said pragmatically. ‘We have no actual claim to the Throne – if we take the Throne without an actual claim, others will try and do the same and we will spend another decade fighting a war that in the end will have no victors. But combine what is left of King’s Landings forces with those of Lannisport and Dorne – united under the banner of the rightful child King and we are still formidable enough to make Robert’s band of brigands pause.’ 

‘You think we can hold them off?’ Jaime questioned, painfully aware of just how large Robert’s following had become.

His father looked at him then, Tywin’s famously cool, pale eyes boring into son. ‘I am Tywin Lannister – Baratheon, Stark and even you might not understand what that means but Jon Arryn does. If anyone can win you this war it is me.’

It was strange to see his father in a nursery. He had no memory of him ever stepping foot in the nursery when Cersei and him where little…let alone when Tyrion was little. Tywin’s presence changed the entire atmosphere of the room. Up until now, it had been their little sanctuary. A place to escape from what they had done, what they were about to do, and the responsibilities that now fell upon their shoulders. Jaime had liked coming here, where he had shared meals with Elia, had played with Rhaenys, had laughed as Aegon had tottered around with all the balance of a drunkard. His father’s presence changed all of that, there was no more room for laughter or joy - only bitter seriousness. His arrival had signaled that they were in the game now – that the fight for the throne had commenced. 

Tywin regarded Elia as Jaime imagined a discerning farmer would regard a cow he was about to purchase. It must have been deeply unsettling for her, yet Elia met Tywin’s gaze unflinchingly, smilingly even. The steel of Elia’s spine impressed Jaime every time.

After a while, he nodded slightly, as if he’d seen all he had needed to. ‘The people have seen the Lannister forces enter the city – they’ve seen me enter the city,’ he said. ‘The common folk are creatures of habit and my presence is familiar to them – it will soothe them well enough. In the evening we will ring the death knell and announce Aerys’ death immediately followed by the proclamation Aegon will succeed him with you as Queen Regent and I as your hand.’

‘Queen Regent?'

‘You thought you could rule as a princess?’ Tywin said, spitting out the word princess. ‘This is a man’s game, girl – if you want them to respect you, you shall have to demand it. Be bold. Declare yourself a queen and meet anyone who challenges you head-on.’

‘Queen Regent then,’ Elia muttered. ‘Shall we send letters to all the Houses - even the rebels? To inform them of all of this…and of the wedding of course.’

Tywin nodded. ‘Yes, the sooner they know that you belong to my House and that the Westerlands are at your disposal the sooner they’ll take your stand seriously. To all Houses who fought in Aerys’ name you shall send personally written letters, we cannot lose their support – tie them to you. The same goes for Rhaella – remind her of who Aegon is and what his rights are. We can’t have her declaring a second Targaryen King.’ 

‘Rhaella would never reject Aegon’s claim,’ Elia said decisively, if not a little outraged. ‘She loves him – she loves both my children.’

‘She’s isolated and pregnant at Dragonstone of all places,’ Tywin said. ‘As I recall you lived at Dragonstone for a time, were you comfortable in that cold, humid, monstrosity? That desolate fortress breeds despair.’

‘It is a miserable place to give birth in,’ Elia said quietly. ‘I shall write kindly to her, as she has always been kind to me and assure her there will be a place for her here as soon as she is able to travel.’

‘Tell her to send part of the Targaryen fleet – Lord Lucerys had no love for Rhaegar and he’ll have none for us either when he learns what happened to Aerys, but he will do as Rhaella commands him.’

‘Oberyn and Doran will send boats as well.’

‘You’ve heard from your brothers?’ Tywin enquired. 

‘Only from Doran – I don’t know where Oberyn is right now, but I know he’s coming. He sent me a letter right after the Trident.’

‘Coming with what?’ Tywin pressed. ‘I know your brother’s reputation – all of the Seven Kingdoms know your brother’s reputation – I need to know if whatever he’s planning is a moment of brilliant madness or one of actual madness.’

‘Since abandoning his Maester’s studies two years ago he’s been spending most of his time in the Free Cities…the last year or so he has been serving there as a commander of the Second Sons-,’

‘He’s serving as a bloody sellsword?’ Tywin said. ‘I’m marrying my daughter to a sellsword?’

‘A sellsword prince,’ Jaime said quietly, earning him a venomous look from his father. 

‘They had already agreed to join my cause. But there’s only five hundred of them and Oberyn wanted more, he told me he was going to try and acquire the services of the Golden Company. He had thought they might be interested in deposing Aerys in favour of Aegon.’

‘The Golden Company,’ Tywin repeated. ‘That might be helpful – as far as sellswords can be helpful. And Doran? What news from him?’

‘He is scraping together what he can. It seems that many men are eager to come to my aid though it is proving difficult to gather them and the supplies and equipment they need in such a short amount of time.’

‘How many are coming?’

‘He’s hoping for another eight thousand men, and those who survived the Trident have been arriving at our gates every day. I’m hopeful we’ll have a Dornish army of at least twelve thousand strong. It is said that many Dornishmen survived the Trident…my uncle Lewyn soon saw it was a lost cause and had instructed them to flee.’ Elia said, her voice wavering as she spoke of her uncle.

‘Who will be commanding them?’

‘Ander Dayne, Lord of Starfall.’

‘Starfall was not at the Trident.’

‘Doran is no fool,’ Elia answered simply. ‘Do you really think he would send all his best men to the Trident and leave Dorne completely toothless?’

Tywin nodded, and Jaime thought he almost looked pleased. ‘Baratheon was injured at the Trident, not lethally but enough so to slow him down. He has sent Ned Stark ahead with most of their forces. He’ll be knocking on our gates in less than two days. We need to marry the pair of you before he arrives.’

‘Rhaegar has been dead for barely more than a fortnight!’ Jaime blurted out. Of course, he’d known he would marry Elia – he just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, let alone right before they’d have to go to war.

‘And?’ Tywin asked icily. ‘He didn’t show her any curtsey when he ran off with that Northern wench – and she was alive,’ he said with a nod towards Elia. ‘So why should we waste our time pandering to the honour of a dead man who clearly had none.’

Elia and Jaime looked at each other then. Elia looked every bit as shaken as Jaime felt and her reassuring smile was wobbly at best – but it was there, and it seemed real enough to Jaime.

There was a familiar cooing in the background; that already familiar babbling that announced Aegon had woken up from his midday sleep. 

‘It seems your grandson has decided it is time to meet his grandfather,’ Elia announced with faux cheerfulness. ‘I shall bring him to you.’

Winterfell – Present Day 

The entire population of Winterfell and Winter Town seemed to have braved the dusk’s chill for a good look at their future king and his beast. Ned could hear their gasps and murmurs grow louder and louder as the beast approached them, coming closer and closer with every sweep of its large wings. 

The beast was a terrifying sight to behold and beside him, he felt Arya, his daring and fearless little Arya, inch closer and closer to him, her eyes fixed on the sky, and her mouth agape as the winged shadow passed straight over them.   

The prince took care to land his beast near the encampment that his mother’s soldiers had set up for themselves, a good distance away from the crowd. Its hind legs landed on the ground first, with a loud thud that shook the earth. All around him Ned felt the crowd take a step back, though Arya and Robb, both beside him did not move from his side – and he felt a stab of pride. The creature then came onto all four of its legs, skulking forward like a demon from a nightmare before letting out a roar that cut through flesh and bone. 

“I am here,”  it seemed to proclaim, “witness me.”

Knowing they had dragons was one thing – seeing them was another horror entirely – a relic from the terrifying days of old. 

‘The Black Dread come again,’ Arya muttered, her eyes still as wide as saucers. 

Ned had heard those words often, a rumour that had spread to the North years ago: the Targaryen boy’s dragon was the Black Dread of old reincarnated. 

But though the dragon was jet black and by far the largest living creature Ned had ever seen, he had seen the skull of the first Balerion and thankfully this dragon had much growing to do if it wanted to match its namesake’s monstrous size.

The prince easily hopped off his terrifying mount, taking his time to pat the dragon’s enormous muzzle as if he were patting a well-behaved horse’s flank. 

Ned hadn’t seen the boy since he was barely a year old but his silvery gold hair made him unmistakable. He was dressed modestly, almost as if he were a brother of the Night’s Watch: a garb of plain black with only a hint of deep red in the stitching of his cloak. 

 'Lord and ladies of the North!' He bellowed as he took long strides towards the waiting company. 'Forgive me my lateness but we were simply enraptured by your beautiful lands. There's nothing else quite like it in all the realm.'

'The North is yours, Your Grace,' Ned said with a solemn bow, halting the boy’s step.

'Than I am honoured to have it,' Aegon answered pleasantly. 'Thank you for your most gracious welcome.'

 A hand grabbed Ned’s arm, pulling him to his feet, and he looked up - right into the smiling face of his future king. Part of him had feared that he would see too much of Rhaegar in the boy but that fear had been unwarranted, apart from his Targaryen colouring, this boy was very much his own man. Unlike Rhaeger the prince kept his hair short, much like his mother’s husband did. And his striking purple eyes were not sad, the look in them was not detached and pensive, no Aegon’s eyes, almond-shaped like his mother’s, were wide-open and cheerful. A face not made for sadness and war – but for smiles and the joyful days of summer. 

 'We were eagerly awaiting your arrival,' Ned said as most of the gathered crowd couldn't seem to decide who was more worthy of their stares: their future king or his dragon.

 The beast seemed placid and all together unbothered by the gathered crowd - but then again what could bother a creature of his size? Though not yet the size of the famed Black Dread, the beast truly was truelly a thing of nightmares.

 Its red, cat-like eyes never left its prince. It was loyal, Ned decided, loyal to its rider. There was not a doubt in Ned's mind that it would tear through all the boy's enemies and anyone and everything that would try to harm him. Just as Grey Wind would do for Robb - but Grey Wind could be stopped with swords and arrows. Nothing would stop this beast.

 'Do not worry about Balerion,' the prince said, noting his stare. 'He is not violent when unprovoked - if your men let him be, he will let them be.'

 'There's not a doubt in my mind my men will let him be, Your Grace.'

 Aegon laughed. 'I would have thought that men used to Direwolves roaming their Lord's keep would be less shocked by dragons - apparently, I was wrong.'

 'I think there is nothing in this world that can prepare you for the sight of a dragon.'

 'Well hopefully seeing this one will prepare them for seeing the other two. Balerion is the biggest,' Aegon said, a casual reminder of the other three dragons that made up the royal menagerie, before spotting something over Ned's shoulder. 'Forgive me, Lord Stark, it seems that in greeting you I've neglected my duties as a son. I have yet to greet my parents.'

 'Do not let me keep you any longer Your Grace,' Ned said stepping out of his way with a bow of his head.

 'It shall only take a moment,' Aegon assured him. 'You must still introduce me to your family and your lords.'

 'Perhaps we can do so in the hall? If you're comfortable with leaving the dragon here with your men?'

 'They are used to him and he is used to them,' Aegon said before finally stepping towards his mother, bending down to kiss both of her cheeks.

 'You are late,' Elia said half admonishing.

 'He's the future king - whenever he shows up is on time,' Jaime said with a grin that was answered with a smile from the prince.

 'Where is Lann?' Aegon questioned as he pressed a kiss to his sister's brow.

 'Inside,' Nym answered as she slipped a delicate hand into the crook of his elbow, 'probably already organizing the rest of your evening.'

 Aegon laughed, a pleasant, booming laugh. ‘Ever the little-aspiring-Hand. Grandfather will be proud.’

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

Winterfell – Present Day 

It was almost unsettling for Ned to realize how agreeable the young prince was. No matter how long or how closely he looked, no matter how much he scrutinized the boy’s words or their tone, there was nothing to remind of Rhaegar or Aerys – except that what was at the very surface.  Yet Ned still refused to let down his guard quite so hurriedly.  

Both his father and Jon Arryn had told him that before Aerys had grown so strange he too had been charming and generous, but then as he had gotten older he had become more and more suspicious, more and more cruel. The Targaryen bond to fire had consumed him and he’d become as violent and unpredictable as the element he had so coveted. Aegon too reminded Ned of fire – but in an entirely different way. Aegon was a flame, warm and inviting, drawing those who saw him in close like moths. Ned fervently hoped he would always be this way; that when the Gods had flipped his coin it had fallen onto greatness and that he and all those who would ride those dragons would be spared from the madness that ran through their blood. 

But despite Aegon's animated face, despite his kindly ways, there were some who turned away from him and rejected the warmth he offered and would never warm to his animated face or kindly ways. Ned had heard the complaints of his bannermen when the royal visit had been announced. Heard their complaints of  how this Southern boy knew nothing of them, the old gods, the Wolfswood, or the barrows of the first men. The North had been free before, had had its own kings before - surely they could do so again?  

Ned understood the thirst to be free of the Iron Throne’s rule – but he also remembered the horrors of war and the power behind that throne. He knew some of his bannermen, those who had lost fathers, brothers, and sons, judged him a coward, yet another Stark to submit. And yes, had it only been Tywin Lannister and the Martell brothers guarding that throne perhaps then he would have dared – but against the might of three dragons?  Torrhen Stark and his army of thirty thousand strong had bowed to that – and so would he.  Freedom from the Iron Throne was tempting, but he would never risk another  Field of Fire  to claim it.

The Mormonts, the Boltons, and the Umbers especially treated the boy with thinly veiled disregard and less curtesy than his title deserved and his dragon demanded. The boy had not acted on it, letting the slight pass with a smile. But his half-brother, standing but a step behind him, unspeaking but all-seeing, had regarded them carefully with a look Ned recognized all too well. It seemed that Lann Lannister had the same eyes as his grandfather, a pale, sea-green, and whenever his brother was slighted his gaze turned just as cold as that of Tywin himself. And so Ned knew every crooked look and even the slightest of slights would be duly reported to  the Old Lion  himself - and he feared what consequences that might have.

He also feared the consequences of the young prince meeting his children but for different reasons entirely…

Aegon had been jovial towards Robb, greeting him with the comradery of shared youth. Robb had offered to take the prince out hunting and he, in turn, had responded enthusiastically. Beside Ned, Catelyn had beamed with pride at Robb’s fine manners.

But then there had been Sansa. And just as Ned had expected, was it her reaction to the prince that had unsettled him. Both the prince and his brother were comely young men. Tall, handsome boys with broad shoulders, fine clothes, and even finer manners – the things many maids dreams were made of. The things Sansa’s dreams were made of. She had smiled at Aegon so sweetly, curtsied so deeply, and hung off every word he spoke while offering very few words in response. She’d been half in love with the idea of the prince even before he had arrived – and now, after meeting him, Ned knew her heart was full of naïve love and the hope that somehow this golden prince would choose her.

He would not. Aegon was not for Sansa;  Aegon did not want Sansa; his family did not want Sansa, and most important of all the realm did not want Sansa . They too still remembered what had happened the last time a Targaryen Prince had set his sights on a Stark girl…And while Ned was pleased with Aegon’s obvious disinterest in Sansa, he did feel for his daughter, however fanciful her affections were, and he knew it would be hard to find her a husband that would not sadden her amongst his bannermen, when her heart was so set on a courtly, finely dressed Southern lord…

Arya proved to be another problem entirely. While all children had long ago abandoned their mother's rule that Direwolves would not be allowed in the Hall - mostly due to Ned's own permissiveness on the matter. Arya was the only one to so openly defy Catelyn as to bring her wolf with her as she met the prince. Ned knew there was no malice behind the action and as most incidents concerning Arya, it had simply happened on an impulse. But he would speak firmly to her in the morning, she was too old now to hide behind the excuse of childish insolence. 

Catelyn’s eyes had gone wide the moment she’d spotted the wolf at Arya’s side and now sat beside Ned, stiff with nerves and barely restrained irritation. The Queen Regent had responded more serenely, only briefly glancing at the direwolf before continuing a quiet conversation with her daughter – her husband, however, looked completely unamused.  

‘He is glorious,’ Aegon said as he kneeled to inspect the direwolf.

‘It’s a she – Your Grace,’ Arya said with more than a hint of pride. 

‘Well than  she  is glorious,’ Aegon said with a smile. ‘Is she friendly?’

‘When I tell her to be,’ Arya boasted.

‘If you tell her to be friendly to me, I’ll be friendly to her,’ Aegon said as he offered the wolf one of his hands to sniff. 

‘That’s a wolf Aegon – not a hound,’ Jaime warned from his seat at the table, as he watched on with a disapproving look. 

Aegon glanced at him from over his shoulder with a grin. ‘You let me ride a dragon but somehow petting a wolf is too dangerous an affair?’

‘The dragon is yours – the wolf is not.’

The wolf gave his hand an inquisitive sniff that quickly turned into a more thorough inspection. Beside him, Ned felt the horror radiating off Catelyn. She had already disapproved of having the wolves at the feast – to see one come so close to the prince was sure to mortify her. 

‘Arya keep her in line,’ Ned ordered. 

‘It is fine, I assure you,’ Aegon said quickly turning his hand up so Nymeria could inspect his palm.

‘It just shows you stink of dragon,’ Lann commented wryly, for the first time speaking without first being spoken to. 

‘Dragons don’t smell,’ Aegon argued.

‘Tell that to the wolf,’ Lann retorted with a grin as the wolf chose that moment to suddenly lick the prince’s hand. The most jovial Ned had never seen any of them, aside from Lady, act towards someone who was not their master. 

‘Arya!’ Catelyn warned though the look in her eyes spoke louder than her words.

Arya grabbed her wolf’s collar. ‘Come here girl,’ she said tugging her back.

‘It seems she likes me just fine Lady Arya, dragon stink or not,’ Aegon said, scratching the animal behind her ear as he rose to his feet. ‘What is her name?’

Arya turned a magnificent shade of crimson. 

‘Surely it can’t be that bad?’ Aegon prompted.

‘Her name is Nymeria,’ Arya mumbled bashfully. 

‘ Nymeria ?’ The prince repeated surprised, and his sister looked up at the mention of her name.

‘Yes?’ she said. 

‘Not you, the wolf,’ Aegon said with a nod towards Nymeria and Arya - Ned had never seen his youngest daughter quite so ready to hide behind her mother’s skirts. 

Nym frowned.

‘The wolf is also named Nymeria,’ Lann clarified, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

‘For the warrior Queen,’ came Arya’s hurried explanation. 

Nym smiled as did her mother. ‘I do not take offence – she is magnificent as was our illustrious namesake.’

‘I did not know the stories of our great ancestor had travelled so far North,’ Elia said. ‘And now you’ve named the proud sigil of your house for her – a great way to honour her indeed.’

‘May I come greet my namesake?’ Nym asked Arya. 

Arya nodded. ‘Of course Milady.’

‘Careful,’ Jaime said grabbing his daughter’s hand as she moved past him. ‘Your brother might be a master of animals but you are not. I don’t want to see your hands or face anywhere near its muzzle.’

‘Of course papa,’ Nym said mildly, regarding him sweetly with her large brown eyes as she brushed her long, blond braid over her shoulder - the very picture of innocence  and daughterly manipulation . ‘Now may I go?’

Jaime released her hand, sighing loudly at his own indulgence. 

‘Arya hold her tightly,’ Catelyn said, though she might as well have asked Arya to hold back a storm. Nymeria listened to Arya out of sheer loyalty – physically there was little she could do to stop her if the wolf chose to attack. But Ned had none of his wife’s reservations – the wolves were not dogs, that he unreservedly acknowledged, but he would not allow them near his children or his people if he thought them savage or mean. The children and Farlen, the kennelmaster, had trained them well.

‘Don’t worry mother,’ Robb said as he walked over to Arya, Grey Wind at his side. Solid, faithful Grey Wind was in Ned’s opinion the dominant wolf of their little pack. His steady presence seemed to calm his littermates and keep them in line – much like Robb himself managed to keep Arya in line.

‘I don’t need your help,’ Arya muttered giving her brother an annoyed look.

‘I never said you did,’ Robb said with a grin, placing a large hand on her bony shoulder.

“And now there’s two of them,”  Jaime muttered, moving a hand up to his temple. 

‘Oh hush,’ Elia said taking his other hand in hers. ‘You don’t make such a fuss when she gets on one of the dragons.’

‘How am I the only one who understands that there is a difference?’ 

‘Do not worry Lord Lannister,’ Catelyn said despite her own, obvious, reservations. ‘Robb is very capable – your daughter is quite safe in his hands.’

‘As long as  I get her back  safely,’ Jaime drawled and Ned knew exactly what he was stating. Robb was quite taken with the girl, he probably thought he had been very secretive about it, but Ned had caught him sneaking glances at her more than once – and if Ned had caught him than surely the shrewd Kingslayer had caught him too.

‘Milady,’ Robb said offering Nym his hand – staring at her a little too intently for Ned’s taste.

‘Thank you,’ she said taking his hand with a smile. Robb led her before the two wolves and guided her to crouch down beside him. 

‘Nymeria stay,’ Arya commanded.

‘You heard her Nym,’ Aegon said with a grin, earning a chuckle from his brother. But Nym ignored him, too captivated by the two wolves in front of her.

‘They really are beautiful,’ she said.

‘You can touch her,’ Arya said confidently. 

Nym reached out assuredly and sunk a hand into the thick, grey fur of Nymeria’s neck. 

‘Hello Nymeria – I am Nymeria,’ the girl smiled stroking the wolf – who to Arya’s credit stood perfectly still under the princess’ attention. ‘She’s so soft and downy.’ 

‘Septa Mordane says that if I spent as much time grooming myself as I spent grooming Nymeria I might actually look like a lady.’

Ned couldn't help but smile at Arya’s candid admission but besides him he saw Catelyn worry her lip, her eyes wide.

‘There’s more to being a lady than being pretty,’ Nym said, before smiling secretively at Arya. ‘My sister and I often wear trousers,’ she added in a hushed voice, ‘as do my cousins.’

‘Really?’ Arya asked, eyes wide. 

The princess nodded with a sly smile before turning to Grey Wind. ‘And who is this?’

‘This is Grey Wind,’ Robb said, ‘he’s mine.’

‘Is he as friendly as Nymeria?’

‘He will be to you,’ Robb assured her.

Ned gave Arya a pointed look before she could make a face at her brother’s rather clumsy attempt at charm - Ned vividly remembering managing far worse at Robb’s age and the faces Brandon would make.

Nym had noticed nothing and had turned her attention to Grey Wind, who had tolerantly raised his large head, allowing her to scratch his chin.

‘He’s absolutely charming,’ Nym said as Grey Wind passively rested the weight of his muzzle on her palm.

‘He likes attention,’ Robb stated as he helped her to her feet. 

‘Don’t we all?’ Nym said cheekily before turning towards her father. ‘See papa? I’m still in one piece.’ 

But Jaime did not respond instead, he stared pointedly at Robb until he hastily let go of the girl’s hand, his cheeks a furious red. Ned sighed quietly, it seemed as if Sansa wasn’t the only one with a head full of silly dreams and he feared he would have to disappoint two children instead of one.

King’s Landing - 283 AC – after Aerys’ death

For the second time in a measly three years, Elia found herself being led into the Great Sept of Baelor to be wed. 

Her first wedding had been a lavish occasion – the Sept had overflown with flowers and people. Her mother had still lived then and had personally escorted her towards the altar, glowing with maternal pride. She’d been so proud of securing for her daughter the greatest prize: the beautiful Targaryen prince and the queenly future that came with him. For the first time, Elia was glad her mother had died – glad that she did not have to witness what had become of her daughter’s  grand marriage . 

Now Rhaegar was dead, his body stripped and left to the animals and the elements –  if you believed the rumours.  And the Sept was bare and empty apart from the lords they had managed to scrape together, all grim-faced and impatient to see her once again wed. It wasn’t her mother, or even one of her dear brothers escorting her towards the alter but Manly Stokeworth who had clumsily offered her his services.  It was a kindness she would never forget . His sturdy, steady presence at her side had been the only thing that had made this long, terrifying trek towards the altar bearable. 

She had made an effort – tried to make this wedding less of an ordeal than it really was. She had put on a beautiful, heavily embellished golden dress Mellario had sent her after Aegon’s birth.  “To remind your husband who the true Queen of love and beauty is,”  the note had read – but then Rhaegar had annulled their marriage to be with -  and die for  - a new bride and now Elia was wearing the dress to wed another man with her maiden cloak draped across her shoulders shielding her from the Sept’s chill. 

Jaime was waiting for her at the steps before the altar, his father standing beside him. Jaime too looked careworn and as if he could do with a few days of sleep, but when their eyes met he smiled. It was a slight, shy smile, so unlike the arrogant smirk she had seen him flash countless of times, and therefore it was all the more precious to her…

‘Best of luck, Your Grace,’ Manly said gruffly, with a clumsy bow of his head as he handed her over to her soon to be husband. 

‘Thank you Ser Stokeworth,’ Elia said quietly, before Jaime gently guided her up the final steps, his arm warm and strong beneath her hand. 

The High Septon smiled at them uneasily, his eyes darting over to Tywin and Elia wondered how Tywin managed to wield power over even the head of the Faith. ..She nodded at the Septon with a tremulous smile, signaling him to start the ceremony though there was no doubt in her mind he would have spoken the words without her go-ahead as well. 

She turned away from Jaime, allowing him to replace her cloak with one from House Lannister that his father handed him. It was not a new cloak, it was too soft and comfortable to be new.

‘You look lovely,’ Jaime remarked, his hand lingering on her shoulder for the barest of moments. 

‘Thank you,’ Elia said as she turned to face him, her hand toying nervously with the edge of her new cloak; the lovely blend of gold and red went well with the gold of her dress and the rubies of her necklace – she knew her  new goodfather  would be pleased with this lovely display of  Lannister pride . 

‘Please place your hands together,’ the High Septon prompted and Elia obediently placed her cold, delicate, little hand on Jaime’s broad, callused one. 

The High Septon tied them together with a ribbon and somehow there was no dread stirring in her belly but a pleasant nervous flutter.

 ‘Let it be known that Elia of House Martell and Jaime of House Lannister are one heart and flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.’

Jaime squeezed her hand as the Septon removed the ribbon and Elia looked at him,  truly looked at him . Not even a fool would deny that Jaime was a handsome man, but it was what was underneath the broad set of his shoulders, the sharp jawline, and lovely clear eyes that drew her in further. Jaime cared little for politics or power and yet he had risked everything to help her and her children. He had thrown away his reputation and his cloak to save her from Aerys’ clutches – and had offered himself up to her without any hesitation, faithfully staying by her side ever since…It showed a different kind of beauty –  a beauty of character , and that was a quality she’d come to value all the more since her abandonment at the hands of her  beautiful  prince Rhaegar. 

‘With this kiss, I pledge my love,’ Jaime said quietly before brushing his lips against hers, so chastely it bordered on reverently. 

She did not love him, she decided. But she valued him, admired him -  cherished him even . She would be a good wife to him,  he deserved a good wife , and in time she knew she would grow to love him…

Winterfell – Present Day 

Elia stretched her neck languidly as she placed her heavy necklace on the writing desk in front of her, glad to be rid of the weight of her jewels and crown. Then with deft fingers, she started pulling the pins from her hair, sending the twisted strands tumbling down. Another sweet relief – the weight of the elaborate updo was murder on her neck and the pins had been digging into her skull since sundown. She hummed as she combed through her hair with her fingers, only looking up at the sound of the door opening.

Her husband was as handsome now as he had been all those years ago when he had stepped into her room for the very first time and she had gently guided his hesitant hands onto her hips… 

Or perhaps he was even more handsome now -  as unfair as that was ; age had given his face more character and the litheness of youth had made room for the strength of experience. A married man with two children almost grown and Jaime was still the sort of knight maidens’ dreams were made of.  

‘I said goodnight to Nym,’ he said closing the door behind him. ‘She was dead tired and Ashara had swaddled her in blankets like a newborn babe. But then again who could blame her? I’d forgotten how bloody cold this place is. No wonder Stark’s always in such a rotten mood – I’d be too if I had to live here.’

‘Oh hush,’ Elia said with a smile.

‘I wonder how they even manage to produce children in this rotten place – all my parts seem determined to climb upward,’ Jaime grumbled. 

Elia couldn’t help but laugh and was rewarded for it with a grin.

‘Help me with my dress?’ she asked. ‘I’ve sent my ladies to bed.’

‘I am at your service my Queen,’ Jaime said with a smirk and a mock bow. Once he’d been hesitant to help her, let alone to touch her, now there was no such hesitancy between them, only comfortable familiarity. He brushed her hair over her shoulder before expertly undoing the tight laces of her dress.

‘I don’t see why you didn’t simply wear your hair down,’ Jaime said pressing a kiss to the top of her spine. ‘You look positively ravishing with your hair down.’

‘Because I had to look regal today – not ravishing,’ Elia said as she stepped out of her stiff burgundy gown and replaced her underthings with a long-sleeved nightgown.

‘The North doesn’t know what it’s missing,’ Jaime said as he watched her with an appreciative look.

‘Charmer,’ she said before grabbing his hand and kissing it lightly.

Jaime sighed dramatically. ‘The lot of every man married to a beautiful woman.’

‘Did you go see the boys as well?’

‘Of course, I did,’ Jaime said, as he put his cloak on a chair. 

‘And?’

‘Well they went ahead with their plan and are sleeping outside with our retinue,’ Jaime said, kicking off his boots. ‘ Lady Stark was positively scandalised .’ 

‘Are they comfortable?’

‘As comfortable as soldiers can be,’ Jaime said with a shrug. ‘But they’re sleeping next to Balerion – so at least they’ll be nice and warm. Besides, the North will sleep a little easier knowing Aegon is not just setting his dragon free upon them.’

‘Is Balerion behaving?’

‘Yes, he is content. Arthur said he flew off during the feast to hunt – caught himself a stag.’ Jaime said as he slipped his leather tunic over his head.

‘How could he possibly know Balerion caught a stag?’

‘Because he had a piece of antler stuck between his teeth,’ Jaime said with a chuckle. ‘He spent more than an hour gnashing his teeth together trying to get it out. You should have seen the look on the Northerners’ faces when Egg and Lann reached into his mouth to dislodge it.’

‘Did they get it out?’

‘It took some prying and Egg was about knee-deep in his mouth, but they got it out. The dragon no longer has a toothache -  we’ll all be able to sleep peacefully tonight .’

‘Thank the Seven,’ Elia muttered. She did not know how well the Northerners would respond to a surly dragon. ‘It was a good day, wasn’t it? Our boy did well, didn’t he?’ she asked sitting down on the bed.

‘He always does well –  he’s a good boy Elia ,’ Jaime said reassuringly. ‘Still, I fear there will always be those for whom he’ll never be good enough, not because he’s a Targaryen but simply because he isn’t a Northerner. But with three dragons on his side, I doubt they’ll be moving against him anytime soon.’

‘I wanted to give him a stable realm.’

‘You  are  giving him a stable realm,’ Jaime said earnestly. ‘The realm is stable and at peace – there’s no war, no hunger, and the Seven Kingdoms are actually  working together  for the first time since  ever . And Egg is going to be a good king – the best king – and I know this because we are the ones who raised him  so surely the boy is magnificent .’

Elia laughed despite her doubts and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his trim middle. ‘ You  are  magnificent .’

‘ Our family is magnificent ,’ Jaime declared kissing her sweetly before resting his chin on her head. ‘Perhaps a little too magnificent.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you not see the Young Wolf staring at Nym?’ Jaime muttered. ‘He couldn’t keep his eyes off her all night, I wager he’s half in love with her already.’

‘She’s growing up,’ Elia said touching Jaime’s cheek, ‘it’s only natural boys start to take notice.’ 

‘I don’t like it.’

‘She’s a clever girl, part Lannister, part Martell with two older siblings who ride dragons – I don’t think you have much to worry about my love,’ Elia said smoothing out the furrow of his brow with a gentle stroke of her hand. ‘So calm yourself,  Ser Jaime ,’ she teased. ‘Your little girl is safe and sound in her own bed and will be for quite some time.’

Jaime took her hand and kissed her palm. ‘ My queen is as wise as she is beautiful ,’ he whispered as he stared into her eyes. Elia kissed him and then and all the worries of the day melted away.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

King's Landing - 283 AC

Tywin was true to his word. As dawn broke over King’s Landing after her wedding night, the city’s watch spotted the Rebel Army approaching. Her new good-father had sent an errand boy to raise Elia and Jaime from their marital bed with nothing but three simple words that had rung louder than the bells of King’s Landing ever could: “it has begun”. 

With no time to wait for the aid of a maid and only Jaime on hand to help her, Elia had dressed hastily and simply, donning her marital cloak to keep her warm. They scurried like little mice towards the Tower of the Hand, but too panicked, too strained to so much as let out a peep. Since Tywin had arrived the Red Keep had come back to life and left and right they were greeted by gold cloaks and Lannister men alike.                                                                                                   

‘Finally,’ Tywin said irritably as they entered his audience chamber, though Elia couldn’t help but notice how his eyes flitted to her cloak and the small nod of approval that followed.

‘Apologies,’ Jaime said and though he stood tall and proud with his sword hanging from his side, Elia couldn’t help but notice his submissive, downwards gaze. Tywin was a man who did not ask for respect – he commanded it…even from his own son it seemed.

‘Wedded and bedded?’ Tywin enquired brusquely, and Jaime turned even more crimson than he had done the previous night when he had entered her chamber. 

Elia too felt mortified – as she imagined all women felt after their wedding when suddenly their bodies were no longer a private thing but the subject of such brazen enquiries. 

Jaime nodded stiffly, avoiding his father’s gaze.

Tywin’s lips pursed almost imperceptibly but he seemed mollified as he turned to face the large, wide window, that overlooked most of the city and what lay beyond it. ‘It is as I had expected: Baratheon sent the Stark boy and over half of their army ahead. As far as I can see Arryn is not with him - a mistake. They had clearly not foreseen this and as soon as Stark discovers what has happened he’ll halt.’

Elia steeled her nerves and with quiet steps moved forward to stand side-by-side with Tywin to gaze out of the window. From Elia’s spot up high it seemed as if there were thousands of ants scurrying down the Kingsroad – but they weren’t ants, were they? They were invaders, Rhaegar’s enemies – now hers. Yet another grand gift from her once husband…

‘What do we do now?’ she asked, proud of how steady her voice was. She had known the Rebels had been coming but still the sight of them proved to be more daunting than anything she could have imagined.

‘We continue – prepare ourselves as we had been doing. Stark is far too cautious to attack us blindly and without counsel. Arryn’s absence has bought us some time it seems.’

‘We should send a messenger to tell him Aerys is dead and you are here,’ Elia said. ‘Otherwise he might still attack the city.’

‘Manly Stokeworth volunteered as soon as we saw them coming,’ Tywin said. ‘He had the good sense to collect the bones of the Stark family when Aerys was done with them. He’s bringing them to the Stark boy as a gesture of goodwill.’

‘Rather macabre for a gesture of goodwill,’ Jaime drawled earning himself a sharp look from Tywin. It was a silly thing to say but Elia understood – she knew Jaime, or at least a little, she knew he hid behind a façade of disinterest, arrogance, and crudeness and she knew how Aerys his little mock trials had disturbed him, scarred him even because they had scarred her just the same…

‘But a gesture Eddard Stark will appreciate nonetheless,’ a honeyed voice said from a dark corner of the room startling Elia. She could smell him before she could see him; the sickly smell of fruit gone off... 

‘Lord Varys,’ she said, ‘I did not see you. Forgive me my rudeness.’

‘Forgive me for startling you, Your Grace,’ Varys said stepping into the light and bowing slightly. ‘Lord Tywin believed my presence could be useful – I have after all some knowledge of young Lord Stark.’

‘How?’ Jaime asked. ‘How could you know anything about Eddard Stark? From what I’ve heard of him there’s very little to know…’                                     

Varys smiled his slimiest smile. ‘My little birds are everywhere, Ser Jaime. Even in the North because in my humble experience there’s always something useful to know about a man. That is why I for instance know that Lord Stark is very different from his father and brother - or even his dear friend Robert Baratheon. He’s far more even-tempered and definitely of a more honourable disposition…Robert has let it be known that he wants to see all dragonspawn eradicated. His hatred of the Targaryen name is a madness within him and when he comes to this city he will not see a woman and her children but enemies waiting to be cut down. Stark will oppose him on that front, I am sure of it, his quarrel was with Rhaegar and Aerys – them alone - not a girl and her babes.’

Elia felt suddenly faint and grabbed a chair for balance. For the thousandth time she cursed Rhaegar’s name for what he’d done – for his callousness, for his abandonment, for his betrayal both of his family and his people but most of all she cursed him for the damned legacy he’d burdened their poor children with.

A strong hand grabbed her by the elbow and roughly guided her onto a chair. ‘Eat!’ Tywin ordered with a wave towards the spread of food laid out on his table. ‘And if you can’t eat: leave. You are of no use to us if you faint every time you hear something disagreeable.’

‘I’m staying,’ Elia said resolutely, looking Tywin in the eye, ‘I’ll eat and I’ll do better.’

‘Good,’ he responded curtly.

And so Elia ate, Jaime and Vary joining her – the three of them eating in silence as Tywin poured over letters and maps, occasionally summoning Jaime to his side to discuss a matter - though it was more Tywin discussing and Jaime obediently nodding at everything that was said.

It was a struggle to get the food down – every bite seemed to turn to ash in her mouth yet felt like broken glass as she swallowed it down. It was the waiting playing tricks on her mind. Waiting idly had never been for Elia and she had to use every single bit of restraint she was capable of to hide how it frayed her nerves since she doubted her good-father would have the patience for such frivolous behaviour.

‘We need the Reach,’ Jaime said pointing at something on a map. ‘If the Reach had been at the Trident -,’

‘The Reach?’ Tywin repeated his tone mocking. 

‘We could use the numbers.’

‘The numbers,’ Tywin said derisively, ‘the day I need the Fat Flower’s help will be a very dark day for House Lannister indeed.’

‘Where is the Reach?’ Elia asked. ‘Have they left the war?’

She left the implication “because of me” hanging in the air. It was no secret that House Tyrell had little love for her – she was a Martell after all, and there were centuries worth of vitriol and pettiness between their Houses…

‘No they have not,’ Tywin answered. ‘They’ve been laying siege to Storm’s End and have been doing so for the better part of the war. I believe they’ve now resorted to starving them out – that always speeds things along: slowly starving your opponent.’       

It was impossible to miss Tywin’s displeasure – clearly he championed even more barbarous strategies than starving an entire castle. All of Westeros knew how Tywin Lannister broke sieges - there were songs to warn them of it. And then there was Elia, who felt guilty knowing her belly was full of food while others were starving at Storm’s End…

‘Send them food,’ she said knowing her good-father would judge her feeble for this but the judgement of her conscience and the people of the Stormlands would be far more damning… 

‘What?’ 

Had there ever been a word spoken so icily? 

‘Send them food,’ Elia repeated meeting Tywin’s baleful gaze as beside him Jaime stood, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. ‘Tell the Tyrells to send them a boat full of food.’

‘You want to feed the soldiers who wish to see your son ousted?’ Tywin challenged. ‘And I thought Mace Tyrell was dim.’

Elia felt her cheeks flush with indignation. ‘There are not just soldiers in that castle,’ Elia said, ‘there are women and children starving along with them.’

‘And you think that when we send food to starving garrison the weak will be fed?’ 

‘We will add a message stipulating the food must be fairly shared and that it should be eaten as a toast to the health of King Aegon the Sixth of His Name and have it announced,’ Elia said, her voice steady but her jaw twitching with emotion. ‘If it is shared the people will know we are compassionate and kind – and if the garrison does keep it for themselves the people will know exactly what kind of rulers House Baratheon are. You said yourself my lord father, that there are other and better ways to end a siege than to starve people out – I suggest you discuss them with Lord Tyrell.’

‘Your Grace makes an excellent point Lord Lannister,’ Varys said smarmily. ‘Stannis Baratheon is an excellent military commander – a battlefield commander who suffers alongside his troops and for that, his men are fiercely loyal to him. They are slowly wasting away and yet only a few men have tried to defect…But perhaps our young Queen’s kindness might prove to be a greater threat to Stannis than starvation.’

‘I don’t see how that could be possible,’ Tywin said icily.  

‘Stannis is a hard man through and through – he will never have the affection of his people. Kindness is as foreign to him as thought is to Robert. And the smallfolk are done with this war – Rhaegar is dead, Robert had his revenge and now with Aerys gone, there’s no reason left to suffer. The madman is gone and a benevolent ruler now sits on the Iron Throne – why rebel and suffer when comfort and peace are within their grasp?’

Tywin considered it for a moment, clasping his hands in front of his mouth as he regarded her pensively. ‘When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they’re on their knees however, you must show yourself willing to pardon them. Elsewise no man will ever bend the knee to you.’

Elia blinked in astonishment. 

‘A sage advice Lord Lannister,’ Varys said, his tone cloying – and Elia was somewhere torn between despising the eunuch and appreciating him for his help. 

‘What do you think Jaime?’ Elia asked turning her attention to her new husband. He answered her look with one of confusion. For all his bluster and dare he was surprisingly uncertain and noticeably unfamiliar with being asked for his opinion…

His eyes drifted from Elia to his father and back again – waiting for someone to speak for him.

Tywin sighed in annoyance. ‘Speak boy – your wife asked you for your council.’

‘I think it could work,’ Jaime said hesitantly. ‘The people couldn’t care less about Lyanna Stark’s maidenhead and Robert Baratheon’s wounded pride…what the people want is a competent, benign ruler, with the right family name who can keep the lords in line. If this works – then that is how they will see us.’

‘And if it doesn’t work?’ Tywin pressed. 

Jaime took a deep breath before straightening his spine and addressing his father directly. ‘Then we send fire ships to blow up the portcullis protecting the water passage beneath the castle – might as well make use of the mass of Wildfire Aerys left us with.’

For a moment Elia thought Tywin might actually smile  but it passed and he nodded instead. ‘That portcullis is Storm’s End’s only weakness and that buffoon Mace Tyrell won’t even think to look at it unless it kept him from his dinner.’

‘But will House Tyrell bend the knee to us? Mace Tyrell might be a buffoon but he is also prideful and prideful men can be fickle with their loyalty,’ Jaime said.

‘Mace Tyrell will do as I tell him,’ Tywin said with a wave of his hand, ‘as he always does. The man has never had a thought in his head that wasn’t put there by someone else and his main contributor is too savvy to change the Reach’s alliances so late in the game. It will be fine – I shall see to it.’

Suddenly there was a knock at the door – a powerful, insistent knock – a long-awaited knock.                                                                              

‘Enter,’ Tywin called and in came Manly Stokeworth, dressed in full uniform carrying his helmet under his arm as sweat dripped from his forehead.  

‘Your Grace, Milords,’ Manly said with a polite nod.

‘Ser Manly, thank you for your service,’ Elia said fondly. ‘I am pleased to see you well – you are well, aren’t you?’

‘Perfectly fine, Your Grace,’ Manly answered. ‘Though I could use a drink.’

Jaime wordlessly poured him a cup and offered it – Manly knocked it back with the ease of a practiced drinker. 

‘Sit,’ Tywin said, his tone somewhere between an offer and a command. 

Manly sat down on one of the chairs, dwarfing it with his immense bulk and clunky uniform. ‘It seems you were right Lord Lannister – Baratheon sent the Stark boy ahead to secure the city. Word of Aerys’ death had not yet reached him, let alone the news of the wedding. He was…surprised there was no hiding that and…concerned as to the circumstances.’

‘The circumstances?’ Elia pressed, brow furrowed with worry. 

‘The circumstances of Aerys’ death,’ Manly said. ‘He did not understand how the head of the brother of the Kingsguard who killed the king somehow ended up on the pillow of a princess instead of a spike.’

‘Did you tell him that Aerys wanted to hurt my babe? How he planned to burn the whole city down?’

‘Of course, I did Your Grace,’ Manly said patiently. ‘No sensible man will say Aerys did not deserve death. Hells Stark himself did not deny he wanted Aerys dead…But oaths weigh heavy in the North, mayhaps heavier than common sense, and no matter that how we twist and turn it, no matter how deserved it truly was, Ser Jaime killed the King he had sworn to protect  and I fear Ned Stark will never let that pass.’

‘As I warned you milady, there will be Lords clamouring for Ser Jaime to be punished,’ Varys drawled. ‘I fear Lord Stark will only be the first of many.’

‘Then we shall hear their complaints and then we shall dismiss them,’ Tywin said with cool authority as he stared Varys down with unflinching yes. ‘Only the King has authority over the Kingsguard. Elia rules in the new King’s stead - therefor Elia rules the Kingsguard. Clearly she has decided that Jaime is not to be punished. That was her decision, her ruling – openly questioning it is treason.’ 

Varys bowed his head as all men seemed to do under Tywin’s unsettling stare. 

Manly poured himself more wine, his clunky movements breaking the tense silence. It seemed an artless action; simply an oafish man, oblivious to the room around him pouring himself some wine. But Manly Stokeworth was the Commander of the City Watch – and unlike so many who had held that position he was competent and honourable. Even more impressively he had survived serving under Aerys Targaryen, the most violently cruel man Elia had ever met. Manly Stokeworth was no fool.

‘The Stark boy said he had no quarrel with you, Your Grace,’ he said, carrying on his tale as if uninterrupted. ‘And I am inclined to believe him. He does not strike me as the sort to wage a war against a woman and her children for the sake of power or a throne.’

‘Then you believe I have nothing to fear from him?’ Elia pressed, not sure she believed if there truly was such a thing as a lord who did not covet power. 

Manly drank a big gulp of wine. ‘I did not say that,’ he said looking at her over the brim of his cup. ‘Eddard Stark has given me his word that he will stand down until he has spoken to Arryn and Baratheon – and I believe the boy might have his senses about him enough to know that waging war against you and your babes would be a loathsome thing, but I doubt the same can be said about Baratheon…The pair of them are closer than brothers, but I doubt Stark will be able to calm the Baratheon wrath. And where Baratheon’s hothead goes…Stark follows.’

‘Ours is the Fury,’ Jaime said grimly. 

Elia looked at him then: ‘Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken,’ she said. She had long ago schooled herself to not let her emotions rule her face, but under the table she clenched her fists, digging her nails into the soft flesh of her palms, drawing blood. The deaths of Rhaegar and Aerys had not satisfied Robert’s bloodlust – now he was coming for hers and that of her children. So be it, no Dornishman had ever shied away from a fight. ‘I do not fear Robert Baratheon – and if he wants my children he will have to march into the Red Keep and pry them from my hands for the Seven know I will never simply hand them over to that beast out of cowardice.’

‘Hear Me Roar,’ Jaime added with a crooked grin that reminded her of the charming boy she’d met at Casterly Rock. He looked…proud – he was proud of her. 

‘I can think of one thing that might pacify their tempers,’ Manly said tentatively. ‘I doubt we will be able to avoid a war but it might distract them somewhat...You see Your Grace, Stark asked if perhaps you knew where his sister might be.’

Elia felt the colour drain from her face as an icy feeling crept up her spine. The Stark girl…how had she managed to forget about her? Just a few days ago Lyanna Stark had been at the very centre of her misery - now her existence was nothing but a past hurt buried beneath the flood of new troubles that had followed Rhaegar’s death. 

‘So we are still pretending this war is about Lyanna Stark?’ Tywin remarked. ‘How honourable.’ 

‘Well she’s not here,’ Jaime said irritably. ‘And I doubt Rhaegar told Elia where he was keeping her.’ 

Elia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the acrid taste of bile in her mouth. Perhaps in her mind Lyanna Stark had died along with Rhaegar because it was easier to think of her as dead. Because what in the Seven was Elia to do with her? Her replacement…

She couldn’t keep her around, she wouldn’t be able to stomach it. She couldn’t send her back to the North. She couldn’t marry her off to Baratheon to pacify him – the man wouldn’t want her once he knew the truth – no man would want her once they knew the truth… Tywin and Doran would tell her to imprison her or perhaps to send her to the Silent Sisters or perhaps something even worse…But no matter how much she tried, how much feelings of hurt and betrayal accompanied Lyanna’s name, Elia could not condemn the girl to misery.

‘Elia?’ Jaime’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked at him only to meet Jaime’s concerned gaze through teary, bleary eyes.  

‘I might know where she is,’ Elia said tensely, her blood thrumming in her ears so loudly she barely heard herself. ‘But I don’t want them to know.’ 

‘Rhaegar told you where he went?’ Jaime asked.

Elia shook her head. ‘Someone wrote me a letter.’

‘Oh,’ Varys said, his tone alive with realization and perhaps even surprise, ‘he took her to Dorne, didn’t he?’

Elia could feel the emotion break through her carefully crafted mask and she hated herself for it. Rhaeger did not deserve her pain or her tears – he had made a decision, several decisions, and all of them had put her precious children in peril and had humiliated her down to her core. ‘Yes,’ she said, proud of the steadiness of her voice, ‘he took her to a Tower that had been a wedding gift from my mother.’

Varys respectfully averted his gaze, but it felt just like pity. 

‘The Tower is near Kingsgrave,’ Elia said, her cheeks burning. ‘Dagos Manwoody is a childhood friend. Some of his people saw them and he wrote to me – only me – to ask me what I wanted him to do. I told him to do nothing.’

‘Why?’ Jaime questioned. ‘Dorne is your home – the people there have no love for Rhaegar and the Stark girl - they would chase them out of Dorne if they knew.’

‘I know that but I couldn’t risk it,’ Elia said. ‘I couldn’t risk bringing this war to Dorne just to ease my hurt feelings. And that is exactly why I will not have any of you telling Eddard Stark where she is – do you understand?’

‘This girl only truly matters to two of the players in this war. Even if we hand her over in perfect condition I doubt it will do little more than slow Robert down, ’ Tywin said frankly. ‘Her whereabouts are little more than a carrot to dangle in front of their noses when the time comes.’

Was there ever a man more pragmatic than Tywin Lannister? 

Tywin and Jaime had decided it would take Baratheon and Arryn less than a fortnight to get the rest of their troops to King’s Landing. Which meant they had less than fourteen days to prepare for the war to come – less than fourteen days for help to arrive…

Only a day after Eddard Stark and his army had set up camp some miles out, nearer to the fork of the Blackwater river than King’s Landing, the first sign of help arrived. Wholly unexpectedly a fleet of boats had appeared on the horizon at daybreak, waving both the Targaryen flag as the familiar silver seahorse of House Velaryon.

The last anyone had heard House Velaryon of Driftmark had been called upon to guard Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys. One of Aerys his few sage decisions – Lucerys Velaryon was a very powerful man and loyal to a fault. Elia had often wondered how such a capable man could be so blind to the cruelty and madness of his King…And it was that very loyalty that now set her on edge. Even when Aerys’ behaviour had wearied and appalled all other lords and knights, Lucerys had been steadfast in his support of Aerys. He had disliked Rhaegar immensely and while he had been always courteous to her, she doubted he had any genuine affection for her. Who was to say his fleet was here to help? Perhaps he was here to lay siege to King’s Landing – to block the port and to declare Viserys as his King.

Tywin seemed less worried: “The Old, the True and the Blundering,” he had mocked. “Lucerys and his men have seafarer's legs – not marching legs and you don’t win a war with nothing more than boats.”

It had done little to ease Elia’s worries and she had watched fretfully as the Velaryon fleet had peacefully sailed into the harbour. They made no move to form a blockade or to lay siege – in fact it seemed as if they tried their very best to seem as harmless as possible. There was only one ship to dock; the fleet’s flagship, a magnificent vessel with a lustrous silver hull. A small delegation had set foot on soil and had asked to be brought before the Queen Regent…

Waiting for them would never be comfortable. It was the nervous, tense sort of wait that had come to dominate Elia’s life and now it had been made even worse by having to sit on that damned throne. It was an uncomfortable seat, sharp, fanged, and ugly. But so far she had been lucky enough to avoid being cut or stabbed…She had hoped to avoid having to sit on it – having witnessed how it had cut and slashed Aerys had not made it an attractive seat- and it had been her understanding that Regents were not expected to sit on the Iron Throne but Tywin had disagreed and Elia hadn’t had the energy to disagree with him. He now stood to her right, ramrod straight yet completely at ease while Jaime stood to her left, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, still more comfortable as a guard than a consort. 

A gold cloak scurried through the door looking particularly harried. ‘The Dowager Queen Rhaella Targaryen and Lord Lucerys Velaryon,’ he announced.

Elia exchanged a quick look with Tywin, who simply nodded for her to carry on. But she felt as if someone had doused her with ice water. She hadn’t expected Rhaella to come. Rhaella who was pregnant. Rhaella who had lost both a son and a husband in quick succession. Rhaella who may hate her for what she had done…

‘Let them in,’ Tywin called snapping Elia out of her thoughts before hissing to her: ‘Do better.’

Elia nodded, sitting a little straighter, her hands folded demurely in her lap. He was right – she had to do better – Rhaenys and Aegon deserved better.

Rhaella stormed through the doors. She was cloaked and hooded in simple black but not the layers nor the billow of her gown could hide that she was far too thin for a woman in her condition. 

‘Your Grace,’ Rhaella said veering down into the deepest of courtesies. ‘Where is my new King? So I may honour him.’

‘Dearest mother,’ Elia blurted out, standing up from her seat and hurrying over to the only source of kindness she had known at King’s Landing. ‘You mustn’t bow to me,’ she said gently helping Rhaella to her feet.

‘Dear girl,’ Rhaella whispered pulling her into a warm, motherly embrace. ‘You did so well – so very well – you magnificent girl. And I am with you – I will always be with you.’

‘I am sorry - so very sorry,’ Elia muttered.

Rhaella held her at arm’s length, staring at her with those pale, lilac eyes, tears streaming down her ashen, sunken cheeks. ‘You did nothing wrong. You did what you had to do to survive – to have your children survive. You are strong Elia, stronger than I could ever hope to be and I do not scorn you for it – I admire you. I so admire you my girl.’ She took Elia’s hands in hers and pressed a kiss to them. 

‘It is good to see you well Lady Rhaella,’ Tywin said not unkindly, though Elia couldn’t help but notice how he called her Lady Rhaella, not Dowager Queen. He was playing the game – as he always did. And with a single sentence he had reminded Rhaella how the power had shifted – who he was now and who she was now.

‘Thank you Lord Tywin,’ Rhaella said unflinchingly. ‘How generous of you to come to my good-daughter’s aid in these trying times. I am most grateful.’

‘My good-daughter now, Lady Rhaella,’ Tywin said. ‘The heart wants what it wants and Jaime chose her. After that I had little choice but to come to her aid,’ Tywin said gesturing towards Jaime.

So that was how he was selling it? As a love story. What did he expect? That the smallfolk would cast her as Jenny of Oldstones and Jaime as prince Duncan? So in love, they’d lost common sense? So in love, he’d give up everything for her? So in love, he’d kill his king? Such romantics did not suit Tywin Lannister – they did not suit him at all…

‘How very gallant of you,’ Rhaella said, her tone even. ‘To so selflessly take on the cause of a widow and her children.’ 

‘She’s no longer a widow,’ Tywin reminded her sharply. ‘She is my son’s wife.’

‘Of course, apologies,’ Rhaella said coolly before tightly clasping Elia’s hand in hers. ‘I wish you a lifetime of happiness my girl and I pray to the Mother Ser Jaime will treat you better than -,’ her voice caught in her throat.

‘It’s all right – we’re all right,’ Elia said gently. ‘Shall I take you to go see the children? We can discuss matters there – if that is all right with you, Lord Velaryon.’

Lord Velaryon bowed his silver head. ’Lead the way, Your Grace.’

Only a few days later Elia found herself once again watching a fleet enter the harbour. Only this time Elia was not watching them from the Red Keep, this time Elia was standing on the dock – and instead of worry and anguish she felt only a silly sort of joy.

She’d dressed in one of her finest Dornish gowns and had wrangled Rhaenys into a matching dress. They held hands as Rhaenys chatted excitedly describing every ship that came into the harbour. They had not seen their visitor since they had left Dragonstone and Rhaenys could not have more than a vague memory of his face. But she knew him well from the letters and gifts he sent her and was, therefore, every bit as excited as her mother.

‘An impressive fleet,’ Jaime remarked from behind her, sounding as surprised as Elia was by the sheer number of ships entering the harbour.

‘How many men did your brother say he was bringing with him?’ Tywin questioned from atop his white horse, surrounded by gold cloaks and Lannister men alike. 

‘He did not say,’ Elia answered honestly, ‘but he has always been one for dramatics.’

Tywin pursed his lips, quite obviously unimpressed but Elia did not care; she knew her brother and she knew his worth. 

‘There could be five thousand men on those ships,’ Jaime said eyeing the fleet. ‘A very welcome reinforcement – and not a reinforcement the Rebels will be taking into account.’

It was then that Elia caught sight of a familiar figure appearing on the deck of the first boat to dock – and her heart fluttered with pure joy.

‘Oberyn!’ she called, as excitable as a child.

He looked up at the sound of his name and smiled brightly when he saw them waiting for him. The sun had burned his face a darker brown and he was even leaner than the last time she’d seen him but it was still Oberyn, her dear, sweet Oberyn.

‘Go,’ Jaime prompted as he laid a hand on Rhaenys’ tiny shoulder. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her – go greet your brother.’ 

‘Thank you, husband,’ Elia said with a smile 

The dockworkers and Oberyn’s men hurried to secure boat – but no matter how they hurried it didn’t seem quite fast enough and as soon as the gangway was placed both siblings were moving towards each other. Elia’s skirts fluttered around her calves as she raised them, just as she had done when they were little and playing catch around the Water Gardens. It was terribly unladylike, and her good-father and guards would undoubtedly judge her for it - but none of that matter now. Oberyn, here with her, alive and well was all that mattered.

They met halfway and Elia threw himself into his waiting arms – without shame or hesitance. This was Oberyn – her closest confidant, her childhood companion, her dear, sweet brother – between them there would never be formality or hesitance. Her brother held her tightly, his strong arms encircling her, embracing her completely, as they gently swayed back and forth as if leaves in the wind.

‘You’re here, you’re really here,’ Elia muttered as her heart screamed: “I’m not alone anymore” - it was how she had felt ever since Rhaegar had abandoned her to his father’s whims – alone, so very terribly alone.

‘I was so afraid I was going to be too late,’ Oberyn whispered into her hair, in a tone that was for her and her alone. 

‘You’re not too late – I’m still here – I’m fine.’

‘But not because of me,’ Oberyn muttered bitterly. ‘I knew he did not deserve you – I knew. And I should have hunted him down the moment he left you for that child bride. He’s lucky Baratheon got to him before I did. But I swear to you in the afterlife Rhaegar will meet my blade.’

‘Oh hush Oberyn,’ Elia said ignoring the familiar ache in her breast that always seemed to accompany any mention of Rhaegar. ‘You are my little brother – not my keeper. And you’re here now, that’s all that matters.’ 

‘And I’ll be here until the very end,’ Oberyn said pressing a kiss to her forehead, ‘my little Queen.’ 

‘Queen Regent,’ Elia corrected as Oberyn released her from his embrace.

‘Prince Oberyn it is good to see you,’ Jaime said, he had walked up behind them, awkwardly holding Rhaenys’ tiny hand in his – an endearing sight. 

‘Ser Jaime,’ Oberyn said with a smirk, ‘though I suppose I ought to call you brother now? My congratulations on your marriage to my sister – I hope you make better choices than her first husband did.’

‘I know I do not have a reputation for cleverness brother, but I am not dim enough to knowingly cross the famed Red Viper,’ Jaime answered with a smirk of his own. 

Oberyn laughed sharply. ‘That sounds plenty clever to me,’ he said before his eyes finally fell on Rhaenys. It was baffling how quickly his demeanor changed as he came down onto his knees. ‘Hello my little princess – will you not greet your uncle?’

Rhaenys had always been a brave child. Hesitance and bashfulness were both foreign to her so it didn’t surprise Elia when she let go of Jaime’s hand without so much as a second thought and threw herself into Oberyn's waiting arms, squealing as he picked her up and pressed kisses to both her cheeks.

‘How big you’ve gotten!’ Oberyn said bouncing her in his arms. 

‘Did you bring me a gift?’ Rhaenys asked excitedly, her dark purple eyes dancing with glee. 

‘Of course I brought you a gift – and a truly kingly one at that.’

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

 Winterfell – Present Day 

The young men had gone out to hunt as early as dawn. Ned had seen them off but had stayed behind himself. After all, this hunt was not quite a hunt, their group was far too large for it. This was more of a friendly ride through the woods, a chance for the young to bond - and Ned hadn’t been a young man for a long time... Instead he’d sent some of his household guards along, with his commander Jory Cassel at the helm. Ned had known Jory all of the younger man’s life and trusted him without reserve. He did not doubt Jory would be able to properly handle the boisterous group with his calm, kindly ways.

The Queen Regent surprisingly had taken no such measures. Her guard had remained at Winterfell – even Arthur Dayne. It had been an obvious show of trust, both towards the North and the gaggle of young men that surrounded her boys.

Part of Ned had been pleased with Elia Martell’s obvious goodwill towards the North while another part, the louder part, had been anxious. Northerners were stubborn folk with little time for pretty manners and many of them held well-worn grudges over what had happened - not only during the Rebellion but during the Conquest itself.  He’d seen how some of his own bannermen had reacted less than courteous towards the boy – their future king – and he did not doubt that some of the smallfolk, emboldened by his lack of dragon, might do the same. Ned thanked the Gods that Theon Greyjoy and his smart mouth were far away sailing some sea, or the boy would have undoubtedly gotten himself into a world of trouble…

Midday had come and gone by the time Ned had been called to the Hunter’s Gate to greet the party as they returned. He did a quick headcount, pleased to see all riders who had set out had also returned to the keep. They were in good spirits, smiling and laughing amongst themselves and more importantly, apart from the normal spatters of mud – they were completely spotless. If they had encountered trouble –it hadn’t bothered them much. 

Jory brought up the rear of the party, and he smiled and nodded at Ned clearly pleased with how the day had gone. ‘My Lord,’ he greeted dismounting his horse with ease, a stable boy immediately taking over the reins.

‘I take it things went well?’

‘Better than I had expected,’ Jory answered. ‘Robb did you proud today – he was an attentive and gracious host. I think the Southron boys took quite a shine to him.’

‘And what of the Prince?’ Ned asked quietly, watching the boy laugh at something his half-brother said, his short, silvery-blond hair catching the sunlight as if a crown.

‘A good boy,’ Jory said, ‘perhaps even a great man one day.’

It was high praise coming from such a clearheaded man as Jory. ‘How so?’

Jory shrugged. ‘There’s something about him My Lord – just like there is something about you – he’s the sort of man men would follow, even without that big beast of his.’

Ned was about to ask how the hunt itself had gone when he caught sight of something from the corner of his eye, drawing his attention elsewhere. It had been little more than a glimpse, a fleeting hint of colour – a pair of eyes. The eyes belonged to a boy who stood at the far end of the yard, patting his horse on the neck as he conversed amiably with a Dornish sword.  He was tall, taller even than the Prince, with a very comely face and a very familiar set of purple eyes – eyes Ned knew well because they had never quite stopped haunting him. This was one of Ashara’s boys – it had to be. Rarely had Ned seen a boy favour his mother so in look. The sight of him stirred something inside of Ned – a visceral sort of ache. If his child had lived – would it have looked like this boy? Strong of limb with that Dayne grace and its mother’s purple eyes? It was a melancholy thing – to long for something you never truly had. To long for one child while six others grew strong and healthy around you.

A hand touched his forearm and Ned turned his attention back to Jory who looked at him with a worried frown: ‘My Lord – are you well?'

‘I’m fine Jory,’ Ned said reassuringly. ‘Simply distracted – apologies.’

‘Father?’ It was Robb walking towards them with Grey Wind at his heels, a concerned look etched onto his young face. ‘Is something the matter?’

Of course, Robb had noticed his distraction, Ned thought with a rueful smile, Catelyn’s blood ran strongly through their eldest his veins. ‘Nothing to worry you,’ he said simply, patting Jory’s shoulder as the commander took his leave. ‘How was the hunt?’

‘Good – though we didn’t do much hunting,’ Robb said as he slid off his riding gloves and tucked them in his belt.

 ‘What happened?’

‘Everywhere we went folk turned up – curious to catch a glimpse of the Dragon Prince. It scared off the game.’

Ned frowned, though he should have expected it. The North might have little love for a foreign ruler but dragons – dragons fascinated all.

‘Did the Prince mind?’

‘Not at all,’ Robb said. ‘He greeted everyone we came across and took the time to speak to them. Once that spread people were lining up to meet him. It wasn’t what we’d planned but I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.’

Ned nodded, somewhat impressed by Aegon’s initiative – his mother had raised him sensibly. ‘A good Lord makes time for the smallfolk and the smallfolk respect him all the more for it. Remember what you saw today Robb – it will serve you well once Winterfell is yours.’

Robb nodded dutifully. ‘Yes, father.’

‘What do you think of the Prince?’ Ned asked quietly – though none of the Northern or Southron boys seemed to pay any mind of them: they were all too preoccupied with laughing merrily and seeing to their horses

‘He seems…good,’ Robb said with a shrug. ‘He’s kindly and gracious to everyone, like you would hope a King to be like. Not at all what I’d expected of him – I’d expected airs and graces, that’s what they say about Southron Lords, isn’t it? That they’re soft and fussy – well he’s not. A pig farmer invited us to sit at his table and he gladly did. Didn’t even blink when a pig nudged him.’

‘Well if you are used to dragons I can’t imagine a pig giving you much pause.’

Rob grinned. ‘I heard the men say he climbed into the dragon’s mouth last night.’

Of course, that story had rapidly made its way through Winterfell.

‘I don’t doubt he is able to do as he pleases with his dragon,’ Ned said before nodding towards Grey Wind, who sat placidly at his master’s side. ‘His beast is as loyal to him as Grey Wind is to you and Ghost is to Jon.’ Ned searched the group for a glimpse of white fur and red eyes but could not spot the quiet wolf – or Jon for that matter, in the gaggle of activity.

‘Where is Jon?’ Ned asked. ‘Did you not invite him?’

The words “Did your mother tell you to leave him behind” were not spoken but hung heavily in the air around them. Things had been…difficult with Catelyn as of late. The visit of the Queen Regent and the future King had brought some old grievances between Ned and his wife back to the surface; the shadow of his dead brother and the existence of Jon once again widening the rift between them. It brought a bitter twist to Ned’s mouth.

‘Father I never leave out Jon,’ Robb said, his eyes earnest. Ned knew Robb cared deeply for Jon, that he considered him a true brother, and that his mother’s behaviour towards Jon often troubled him more than he cared to admit.

Ned squeezed his shoulder with a faint smile. ‘Good man.’

Robb looked down, embarrassed by the praise.

Then suddenly the crowd went quiet and the jumble of men and horses at the centre of the yard folded open to reveal the familiar, slight figure of a woman. The Queen Regent. Ned had planned to have supper with her and his bannermen to discuss certain matters  – he certainly hadn’t expected her to appear in the cold, gloom of the yard. But there she stood, draped in a heavy, black furs – greeting her sons and the men surrounding them. She had dressed in a practical, crimson gown and wore her hair down, a thick river of black falling down to her waist, making her look younger than her actual years. At her side stood the baseborn niece who served as her girl guard. Ned had taken notice of her the previous evening – it was hard not to: she was a big woman with angry black eyes and an unsmiling mouth. Fat Tom had told Ned that old Mors Umber had made an uncouth remark towards the girl and it was only thanks to an intervention from the Smalljon that his great-uncle hadn’t been speared like a roast pig.

‘I should go see to my horse,’ Robb said, but his eyes were on the Queen Regent and Ned couldn’t help but notice how he gave Grey Wind a quick, nervous stroke before heading off.

Robb did not walk towards the stables, Robb walked directly towards the Queen Regent with a determined step that betrayed intent. He bowed courteously to her and instead of walking away, he halted. Ned frowned, surprised by his son’s actions, and watched how Robb kept his head down - his stiff movement and unsure posture showing he was out of his element and fully aware of it. His cheeks turned ruddy as he spoke quietly to the Queen Regent, never quite meeting her eye, not even when he slipped her a tiny bit of parchment. Elia smiled at him then, touching his shoulder with a delicate hand as she slipped the parchment into her sleeve – Robb flushed scarlet and bowed clumsily before hurrying off to the armory.

Ned did not know what his son had done – but he was sure it was something that would cost him sleep.

‘Lord Stark,’ Elia greeted with a smile, her niece hovering at a respectful distance as she approached him. ‘I was told I would find you here.’

So she had been looking for him – not her boys.

‘Your Grace,’ Ned said with a respectful nod, ‘I had not expected to see you here.’

‘There are some things I’d prefer to discuss with you without the input of others,’ she said surprising Ned with her honesty as she clasped her hands demurely in front of her.  ‘Perhaps you can show me the Godswood and the Glass Gardens? Your wife told me they’re quite beautiful.’

Ned could hardly imagine Catelyn refer to the Godswood as beautiful, but nodded nonetheless as he guided her past the kennels.

‘Is there something troubling you, Your Grace?’

‘No Lord Stark,’ Elia said, ‘I seek your opinion on something far less grave than you might expect. I’d like to speak to you about the Greyjoy boy.’

Ned let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. ‘Theon? What has he done?’

‘What has he done,’ Elia repeated. ‘So I take it the boy is a handful?’

‘He is wild at times, but he has a good heart. My children are quite fond of him.’

‘Lord Lucerys is less impressed with him I’m afraid,’ Elia said with a sigh. ‘In his last letter, he complained the boy was a drunken letch who he wouldn’t trust with a skiff.’

Ned grimaced. Theon never spoke much about his other foster family and Ned had often wondered how the boy fared under the guardianship of Lord Velaryon.

Splitting Theon Greyjoy’s fostering had been the Queen’s idea – and in theory, Ned had thought it quite clever. It had been in everyone’s interest to see to it that when his Balon Greyjoy died his lordship would pass to a more peaceful, benevolent ruler. But with cruelty and barbarism being staples of the Greyjoy bloodline it was necessary to see Theon raised elsewhere, so he would uphold different ideals than the despicable iron price. Yet for his peoples to respect him as Lord, Theon had to be hard enough to survive the rugged Iron Islands and capable enough to command a fleet. It was a delicate balance no single family could guarantee. Therefore it was decided that Theon would split his time equally between Winterfell and the Driftmark – and that by the grace of the gods he would grow up to be a better man than his forbearers.

‘He can be arrogant,’ Ned said, ‘and he takes very few things seriously -,’

‘I believe Lord Lucerys’s son has threatened to beat the sly smirk off his face.’

‘We’ve all felt that urge,’ Ned conceded as he led her through one the Godswood’s gates.

Elia laughed – it was a pleasant laugh, deep for a woman yet clear and lively. ‘So he is a handful? Though at his age can we still call it a handful? He is almost a man grown, when we were his age we –’ She stopped abruptly and Ned knew why: their past would never be a comfortable subject between them.

‘He is not like us, Your Grace, he has never felt the brunt of such responsibility. Of course, I would like him to be more serious, more responsible but he’s not cruel and when his time comes, I trust him to do the right thing.’

‘I always wonder if I had done right by him,’ Elia said, ‘the knowledge that I’d stolen a child away from its mother has always troubled me.’

‘His brothers were terrors – if we had left him with his kin Theon would have grownup to be like them and in the end, he would have ended up dead like them,’ Ned said. ‘I like to imagine Catelyn and I have treated him well and he does not hate the time he spends with us.’

‘You’ll bring him with you to Rhaenys’ wedding won’t you?’ Elia asked. ‘I’d like to make my own judgement about him.’ She voiced it as a request, but Ned recognized a demand when he heard it.

‘I will – if Lord Lucerys does not drown him before his return,’ Ned said wryly.

Elia smiled, amused. ‘I asked him to have some more patience with the boy – his loyalty to Aegon will overcome the urge to drown him, I’m sure.’

They walked quietly for some time,  Elia keenly taking in the trees, pools, and rocks that made up the Godswood. It struck Ned how out of place looked. The Godswood was the North – dark, sturdy and ancient and Elia was a Martell, a child of the sun – a delicate thing with dusky skin made for warm southern summers.

‘Lord Stark,’ she said suddenly, her tone serious as she halted right in the shadow of the Weirwood tree, ‘Do not think I have not noticed that our presence has made you weary.’

‘Your Grace,’ Ned started, but she silenced him with dark eyes and a single raised hand.

‘I know that you are haunted by memories and that certain hurts cannot be forgiven or forgotten – because it is the same for me,’ she said fervently. ‘Do not think being here has been easy for me Lord Stark? I know I am an unwelcome guest. I can see it in your eyes, in your bannermen’s eyes – the disregard, the loathing, but I smile and I bear it. And do you know why? Because I love my children and I wish for them never to have to see the dark days of war. I want Aegon to be a king of peace – not of fire and blood.’

The Dornish had a reputation in the North for cowardice and a low cunning – even kindly, trusting Jon Arryn had referred to them as little more than snakes masquerading as men. But Elia Martell was very different indeed. She was a brave, honest, honourable woman who loved her children dearly – it was something Ned understood, it was something Ned could admire.  

‘Apologies,’ he said with a bow of his head. ‘I have been – discourteous to you.’

Elia sighed. ‘You’ve been human and I do not blame you for it. What happened to your father and brother was a terrible thing. But Aegon deserves the same fair chance you’ve given Theon. He is nothing like Aerys…nor is he anything like Rhaegar,’ she’d spoken those last six words quietly as if a memory had suddenly taken hold of her.

‘He is very different indeed,’ Ned agreed. How much time had he wasted anguishing over the boy’s every word and move? Searching, waiting for something, anything to remind him of Aerys and Rhaegar - only to come up empty.

‘Aegon is curious about him sometimes,’ Elia whispered as if she were telling him a secret, ‘or at least he used to be...Rhaenys is different – she’s disowned Rhaegar more vehemently than he disowned her.’

Ned felt a strange sort of satisfaction at her admission, that even in the afterlife Rhaegar was being punished by those he’d harmed. It should shame him to think so ill of the dead – but even now, after all these years, he could not forgive Rhaegar. He’d been a man grown, with a beautiful wife and two fine children – he should have known better.

‘I am glad your daughter does not mourn him. She was old enough to remember...’

‘She’s a clever girl my Rhaenys. My brother Oberyn says she’s Visenya reborn,’ Elia laughed softly, melancholically. ‘I don’t encourage it, but I’m glad it’s Visenya she’s compared to – her own bit of revenge against Rhaegar.’

‘Your Grace?’

Elia smiled at him, sadly almost. ‘Sometimes I think he named her Rhaenys as a jab at my heritage. The first Queen Rhaenys died in Dorne, did you know? Shot out of the sky. Why if not to needle me, would he have named the daughter of a Dornish princess Rhaenys? I never said this to her, I never spoke ill of him to his children, but she put the pieces together herself I think – and she’s loathed him ever since.’

‘It is a sad thing for a child – to learn their father is not the man he should have been.

‘Rhaegar is not their father,’ Elia said decisively. ‘Yes Rhaegar sired them – but Jaime is their father in every way that counts and they’re both better off for it.’

Was the Kingslayer a better man than Rhaegar? Ned’s heart said yes, but his mind was not so easily persuaded…Jaime Lannister loved his children and had taken on Rhaegar’s as his own but Ned doubted the Lannister had done so out of nothing but kindness.

King’s Landing - 283 AC

It was a common problem that when faced with Prince Oberyn Martell, only very few people knew what to do with him…He was after all merely a second son. The younger brother of a capable Lord who had already fathered two heirs. Any other man in his position would have been a man of little consequence. But all those who knew Oberyn, or knew of him, knew the opposite was true.  Half-mad and violent, but formidable and genius all the same – there was no ignoring Oberyn Martell.

Jaime too didn’t know what to do with Oberyn – he didn’t even know what to think of him. The man was a riddle - very unlike any other lordling, Jaime had ever met, and very unlike Jaime himself. Oberyn did not covet honour or knightly glory and he obviously did not care a lick about what people had to say about him. A warrior, a horseman, a poisoner, a sellsword, a whoremonger – Oberyn’s reputation was as carnal as it was deadly.

Yet here he sat with Aegon on his knee as the rest of them meant to speak of strategy and war. Jaime had never seen a man play with a child, let alone seen one act so comfortable with a babe. Babes and children were a woman’s plight - yet here sat the fearsome and notorious Oberyn Martell bouncing a child on his knee. And part of Jaime wondered if he too would one day be this comfortable with a child whether it be Aegon or a child of his own…

‘Prince Oberyn,’ Tywin said icily, his annoyance palpable.

‘Yes?’ Oberyn said innocently, though his smirk spoke volumes. He knew exactly how much he irked Tywin and it amused him to no end.

‘Though I understand how pleased you must be to see your sister and hers again. I do believe we have more pressing matters to attend to,’ Tywin said fixing Oberyn with an unblinking glare.

Rhaenys, sweet and precocious as she was, considered her new grandfather’s words as a prompt to tug at her uncle’s arm. ‘Gift?’ she enquired.

Jaime couldn’t help but chuckle– it earned him a sweet smile from Elia and a far less amused look from his father.

Oberyn however laughed loudly, obviously very taken with his little niece’s dare. ‘Gift,’ he repeated, his black eyes dancing with amusement, ‘how dare I forget?’

Rhaenys looked up at him, her amethyst eyes large and gleeful as she smiled up at Oberyn.

‘Prince Oberyn,’ Tywin started in the admonishing tone Jaime knew so very well, ‘it’s hardly the time for games and pleasantries. I suggest we send the children to the nursery-,’

‘I am not playing games Lord Tywin – I am giving my sister’s children a present,’ Oberyn said as he deftly handed Aegon over to Elia. ‘And besides, we cannot talk of war yet – he’s not here yet.’

‘He?’ Tywin drawled.

‘My gift for the adults,’ Oberyn said with a sharp grin. ‘I’m sure you’ll approve.’

Tywin simply glowered and Jaime doubted his father would approve of anything Oberyn did for a very long time to come. He was not in the habit of forgiving frivolousness - or backtalk for that matter...But Oberyn carried on completely unaffected, instead having one of his men bring in a small, wooden chest and place it on the ground so it was within the reach of Rhaenys’ stubby little fingers.

‘Come here sweetling,’ Oberyn said crouching down. Rhaenys happily complied, her eyes fixed on the chest in front of them and wringing her little hands in anticipation.

‘There better not be a weapon in there Oberyn,’ Elia said and to Jaime, it didn’t seem as if she was jesting…

‘I have daughters Elia, I know she’s too young for weapons,’ Oberyn remarked.

‘With you, there’s always the possibility of there being weapons,’ Elia stated, wincing as Aegon gave a lock of her hair a particularly enthusiastic tug.

‘You wound me, sister,’ Oberyn said with a smile that could only be described as feral.

‘Can I open it?’ Rhaenys asked clearly using every bit of self-control to not throw the manners her mother had already instilled in her overboard.

‘Of course, you can,’ Oberyn whispered dramatically, his grin mischievous and for a moment Jaime thought Rhaenys would squeal with delight. She excitedly reached for the latch of the chest, tiny fingers fidgeting clumsily before finally unlatching it.

Inside the chest lay three large, scaled eggs, with tiny flecks and streaks of gold and bronze dotting them and shimmering beautifully as they caught the sunlight. It was impossible not to know what they were – though Jaime had never in his life seen one before and frankly had never expected to either.

‘Oberyn are those -,’ Elia started before Rhaenys interrupted her with an excited squeal of: ‘Beautiful!’

‘Do you know what they are Rhaenys?’ Oberyn asked patiently.

‘Eggs?’

‘Yes, they’re dragon eggs,’ Oberyn said. ‘A dragon laid them many, many years ago – but there were no tiny baby dragons in them so they never hatched. But they’re still very pretty aren’t they?’

‘Beautiful,’ Rhaenys repeated with a dazzling smile reaching out to grab one.

‘Careful my little princess,’ Oberyn warned, ‘they’re quite heavy.’

Rhaenys gave Oberyn a wide-eyed nod before cautiously picking up the middle egg with both hands. The eggs truly were as beautiful as jewels and the one that had drawn the little girl’s eye was a magnificent emerald green colour

‘Where did you find those relics?’ Tywin asked eyeing the eggs with an appraising eye.

‘I bought them off a magister from Pentos,’ Oberyn said. ‘He required some persuasion before he wanted to part with them – but as you know I am a very persuasive man.’

Rhaenys waddled over to Jaime, awkwardly clutching the egg to her stomach to keep it from slipping from her fingers.

‘Look Jaime,’ she said enthusiastically, smiling brilliantly. ‘Look what uncle gave me.’

For a moment Jaime was at a loss – what was she expecting from him? Of course, he’d spoken to her before, but this was the first time Rhaenys had come up to him and had started a conversation with him – a conversation he was expected to partake in. He exchanged a look with Elia, silently asking for her advice.

But Elia simply smiled, encouraging him with a nod of her head.

Jaime dropped down to his knee so he was at eye-level with Rhaenys and ran a finger over the egg’s scaly shell. ‘It is lovely…sweetling.’

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

 Winterfell – Present Day 

During the previous day’s hunt Robb had invited prince Aegon and his brother to join him in the training yard for some friendly sparring. And somehow that training session had been turned into an event. Ned suspected Jory and Rodrick Cassel had set things in motion but that they had found an eager ally in Catelyn…since suddenly the friendly training session had all the airs of a small tournament. Arrangements and invitations had been made and the servants had been instructed to drag chairs onto the bridge connecting the armoury to the keep, transforming it into a rather sad viewing tribune.

Ned hadn’t liked it at first – it had felt like a bad omen to pit the youth of the North against the youth of the South - to pit Robb against his soon-to-be king.

He understood why the young men had conspired to meet each other in the training yard and knew there had been no malice in Robb’s invitation. Both sides had grown up hearing outlandish tales about each other’s Houses from wars long past so it was only natural they were curious about each other’s techniques and ability. But he worried what angrier, more rancorous men could turn this sparring match into…

And apparently, he hadn’t been the only one. With a simple remark from Elia at the previous night’s dinner, the sparring match had been turned into a lesson. Robb and the other boys involved had not noticed this subtle manoeuvring – no, they had relished in it. For the grand promise of Arthur Dayne training with them had made their plans only sweeter. After all, the chance to train alongside the fabled Sword of the Morning was the stuff of dreams for many a young man. It had made Ned breathe a little easier and some of his worries had been lifted though he still felt unease at having to witness the war he had fought being played out in a smaller, friendlier version…

His children, unburdened by time and worry, had felt no such trepidation. Bran and Rickon had sworn to be on their best behaviour, and Arya and Sansa had begged their mother for a reprieve from their lessons; Arya for a chance to see the fabled Sword of the Morning train, Sansa for somewhat more girlish reasons…Even Jon, who had spent most of the royal visit in self-imposed hiding, had reappeared after Catelyn and their visitors had retired for the night and had smiled nervously as Robb had clapped him on the shoulder, beaming with infectious excitement.

It was still morning when Ned took his seat on the tribune. The air around him was cold and dreary, the sort of clammy weather that settled into your limbs and chilled you to the bone.  Yet many of his bannermen had already found their way out of their beds and onto the bridge to watch the boys train. The Queen Regent too appeared, along with her daughter and her niece, but her husband was curiously missing from her company. Both mother and daughter were wrapped in heavy furs and both looked very lovely indeed, while their girl guard was dressed practically in breeches and a thick wool cloak, a spear clutched tightly in her hand. Arya stared openly at the warrior woman, eyeing her breeches with envy.

Catelyn steered the princess Nymeria away from her mother, instead seating her between Sansa and Arya. Both of Ned’s daughters had discovered they liked the princess and had so far refrained from arguing in her presence – something both Catelyn and Septa Mordane had previously deemed impossible. The three of them were joined by Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel. The girls spoke quietly amongst themselves: the Lannister girl pointing out her brothers’ three companions, enrapturing Sansa, Jeyne and Beth for one reason and Arya for an entirely different one.

Elia was seated neatly between Ned and Catelyn – and Ned was quite sure it had to do with the cold look Catelyn had given him when he had told her that Jon would be joining Robb and his companions…

But his sons were only two of the five Northern lordlings in the training yard. They were joined by Ned’s namesake Eddard Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, and standing head and shoulders above the rest of them, Smalljon Umber. Prince Aegon was joined by his brother of course, and three of their closest companions. The eldest was the stony-faced Bastard of Godsgrace, Daemon Sand, a Dornish bastard whom it was whispered Aegon meant to name to the Kingsguard. The other was Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, a skilled young man who was as pretty as a maiden’s dream yet the air of arrogance about him was anything but attractive. But it was the third boy who drew Ned’s eye the most. Ashara’s boy, Ares Selmy, who carried the legacy of two famed men on his broad shoulders. He was tall and exceptionally handsome, even more so than Prince Aegon himself, and the Knight of Flowers too seemed but very plain in comparison.

‘Is that Barristan the Bold’s son?’ Ned heard Arya ask. Of course, Arya would know Barristan Selmy – even in the North his name held meaning to those who admired great deeds and every bard seemed to sing at least one song about Barristan the Bold’s achievements.

‘Yes, Ares is his eldest,’ Nym answered. ‘He favours his mother though – except for his blond hair. But papa says they do move the same way, and I suppose papa would know.’

‘He’s very handsome,’ Jeyne Poole said with a giggle.

Arya made a face. ‘Who cares if he’s handsome? He’s a Dayne and a Selmy – chances are he’ll soon be the best sword in all of the Seven Kingdoms. He’s -,’

It was then that Arthur Dayne entered the training yard – his presence effectively hushing Arya and the rest of the gathered crowd. For once he was without his white cloak, and instead of armour he donned leathers and wools – it only served to make him look more intimidating. But Arthur was not alone, beside him walked Jaime Lannister, a sly sort of grin plastered on his face. He too was dressed in leathers and wools, his sword hanging from his hip, and Ned’s mouth turned grim at the sight of him. He would never deny that the Kingslayer had been a keen fighter, the man was supremely skilled with a blade and that skill had been born from a talent you could not be taught – a talent age could not dim. And since Jaime had retained the physique of his youth, instead of growing thick and sluggish as others had, Ned knew the Kingslayer was still as lethal with a blade as he had been all those years ago - but he would never be able to stomach the sight of him wielding that traitorous sword of his.

 ‘Incorrigible,’ Elia said to Catelyn, though she smiled and her tone held no bite, ‘he can never resist a bit of showing off. He’s always joining in with the boys in the training yard.’  

Arthur’s deep voice bellowed over the training yard. ‘Iron sharpens iron – if you want to be a swordsman you’ll have to train – a lot. And not with wood but with live steel. It’s how I was trained when I was a boy and it’s how you’ll train today. You’re all old and practiced enough to handle it without seriously injuring your opponents and if you can’t carry yourself with restraint and care - you’ll have me to answer to and trust me I am no gentle teacher.’

The Northern boys shrank under the Sword of Morning’s scrutinizing gaze. Ned felt every year that had passed since he’d last seen Ser Arthur in his bones, but Arthur appeared almost unchanged: a tall, unbowed, comely man – a paragon of knighthood – a relic of a time long past…Who would not be intimidated in the presence of such greatness?

‘Jaime,’ Arthur said with a nod of his head. The Kingslayer answered with a grin, drawing his sword with great zest and the boys scurried to the side as the Sword of Morning and the Kingslayer started to slowly circle each other.

Their swords met violently and without warning, the deafening clang of steel on steel echoing out over the training yard. A barrage of blows was dealt out and parried at lightning speed as both men danced around each other. They were well matched - both men were strong, both men were fast, and years of training together had made them keenly aware of each other’s skill making it one of the most intricate sparring matches Ned had ever seen.

Both men were grinning as they traded blows – enjoying it in a way Ned never had. Arthur and Jaime enjoyed the feeling of steel meeting steel, the thrill of the fight,  the aching muscles, the blood thundering through their veins…

It was a single hesitation in movement – a tiny moment of indecision from Jaime that changed the momentum. In battle few men would notice -  but Arthur Dayne sniffed out weakness like a predator and grabbed the upper hand immediately, raining a slew of blows down on his opponent. Forcing Jaime into the defensive and leaving him no chance to regain even a sliver of control. It ended when Jaime scrambled to block a powerful swing to his knees by reversing his grip and planting his sword into the ground – it was grist to Arthur’s mill. He landed his blow low near the tip of Jaime’s sword. And with one hand at the base of Dawn’s blade and the other on its pummel he dislodged Jaime’s sword with a powerful flick of his hand - effectively disarming him.

‘Yield?’ Arthur asked with a small grin, waving Dawn in Jaime’s general direction.

‘Only to you,’ Jaime said with a dramatic sigh before his face twisted into a boyish sort of grin, ‘and my lady wife of course. I’m forever bested by you damned Dornish.’

There was deserved applause, though some offered it only begrudgingly, and Arya whooped with delight. Ned let her – it had after all been a magnificent spar, the best he’d ever witnessed. and for a moment he wondered what would have happened if Arthur Dayne had been at the Trident. Would Ned have fallen to Dawn? Would Robert have? And Rhaegar – would Rhaegar had lived? And perhaps if Rhaegar had lived then maybe Lyanna…Ned shook his head, banishing the thought.

Arthur paired up the boys – South against North and set them to work: commenting, adjusting, demonstrating as they toiled under both his and Jaime’s watchful gazes.

It seemed Robb had chosen his companions wisely. All boys performed well. Though Ned had to begrudgingly admit Aegon and his companions were a tad more skillful, a tad more practiced...Except for Jon – of course, Jon. He fought well in every bout, putting up a good fight against each of his opponents, even the Bastard of the Godsgrace, a man grown who had completely dominated Karstark and Hornwood. It came as no real surprise to Ned, Jon had always been skillful with a blade, he was as hardworking as Robb, perhaps even more so because of his baseborn status, but innately more talented. Ned was proud of him – Ned was always proud of Jon. He loved Jon the same as he did all his children and in all ways except for one Ned truly was Jon’s father - but what a damned fool he’d been to forget, even just for a moment, Jon had another father too…

It had been a mistake to let Jon join participate, a terrible mistake. And as Jon came face to face with Aegon - Ned could hardly believe just how careless he had been and how casually he had endangered the deception that had been so meticulously crafted. It was not that the boys looked alike because they did not. Where Aegon was a child of the summer, a boy made out of golds, silvers, and smiles, Jon was the winter, Jon was a Stark, pale, dark, and brooding. Standing across from each other no one would think them blood relations but then there was Elia. Elia had been Rhaegar’s wife, if anyone would remember the way he moved, the angles of his face, the curve of his mouth...It would be her.

But luckily Ned was not the only player in this deception – his eyes sought out Arthur’s and he saw his own alarm mirrored in the famed Dayne eyes. It seemed as if Arthur too had realized what could go wrong.

‘Lann stop showing off!’ Arthur barked as he stepped over to where the Lannister boy was sparring with Robb, drawing the eye away from Jon and Aegon. ‘That’s a sword not one of your uncle’s spears – there’s no need to twirl it.’

Lann grinned at his teacher’s admonishment but did as instructed and grasped his sword hilt with both hands, keeping it steady as he circled Robb. The Lannister boy moved like his uncle Oberyn, Ned decided, nimble and quick as a cat – untouchable by mere mortals. He could have beaten Robb three times over by now but he drew out the fight, giving him an inch only to snatch it back.

Robb grunted as Lann once again danced out of his reach and his cheeks turned red with more than just exertion as his eyes flitted over to the huddle of girls to Ned’s right. He was flustered. Clearly, Robb had hoped to use today to demonstrate his skill, to impress. Here, aside from Jon, Robb had always been peerless and he had sorely underestimated his Southron guests.

‘Robb don’t throw yourself into every swing!’ Arthur remarked as once again Lann easily parried Robb’s forceful attack. ‘You can’t keep this up – no one can. You’re going keel over in exhaustion.’

Robb frowned, unsure of what to do.

‘Stop,’ Arthur ordered and Lann dutifully planted his sword into the ground. ‘You’re strong – that much is obvious and I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of beating most men purely on strength. But Lann here, he is as fast as a water snake and just as shrewd. Opponents like him are rare, but they exist, and if you keep relying on just your strength – you will never be able to beat them.’ 

‘What should I do?’

‘You use your head,’ Arthur said, clapping Robb on the shoulder. ‘You are your father’s son, you have a good head on your shoulders and a strong sword arm – all you have to do is learn to use both at the same time. When you see that what you’re doing isn’t working: adapt. By now you’ve seen what your opponent is good at, use that to your advantage, don’t keep hammering on hoping your opponent will somehow stop moving. Hold your weight back Robb; your balance will be better and you won’t have to slow yourself by using both hands.’

‘Take a few swings so you can get a feel of it,’ Lann said, ‘I’ll parry.’ 

Under Arthur’s watchful eye Robb cautiously tried a few singlehanded swings, gaining confidence and speed with each blow.

‘Good – very good Robb,’ Arthur said and Robb glowed under the Sword of Morning’s praise.

‘Good?’ A voice from behind Ned said disdainfully. ‘Let the boy fight like a Northerner instead of a Dornish snake.’

The words were spoken loudly, intentionally so, he wanted Elia to hear the slight, he wanted to insult the Queen Regent and her half-Dornish children - and insult her he did. As soon as the words were spoken Elia schooled her face into a cool, unreadable mask and straightened her back, preparing herself for whatever was to come. 

Ned too clenched his jaw, his stomach turning with icy fury as he rose from his seat to stare at the man who dared sully the dignity of Winterfell.

‘I will not tolerate such talk!’ Ned said gruffly. ‘These are my lands. Here you abide by my rules – no matter who you are.’

But Mors Umber did not cower or mutter an apology instead he met Ned’s gaze head-on. The Crowfood was not his nephew: the Greatjon Umber might not give two licks about decorum and was by no means a lapdog, but once his respect was earned it did not waver. Crowfood respected nothing and hadn’t done so in a long time...

‘I say what many of us think,’ he retorted unrepentantly as he rose to his impressive height. ‘This Dornish woman and her brood are nothing to us. Yet here we all sit pretending as if she’s our Queen – I have my bellyful of it! Why should she rule over me and mine? Because she once spread her legs for the Young Dragon? The Young Dragon is dead! He died at the Trident – just like my boys! Or have you forgotten them my lord?’ he spat venomously. ‘All the sons and brothers who died there under the Stark banner? They died for House Stark – they died for the North – not for us to lick Dornish arse.’

Ned had half expected the Greatjon to interfere – to stop his uncle from starting something that could not be undone. But he stayed seated eyeing Ned with interest, clearly sharing at least some of his uncle’s opinions.

‘Is that how you speak to your liege lord?’ Ned shouted, his mouth tightening with fury and his hand itching to grab hold of Ice. People often mistook his caution for cowardice but Crowfood was very sorely mistaken if he thought Ned would let such impudence go by unpunished.

But as Crowfood opened his mouth to retort Elia rose from her seat in one swift movement.

‘Enough!’ she said, her dark eyes narrowing into angry slits making her look very much like her brother – the vicious one. ‘Lord Umber, like it or not I am your Queen. Regardless of who my first husband was. I earned my crown – I earned my son’s crown – and the North did not.’

The bastard niece too had risen from her seat: her shoulder’s tense and the grip on her spear firm. She would have attacked he Greatjon, Ned realized, if it hadn’t been for delicate, little Nymeria. The girl had jumped to her feet, effectively blocking her cousin’s path as they spoke in rapid-fire Dornish.

Mors scowled. ‘We bent the knee to the Dragons – not a Dornish snake,’ he said before spitting on the ground.

‘Lord Umber,’ Ned started his tone low and threatening, but a loud bellow coming from the training yard below cut him off.

‘YOU WILL HOLD YOUR TONGUE IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!’

It was Aegon. And in the distance, a dragon’s roar could be heard - a menacing reminder of exactly whom they were dealing with.

Those in the training yard had become aware of the commotion and had heard what Crowfood had said. They were all staring up at the bridge except for the Smalljon, who stood towards the back, his eyes cast down, and his cheeks ruddy. Ned was glad to see both Robb and Jon falling in line behind Aegon as both Karstark and Hornwood had scampered off to the side.

Arthur’s expression was blank, always the perfect knight, but his hand was resting on Dawn and there wasn’t a doubt in Ned’s mind that at the slightest provocation he would climb atop the bridge and cut down anyone who dared to raise their voice at his Queen and kinswoman. The Kingslayer on the other hand was seething – his face an angry scowl as he clutched his greatsword in a way that made Ned think he was about to hurl it at Mors Umber.

But Aegon – Aegon’s fury stood out above that of all others.

His anger seemed to make him grow taller, more menacing, casting a long shadow over his companions as he stared down Mors Umber with those impossibly purple eyes. The colour had drained from his face turning his golden skin ashen, giving him the look of something distinctively otherworldly…and terrifying

To Ned, this was what the Targaryen’s must have looked like when they had first come to Westeros when the blood of old Valyria still ran true. This was what Torrhen Stark had yielded to all those years ago...and Ned could hardly blame him for it.

‘I do not care if you respect me,’ the boy spat, raising his sword high so it was pointed towards old Crowfood. ‘I do not care if you respect my house or my claim to the throne - but you WILL respect my mother or you will face my wrath Lord Umber.’

‘The North does not fear you boy,’ Crowfood said defiantly.

‘And I do not fear the North,’ Aegon snapped. ‘You bent the knee to my mother’s army, all those years ago, only a fool would think he would fare better against mine. Tell me lord Umber – are you a fool? You seem like one to me. Insulting not only your Queen but also your Liege Lord - and doing so all alone might I add. Or is there anyone else who would like to rebel against the crown?’ Aegon challenged his gaze gliding over the grim, silent faces of Ned’s bannermen. ‘I always heard that “the North remembers” –that is your saying, isn’t it? So I can hardly imagine you forgot what happened the last time you rebelled.’

‘Are you threatening us?’

Aegon’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘No – I am promising you. Now get out of my sight before I make good on my promise.’

King’s Landing - 283 AC

Oberyn’s gift came in the form of a man, tall and imposing, the kind few would dare to trifle with. He was dressed in light battle garb, which he had lavishly decorated with gold – a somewhat ridiculous amount of gold. His features and sharp, blue eyes were unmistakably Westerosi, but his skin was too dark to not have at least some Essosi or Sothoryi blood.

It was a very strange sight indeed to see such a man in King’s Landing. And both Rhaenys, sitting at Jaime’s feet clutching her egg as if it were a doll and Aegon perched on his mother’s lap, were staring at him with interest. Elia had offered to hand her children over to Rhaella’s capable care but Oberyn had objected stating that their guest would be “pleased to see him”.  And Oberyn’s guest did seem to take an interest in Aegon, judging from the way his eyes kept flitting towards the baby.

‘This,’ Oberyn said with a grin, as he clapped a hand on the man’s burly shoulder, ‘is Ser Laswell Peake. He’s a serjeant in the Golden Company – and the youngest to have ever earned the distinction. When he heard our plight he was most eager to help. With his commander's blessing, of course, he gathered volunteers amongst his company – many volunteers – three thousand swords in all and all of them passionate about our cause.’

The man – Laswell Peake – had stood ramrod straight and perfectly still throughout Oberyn’s introduction, his gaze fixed on something just above Elia’s head. Some would say he looked like a perfect soldier, but Elia recognized it as unease. How many times had she sat at Aerys’ table in exactly the same way? Perfectly still, afraid to move, looking towards him but never at him...And from the measuring look Tywin was studying him with it was clear he had noticed too, and he wasn’t impressed by what he saw. But Elia didn’t care what the man looked like or how he behaved. He was a serjeant in the Golden Company – the finest and most feared sellsword company in the known world. Even three thousand of them would make an impact, even three thousand of them would make the Rebels pause.

‘Ser Laswell, welcome to King’s Landing,’ Elia said with an encouraging smile. ‘I hope your travels and my brother were not too arduous.’

Oberyn let out a loud barking laugh but Laswell was far more serious. The man slammed his fist over his heart and went down onto his knee, his head bowed solemnly. ‘I Laswell of House Peake pledge both mine and my men’s fealty to the cause of the rightful king Aegon,’ he looked up clumsily. ‘If you’ll have us that is.’

There was an earnestness to his voice and a keenness in his eyes that was strange to Elia. People had rallied to her cause for many reasons, but this man, this warrior, wanted to join her cause for one reason and one reason alone: the little babe sat on her lap.

 ‘If I’ll have you?’ Elia repeated, surprise leaking into her voice. ‘Ser Laswell, you and your men are most welcome and I am very, very grateful for your aid.’

He smiled then, a charming, boyish grin – it made him look younger and Elia realised that beneath the scars and the short, black beard, there was a much younger man than you’d expect from his title as serjeant and the wealth of old he carried on his person.

‘It’s our duty to fight for our king – our true king.’

‘Duty?’ Tywin repeated with a derisive laugh. ‘You’re a sellsword – the only duty you know is the one you were paid to do.’

‘Is this how you speak to your guests?’ Oberyn bristled, earning himself a cold look that clearly showed Tywin would prefer to see her brother’s head on an execution block rather than his daughter’s pillow.

But Ser Laswell did not need her brother’s help. ‘I am no mere sellsword,’ he corrected sharply. ‘I’m a member of the Golden Company - and have been so from birth, just like my father before me. You might think us little more than hired killers but we are knights of Westeros, Ser and we did not choose this life – it was what loyalty cost us.’

Tywin eyed him appraisingly. ‘You name yourself Peake – are you a scion of House Peake of Starpike?’

Laswell nodded. ‘House Peake of Starpike, Dunstonbury, and Whitegrove. Gormon Peake was my great-grandfather.

‘Your story holds some merit,’ Tywin said, ‘Gormon Peake was an impulsive, foolhardy man, but a great knight, if the stories are to be believed. They executed him after the Second Blackfyre Rebellion, his heir was but a boy at the time – they spared his life but exiled him from Westeros nonetheless. It was written that Aegor Rivers himself fostered the boy. That means you must hold some importance within your ranks – yet at last count the Golden Company was ten thousand strong and you command a mere three thousand.’

To Elia, it seemed as if Tywin didn’t truly understand the meaning of the word “mere”.

‘Many of us have Westerosi blood but we are no longer all united by the dream of Bittersteel…Some have been blinded by our success as sellswords and by the glitter of gold. They’ve forgotten what was taken from us – where home really is. My men and I…we remember who we are – or at least who we ought to be, where we ought to be: "Beneath the gold the bitter steel". Home still means more to us than gold.’

‘You just want to come home, don’t you?’ Elia asked sympathetically.

She remembered how much she’d longed for home during those cold, lonely nights at Dragonstone. How fervently she’d wished to sweep her children off to Dorne during the horrific days spent enduring Aerys’ terror. These men too longed for their home, a home most of them only knew from stories. It was sad…so very sad.

Laswell smiled softly. ‘We don’t know what home is, Your Grace – but it sounds very sweet.’

‘Fight for my son – win for my son, and I shall give you lands and a home,’ Elia said earnestly. ‘You have my word.’

‘They’re sellswords,’ Tywin said, 'who says they won’t turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble?’

‘The Golden Company have never broken a contract,’ Oberyn said prickly. ‘And besides, not every man has the same idea of loyalty as you do.’

The set of Lord Tywin’s jaw grew more severe as a vein in his neck bulged with restraint. He was irate, obviously so and Oberyn did not seem to care at all – on the contrary. Her brother had always found it amusing to prickle more serious men, their brother being one of his most long-suffering victims. He got away with it because few men had the nerve to stand up to him – to challenge the Red Viper for fear of suffering the same fate Lord Yronwood had. But Lord Tywin was no ordinary man – Lord Tywin was the Great Lion of the Rock, a man who took every slight seriously, a man who had erased entire Houses over a slight…

Jaime watched on with a strange sort of fascination – obviously unaccustomed to anyone being so wholly unintimidated by his father.

‘Ser Laswell is a man grown,’ Tywin said sternly, ‘I am sure he doesn’t need you to speak for him, Prince Oberyn.’

‘I can speak for myself Lord Tywin,’ Laswell said, ‘and I will tell you that you must not worry yourself about my loyalty or that of my men. We came here not for a contract but because this is the battle we were meant to fight. And I promise you that Robert Baratheon will rue the day the Golden Company joined your cause – men who fight only because their lord tells them to will never fight as hard as men who fight both for a dream and a home.’

Elia felt her eyes well up but she blinked back her tears – she could not afford to cry, not in front of Twyin. He would not react kindly to such a feminine display of emotion and she would rather not give him a reason to doubt her steel.

‘I am honoured you wish to fight for my son, Ser Laswell.’

Laswell looked right at her then for the first time, his blue eyes were strange and exotic against his darker skin but so very earnest. ‘Your son is our true and destined king, Your Grace. He is the king we have been waiting for all of these years. If we don’t fight for him, we really are no different than any other sellsword company.’

Elia smiled down at her little boy, who was gummily chewing on a toy to ease the ache of his incoming teeth. It was strange to think of him as some sort of long-awaited king, though someone else had once referred to him as such…only to change his mind but half a moon later.

'May I hold him?' Laswell asked, saving her from her thoughts. 'I'd like to be able to tell my men that I met our king.'

Elia hesitated. She did not like to part with her son and behind Oberyn and Laswell she could see Jaime frown, his hand gravitating to where she knew he carried his dagger.

But Laswell seemed so very sincere. And Oberyn seemed to like him well enough – and the Gods knew her brother was an excellent judge of character, even sniffing out the rot in Rhaegar years before anyone else had taken notice...

So she smiled and said: ‘Of course,’ as she walked over to the sellsword and carefully handed him Aegon.

Laswell’s hands were large and rough and his hold clumsy – but he held Aegon carefully and the boy was completely unbothered with being handed over to this stranger. He simply stared at Laswell, his purple eyes large and thoughtful as he tried to decide what he thought of his new face.

‘Hello my little king,’ Laswell said with a smile.

Aegon answered with a great, big smile of his own as his curious little hands tugged on the golden chain that hung from the sellsword’s neck.

‘He’s strong and bonny,’ Laswell commented, deftly pulling the golden chain over his head and draping it over Aegon. His efforts were rewarded with an excited clap from the babe. ‘And he likes gold – definitely our sort of king. It will be our pleasure to serve him.’

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

 Winterfell – Present Day 

Ned walked into the Godswood in an effort to soothe his temper before some poor, unfortunate soul suffered the brunt of his mood. Smoothing things over with the Lannisters after Crowfoods outburst had been…difficult.

After the initial confrontation, Elia had been rather serene about it all – her husband on the other hand was another matter entirely. The Kingslayer had been positively fuming: ranting, raging, and demanding Crowfood meet him in a duel. Ned had been inclined to agree with the man’s demands. After all, it had been his wife and children who had been insulted and Ned did not doubt he would have responded in roughly the same manner had his family been insulted in such a way. 

But Crowfood - the damned coward - had taken off silently and mysteriously somewhere between his confrontation with Aegon and Ned summoning him. That of course had not pacified the Kingslayer at all - and he had demanded the Greatjon take his uncle’s place in the duel. That Ned would not permit. The Lannister Lion fight the Greatjon? Neither man was likely to stop at first blood and Ned had refused to allow that sort of carnage within his walls. Ned had tried his hardest to reason with the Kingslayer but the man just would not listen. It had taken many platitudes, a very begrudging and feeble apology from the Greatjon and Ned swearing to banish Crowfood from Winterfell for the Kingslayer’s fury to abide – though his mood remained sourer than Dornish wine.   

Ned did not mind bowing down to the Queen Regent and her boy – he was sworn to them and he did not take that lightly. But pandering to the wiles of Jaime Lannister was somewhat harder to stomach…

The sound of laughter echoed through the Godswood, interrupting Ned’s musings and lifting his mood. He followed the sound deep into the Godswood before halting to silently observe the scene in front of him. 

Arya was clutching Obara Sand’s spear and though not heavy, the weapon was too long and cumbersome for her small frame, and even with Lann Lannister’s holding up the end of it, she struggled to wield it but despite it all – she smiled brightly throughout her efforts.

Her wolf sat to the side, observing her master with interest as she experimentally thrust the spear forward under Obara’s expert gaze.

Prince Aegon, Ashara’s son, and the Smalljon sat on the ground, chatting amiably as they cheered on Arya’s efforts, causing her to beam with delight.

The princess Nymeria sat to their right, elegantly perched upon the trunk of a fallen tree with Robb sitting dutifully beside her and Grey Wind resting placidly at her feet. Ned knew the girl could easily have both boy and wolf at her beck and call if she so wanted...hopefully this would soon pass and Robb would set his sights on another girl – a girl within his reach – a northern girl…

‘You need a shorter spear,’ Lann remarked as he stopped the end of the spear from ramming into the ground when Arya ventured a particularly enthusiastic twirl. ‘When you come to Rhaenys’ wedding we’ll let you try one of Elia’s lances – they’re more your size.’

‘Your mother has lances?’ Arya asked, her eyes wide.

Lann laughed. ‘No, Lady Arya my mother does not have lances.’

‘Our uncle Oberyn named one of his daughters for mama,’ Nym explained. ‘The lance is her weapon of choice.’

‘Your father allows all of his daughters to carry weapons?’ Arya asked Obara, her voice laced with unconcealed envy.

‘Many Dornishmen allow their daughters to train with weapons if they so please,’ Obara explained. ‘And my father even encourages it in his daughters. When he came to take me to court my mother wept, said I was too young and a girl. Father tossed his spear at my feet and said, “Girl or boy, we fight our battles – but the Gods let us chooses our weapons.” He pointed to his spear, and then to my mother’s tears. Tears or the spear – I chose the spear.’

‘I wish my father would let me choose a weapon,’ Arya said sullenly. ‘I’m already better at archery than Bran but mother says it’s unbecoming for a lady.'

‘Arya,’ Robb said with a stern look, ‘things are different in the North – do not question mother and father.’

‘The Morment girls are allowed to fight.’

‘And they are said to bed bears – is that truly what you wish to aspire too?’ Robb questioned causing the Smalljon to chuckle.

‘Your brother is right, little fighter,’ Obara said with the calming tones of a woman used to dealing with young girls. ‘Things are different in the North but luckily Aegon is here now and wherever Aegon is his rules apply, so put your feet a little wider apart and give that swing another try.’

Ned watched on for a little while longer. It eased his mood to see the way his youngest daughter’s face glowed with joy as she handled the spear. And Ned promised himself he would take the time to teach Arya how to wield a sword. Catelyn would need some persuasion, but what kind of father would he be if he denied his daughter something she so desperately craved simply because it wasn’t a pretty dress or a fancy cloak?

For a moment Ned considered simply disappearing back to where he came from and to let the young enjoy their time together, unburdened by politics and the history that hung heavily between their parents. But he needed to speak to Prince Aegon and make sure there lingered no resentment towards the North on his part.

‘Fine form Arya,’ Ned remarked stepping out from his hiding place.

Arya dropped the spear with a start before turning towards him. ‘Father, I-,’

‘You wield that spear well,’ Ned said interrupting whatever excuse she thought she needed to make. ‘The Lady Sand is a fine teacher,’ he added with an appreciative nod towards the tall woman.

‘Thank you, Lord Stark,’ Obara said with a bow of her head. ‘Your daughter has a natural aptitude for combat.’

‘I am not surprised,’ Ned said, smiling gently at his daughter. ‘Carry on if you please, but Arya your mother will expect you clean and properly dressed at supper.’

‘Of course, father!’ Arya said smiling broadly.

‘Prince Aegon,’ Ned said turning towards his soon-to-be-king. ‘A word if you please?’

‘Of course, Lord Stark,’ the boy said, veering up and falling into step beside Ned. For a little while, they simply walked side by side in a comfortable sort of silence, both relishing in the solemn tranquillity of the Godswood.  

‘This is a lovely place,’ Aegon remarked, ‘though I don’t think that is the reason we are taking this walk, is it?’

‘I wanted to make sure Crowfood had not offended you too greatly,’ Ned said honestly. ‘He is a drunken fool, Your Grace. And I do hope you did not take his ravings too seriously.’   

‘I am not offended – nor am I angry if that is what you feared Lord Stark. I spoke to the Smalljon,' Aegon said. 'He told me about his great-uncle - about his sons and his daughter...and I found that I pitied the man. His life - it's a very sad story, Lord Stark.'

The boy was not wrong: a wife who died in the childbed; a daughter taken by Wildlings; and two sons cut down before his eyes at the Trident - Mors Umber's life had been a cruel one indeed.

'He was dealt a hard lot in life,' Ned said solemnly. 'But so were many others and they do not forget themselves because of it. It was wrong of him to speak in such a way - it was not your mother who wronged him.'

Aegon smiled, a sad sort of smile that briefly reminded Ned of that other Targaryen prince. 'No, but my father did - Rhaegar I mean. His actions cost Crowfood very dearly. The loss of what you love - it's a pain that festers and turns to anger...and anger is rarely rational. I understand his prejudice towards me and will not judge him harshly for it.'

The words sounded rather more like something a wizened old Maester would say as opposed to an unshaven youth and Ned honestly admired him for it. He remembered what he had been like at the boy's age - what Brandon had been like at the boy's age - things would have gone very differently if they'd had even some of this calm rationality.

'It was still wrong of him to speak in such a way. The Dornish never moved against the North - they simply fought to protect their own.'

'Yes, but his sons are dead...and since Rhaegar and Aerys are beyond his reach he looked for others to blame to ease his hurts,' Aegon said simply. 'It is always the living who pay for the crimes of the dead, Lord Stark. Surely you too have noticed this.'

Ned knew what the boy was alluding to. And yes he remembered clear as day how the look in his men's faces had changed when it became known Lyanna had left willingly. How their fierce loyalty had changed to pity at best and disgust at worst. Ned had spent years of his life trying to understand his sister, trying to understand why she had let things play out the way she had. Had she not known? Had Rhaegar forbidden her? Or had she simply not cared? Ned banished that last thought. Lyanna had loved him - Lyanna had loved her family and Lyanna had loved the North.

'I raised my banners,' Ned said staring off into the distance, 'I am not blameless.'

'I do not blame you - I do not blame you for anything,' Aegon said. 'What Aerys did to your father and brother was beastly - you were right to raise your banners. I would have too.'

"Father and brother" - not Lyanna, Ned was grateful for the omission. Lyanna was a painful, difficult subject that both parties gladly skirted for the simple reason that neither of them seemed to know what to say...

'I am glad,' Ned said honestly. 'I never wished any harm upon you and yours.'

And it was the truth - to this day he could not understand why Robert and Jon had conspired to kill the boy who now walked beside him. Robert, the Robert Ned had known, had been loud and brash but kind and decent - not a man who'd want a throne built upon dead children...But perhaps Robert had been like Crowfood in a way, simply looking for someone else to blame when crushing Rhaegar with his hammer hadn't satisfied his rage.

'Mother thought so too - that's why she let you go home unpunished.'

'Your mother did not punish me that much is true,' Ned said solemnly. 'But if I may teach you one thing, Your Grace?'

'Of course.'

'No one leaves a war unpunished.'

The faces of all the men he'd led into war never to return; the faces of the men who'd died by his sword; Robert and Jon; Lyanna and her little babe; and Ashara, oh gods Ashara, they haunted him every evening when he closed his for the night, chasing away whatever peace a man such as him could hope to ever find...

King’s Landing - 283 AC

Preparing for war was a unique blend of tiring and terrifying – especially when Tywin Lannister was part of your war council. Though her goodfather treated her with more respect than he afforded most, his measuring stare still grated her nerves. She had seen corpses with eyes less cold...

Lord Velaryon was only marginally better. Though intelligent and well-mannered he was proud and boastful. And Elia did not doubt that his support of her crown was solely dependent upon Rhaella’s support of her. The Velaryon loyalties had always solely laid with their Targaryen kinsman – and in Lord Lucerys’ case only the ones he personally approved of.

Laswell was useful – so useful Elia would have wept with relief if Tywin had not been there to see. He was loyal, but not reverently so. He did not nod along to whatever she said and cared very little about offending the other members of the council – their names and titles holding very little meaning to him. And more importantly – the man knew war. He had fought more battles than all others – even Tywin, the Great Lion of the Rock, had not commanded as many battles as Laswell Peake had been in and Elia valued him all the more for it.

Varys she still did not trust further than she could throw him. Though she doubted the man dared move against her while under the watchful eye of both Tywin and Oberyn. The eunuch feared Tywin – as all men seemed to do. And her brother he could not predict -no one could - and that seemed to unnerve Varys even more than all of Tywin’s might.  

Grand Maester Pycelle was harmless but also quite useless, with all his words and opinions simply echoing Tywin but in a tiresomely verbose way. Elia was quite sure it was because of Pycelle’s droning that Manly Stokeworth only rarely came to these sorts of talks. He had declared to her that “when the time comes I’ll make the Gold Cloaks do whatever you tell me to, Your Grace” and that had been enough for Elia…But it made the surprise all the greater when a lively discussion between Tywin and Laswell about the Northern forces was interrupted by Manly’s by now familiar, heavy-handed knock.

‘You may enter,’ Elia said, pleased with the diversion. Running a castle, running a country, politics - both the straightforward as the backhanded kind – were all mother’s milk to her. But waging war was something Elia knew preciously little about – despite Jaime and Oberyn’s daily tutoring sessions as they had their supper, she was still hopelessly ignorant and very much out of her depth.

Manly stomped into the room, but despite his gruff manner, he seemed oddly cheerful. ‘Your Grace,’ he said with a clumsy half-bow, ‘I dragged myself up all your stairs to inform you the Dornish troops have arrived.’

‘Good,’ Tywin said, ‘they beat Robert and Arryn by a day. How many men?’

‘The prince said about ten thousand.’

‘The prince?’ Elia questioned. ‘My brother Oberyn, you mean?’

‘No, your brother prince Doran, Your Grace,’ Manly said with a grin.

‘Doran?’ Elia repeated, bounding up from her seat. She had not expected her older brother to make the trip. He was a cautious, studious man – not a battle commander.  He rarely left the safety and comfort of Sunspear and until now he had navigated most of this war with his quill.

‘In the flesh – pleasant man and he has some magnificent guardsmen. I especially liked the look of the big one with the big axe, I suggest you give him a good spot in the vanguard, Your Grace. I’m sure he could cut down plenty of rebels with a single stroke of that longaxe.’

The big one with the big axe – who else could that be but Areo Hotah?

Brilliant, prudent Doran had come to her aid with not only with his entire army but also his most loyal, most trusted guard – one of the few men he would trust with his wife and children - one of the few men who could bring his wife and children to safety by sheer force of will.

Doran who always seemed to bet on all of the horses in a race had now firmly attached his fortunes and that of his people - her people - to her cause. The gesture was as touching as it was terrifying.

‘Queen Elia.’ It was Tywin’s gruff bark that pulled her from her thoughts.

‘Apologies,’ she said quickly, ignoring the weakness of her knees, ‘I was lost in thought for a moment – wondering how many horses Doran brought with him.’

It was a lie – a clumsy, bald-faced lie but it was the best one her rattled mind could come up with and though Tywin raised a sceptical eyebrow, he thankfully did not question her. 

‘I shall go greet my brother,’ Elia said, with somewhat more confidence and conviction, ‘if the Rebel army truly is only a day’s march removed from us the men must be fed and rested as soon as possible. I suggest we recess our council for now and reconvene at midday to brief Doran and his commanders and further discuss strategy.’

And with some luck, Jaime could before then advise her what to say to please his father.

‘Very well,’ Tywin said with a nod, ‘My Lords, we are done for now. As our Queen suggested we will meet again at midday.’

Elia made her farewells quickly before allowing Manly and a fair few of his gold cloaks to accompany her to her chambers.

‘Anything interesting happen?’ Manly questioned good-naturedly, as he slowed his naturally long strides so she could comfortably match his pace.

‘Apparently, we are fighting the Rebels and we plan on defeating them – though the technicalities of it all are still a bit of a mystery to me I’m afraid.’

Manly let out a barking laugh. ‘I am glad waging war is a mystery to you My Queen – in my experience battle is not a civilising influence.’

‘Have you seen many battles, Ser Manly?’

‘Battles aplenty and countless fights and brawls – though nothing of this scale.’

‘Do you think we stand a chance?’ Elia asked, cautiously eying the massive man’s reaction from the corner of her eye.

‘I think we stand an excellent chance, otherwise, Tywin Lannister and the Golden Company would not have flocked to your cause, ’ Manly said frankly. ‘They are not quite so idealistic as this old fart - they know a lost cause when they see one.’

Elia smiled his straightforwardness a welcome tonic to the incomprehensibility of the war council. Manly did not mince his words with her nor was he some subservient sycophant: it was no wonder the man so loathed Maester Pycelle’s babbling.

‘Rhaegar was sure he’d win at the Trident and now he’s dead.’

And his desecrated body was left naked in the stream to fatten the crows and the fish.

An involuntary shudder ran op Elia’s spine: Rhaegar had wronged her plenty – but no man deserved to be left where he fell and withheld the proper rites.

‘Prince Rhaegar read a lot of books – but books don’t teach you how to lead an army,’ Manly said. ‘Gods know I liked the boy, but he never should have been in command at the Trident. Things are different now, for one we’re defending a city, and King’s Landing is a hard city to take, your Grace. And with Tywin Lannister in command of its defences – I’d say it’s damn near impossible.’

‘I pray you’re right Ser Manly.’

She didn’t doubt the commander’s honesty or his judgment, but it was hard to soothe the feeling of dread that had settled in her stomach, growing stronger and stronger as the rest of the Rebel army crept closer – as Robert Baratheon crept closer.

When she entered her rooms, Jaime, Oberyn, and several others rose to their feet but Elia’s eyes sought out only one man. A figure garbed in gold and silver silks. His brow was more furrowed and he was softer around his middle than he had been the last time she had seen him, but it was her brother, her kind, gentle, older brother.

'Little sister,' Doran said stepping towards her and grasping her hand in his - his touch as warm and gentle as a Dornish breeze. 'I am so very glad to see you.'

'And I am very glad to see you,' Elia said as Doran drew her into a tender embrace. ‘I hadn’t expected you to come – but you are most welcome dear brother.’

'I will always stand by my family, little one.' He pressed a kiss to her brow. 'And I will make sure that all those who dare to take up arms against you and your babes will be taught the meaning of vengeance and justice.'

The words were spoken evenly but they held a promise Elia knew her brother would keep. No matter how aggravated or furious he was, Doran never raised his voice or his hand in anger. Impulse was as foreign to him as restraint was to Oberyn. But all who underestimated Doran lived to regret it.

'How is Mellario? And the children?'

'The children are well but Mellario worries greatly for you - as she always does,' Doran said, releasing her from his embrace. 'She demanded I bring you silks and candied fruits - a treat to ease your trying days.'

'She is sweet.'

It was no platitude - her goodsister, Doran's one, and only impulsive decision, was a very kind woman. She had written Elia many letters over the years to ease the loneliness of Dragonstone, and had even visited her a handful of times.

'I am pleased to say I have made your new husband's acquaintance,' Doran said with a nod towards Jaime. 'I will admit I was - concerned when I learned you wished to marry again so soon but evidently you knew what you were doing. It is clear he treats you well.'

"It is clear he treats you well" - it was a simple truth. Jaime really did treat her well. Rather more as a friend than a wife - but that suited her just fine at the moment. And she let out a sigh of relief that Doran too had noted Jaime's positive presence in her life. There were hard days to come and she could not afford to have her staunchest allies quarrelling...

'I should be insulted by how surprised people are by that,' Jaime remarked with that sharp smile of his. 'You would think I have some sort of reputation as a brute.'

'You have a reputation as a Lannister,' Oberyn drawled. 'That is infinitely worse.'

Jaime laughed, his green eyes dancing with mirth. 'And that is why she doesn't allow you to attend the war council - my father would kill you before Baratheon even has a chance.'

'Many men have tried before,' Oberyn said with a sharp smile. 'Clearly, none have succeeded.'

Doran hummed disapprovingly. 'Hubris is deadlier than a sword Oberyn,' he said before turning towards Elia. 'You have done well keeping him from provoking our allies. We should have but one enemy and that is the Rebel army - Oberyn, I suggest you fix your temper on them.'

'How many spears and horses did you gather, dear brother?' Elia asked quickly before Oberyn could open his mouth to taunt their brother.

'There was not much time, but Ander managed to find us ten thousand men, all able and willing but we’ve only managed to take two thousand horses with us,' Doran said waving forward the young lord of Starfall.

'I will command the men along with Oberyn if it pleases Your Grace,' Ander said, his dark head bowed.

'Your Grace,' Elia repeated, shaking her head with a smile. 'Ander, our fathers were brothers – we are kin you and me, and when we are among friends I shall always be Elia to you.’

Ander looked up then, a small smile playing at his lip. He was a beautiful man – as all Dayne’s were beautiful. He stood taller than most, taller even than his famed brother, with dark hair and eyes the colour of sweet violets. As a third son, he was an unlikely lord. But the bloody flux had taken both his father and his eldest brother to the Stranger and with Arthur having taken the white, the lordship of Starfall had fallen onto Ander. He had been very young still and very unsure, so Elia’s mother had sent Doran to ease his burdens and her brother had offered him a guiding hand – it was a kindness Ander would never forget and while all of Dorne was loyal, none was more so than House Dayne of Starfall.

‘All right, then cousin Elia,’ Ander said with a kind smile, and Elia couldn’t help but notice the deep, dark circles beneath his eyes and the pallor of his skin. Not even after the deaths of his father and brother had Ander Dayne looked quite so harried.

‘Ander, what is wrong?’ Elia questioned grabbing her kinsman’s arm as dozens of increasingly terrible thoughts flashed through her mind. Had something happened on the way to King’s Landing? Had they lost boats? Men? Or was it Ashara? Had the childbed claimed her? Or perhaps something had happened to little Allyria?

‘I’ve had to bring Ashara with me,’ Ander said, his voice sounding so very tired. ‘But I warn you Elia – she’s not our Ashara anymore.’

Elia frowned, the cold, sinking feeling of dread settling in the pit of her stomach. ‘The babe -?’

‘Dead,’ Ander said quietly. ‘Everything went well, everything was fine, the delivery was fine - Ashara was fine…But when the baby came out – it was still and no one could wake it.’

Oberyn let out a low swear and a shiver ran through Elia’s body: bearing a child was a terrible pain – but the idea of burying one was an agony Elia dared not even fathom. Her heart bled for Ashara, her poor, dear Ashara. The entire pregnancy had been an ordeal but she had struggled through it. Struggled through betrayal, loss, and loneliness all for that little fatherless babe growing inside of her. And now, at the very end of her struggle, she’d been left with nothing but bitter misery.

‘It destroyed Ashara,’ Ander said with a heavy, tired sigh. ‘She fell into a sort of gloom we can’t seem to wake her from. I’ve barred her windows and I’ve been sleeping on the floor of her room in front of her door so she can’t sneak past me in the night and throw herself off the tower,’ he confessed, his voice laced with distress. ‘She hardly sleeps – I hardly sleep. All she does is weep and no matter what I do nothing seems to help – all I can do is sit with her and listen to her weep and hope she eventually cries herself to sleep.’

‘I have some herbs for her – and you,’ Oberyn said, gentle as he only was with those he cared for. ‘They are harmless, nothing like dreamwine or milk of poppy. They’ll simply calm you some and help you fall asleep.’

‘I'll gladly take them. I would like to fight this war at least somewhat rest,’ Ander said with a humourless laugh.

Elia took her cousin’s hand in hers ‘It’s not just Ashara’s who has been through all seven hells, is it?’

‘Ashara is my sister – she’s my responsibility. I couldn’t leave her at Starfall – I couldn’t charge Allyria with guarding her sister in case she tried to take her own life! She’s a little girl, she shouldn’t have to see her sister like this.’

‘She’s our responsibility,’ Elia said. ‘You don’t have to do this alone Ander – you can’t do this alone.’

‘Fucking Arthur,’ Ander growled, his mood suddenly changing drastically. ‘Where has he been? We needed him – I needed him. But where is he? Off serving a false prince and not even bothering to drag himself home after his master got himself killed –,’

‘Ander, swallow down those words before you spit them out and live to regret them,’ Doran said calmly as he rested a heavy hand on his young friend’s shoulder, ‘Words are like arrows, my friend. Once loosed, you cannot call them back. You love your brother – in spite of his loyalties.’

Ander snorted. ‘Loyalty. What happened to loyalty to family?’

‘He took a vow to serve another, you know he did,’ Doran said. ‘Exhaustion and distress have made you irritable – as anyone would be.’

‘You need rest – we need you to rest,’ Elia said softly and when Ander opened his mouth to protest she silenced him with a wave of her hand. ‘Oberyn will give you something to help you rest and rest you will –that is a command from your queen. I shall see to Ashara.’

‘I’m sure you have many other things to do -,’

‘She is both my kin and my friend,’ Elia insisted. ‘I am not needed again until midday – until then I can easily make sure that she is safe and comfortable.’

Chapter Text

Chapter nine

Jon had wondered about his mother ever since he had become aware of what mothers were. It had happened when he had been very young and he had naively referred to the Lady Stark as mother. He had simply been mimicking Robb, a child’s mistake, but it had not been well received and he had never referred to her or even thought of her as such ever again.

It had also been when he’d first become familiar with the term that had come to define his life: bastard. Lord Stark was his father, that much was true. But Lady Stark was definitely not his mother. Therefore he was a bastard – something of little importance, a footnote in the Stark family tree. And Lady Stark was not prepared to let him ever forget that…

Jon would always be treated as less than his half-siblings. Not only by Lady Stark, who positively doted on her children as much as she religiously ignored Jon but by almost all inhabitants of Winterfell. Certainly, he was fed, clothed, educated, and cared for – something he realised was a kindness in itself. But love and affection were the prerogatives of the trueborn Stark children, not a lowly Snow. And yet it was that which Jon craved the most: the tender touch of a mother and the unconditional love that came with it.

He had asked his Lord Father about his mother more than once. But he refused to speak of her. Sometimes outright refusing, sometimes tiredly saying he would speak of her one day when Jon was older when the time was right, but not now – never now.  But his Lord Father’s avoidance of the matter only strengthened Jon’s resolve to uncover the truth. And occasionally, when the time seemed right, he had turned to others who might know the truth of his parentage.

Jory had smiled wryly at him as he shook his head.

Rodrik had simply ruffled his hair before sending him off. 

Harwin had faltered slightly before saying he had only ever heard idle gossip that Jon should never pay any mind to.

Maester Luwin had spoken kindly to him and had professed not to know himself.

And then there had been his uncle Benjen, who had smiled at him so sadly as he had said that it was not his story to tell, that Jon had never dared to ask him again.

But then years ago, when Jon had been about twelve years old - he had finally heard a name.

It had happened when Lord Velaryon had returned Theon to Winterfell, staying for a day to discuss some matters with Lord Stark. Robb had run off to play with Theon, but Jon never having liked the Greyjoy boy, had stayed behind. The Velaryon men had been far more appealing than suffering through Theon's scorn and insults. So when Robb and Theon had disappeared into the Weirwood, Jon had tucked himself away inside the stables and had simply watched on through a crack as the Velaryon guard ate and made merry with some members of the Stark Household.  

The men from the Driftmark were very different from the men Jon had grown up around and perhaps that is why he was so fascinated by them. All of them were long-limbed and graceful with light hair twisted into braids and beardless faces.

Or well, all of them except for one. The company's cook had soon drawn Jon's curiosity simply because he looked so completely unremarkable next to the rest of his companions. He was a stout man, with a bushy, brown beard and he was dressed in a roughspun, dark plum cloak. He had been chatting and drinking with Ser Rodrik all evening. Though the cook had held his drink remarkably better than the master-at-arms...But most of their chatter was dull and strange to Jon, and they had halfway lulled him to sleep until -

'I was surprised to see a Stark bastard running around,' the cook said, snapping Jon out of his doze.

'War spans all sorts of surprises,' Rodrik said curtly. 'But Jon is a good boy - takes after his father in more than just his look.'

'Good boy or not, it's rare to see a bastard raised in the Lordship's nursery - is his mother some lady of note?'

'Ned loves the boy - that's why he raises him alongside his proper heirs,' Rodrik replied as the cook refilled his cup. 'And I don't doubt he loved the boy's mother. Probably would have married the girl if Brandon hadn't...well if Brandon hadn't gone and gotten himself killed.'

Jon's heart pounded in his ears as he crawled closer to his little opening in the wall, pressing his face against it so he would certainly hear every word spoken.

‘Can’t imagine that didn’t turn the Lady Stark more sour than curdled milk.’

‘Lady Stark has no reason to complain,’ Rodrick said firmly. ‘She was not Ned’s first choice but he wasn’t hers either. She was promised to Ned’s brother when he fathered Jon – no one could have predicted things would turn out the way they did.’

‘But who was Lord Stark’s first choice then?’

Rodrik emptied his cup, only for the cook to fill it once again.

‘Rumours,’ the master-at-arms said with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Ned doesn’t speak of it. Not to anyone – drives his wife mad.’

‘What do you think?’ The cook pressed and Jon sat breathlessly praying to all gods, old and new, that Rodrik Cassel wouldn’t suddenly waken from the wine’s fog.

‘Before everything went to shit – I heard Lord Rickard say Ned had asked his permission to wed Ashara Dayne. Lord Rickard was mightily impressed that his quiet son had bagged such a beauty. I know Ned – he did not make such a request on a whim.’

‘Ashara Dayne? Barristan Selmy’s wife?’

Rodrik nodded. ‘A beautiful – beautiful girl. The most beautiful some say. But definitely the kind a man does not easily forget. I am sure Ned was more than just fond of her – and his affections do not sway easily.’ He sighed, finally putting down his cup. ‘It is a sad story – and Ned deserved better than he got. I hope that before she died Lyanna realised all the things her brother gave up for her folly…’

Jon clasped a hand over his mouth, and for the first time in a long time – he wept. Jon did not cry much, there was really no point in it, there was no one rushing to dry his tears or soothe his aching. He was just a bastard after all. But now, suddenly, he was more than that. Now he had a mother, a mother named Ashara Dayne, who was beautiful and highborn. And his father had loved her enough to want to wed her and he would have wed her if duty had not claimed him first.

Over the years Jon had clung to his precious titbit of information as if it were a lifeline. After every insult, scorn or slight he would remind himself of whom his mother was – that his Lord Father had loved her first and probably best. And that if things had been only a little different he would have been Jon Stark, the trueborn son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Ashara Dayne – instead of just Jon Snow the bastard.

And sometimes, when he was particularly lonely he would dream of his mother. It happened so often, he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful and elegant, and kind with the softest touch and gentlest embrace. He had always hoped to one day see her, to speak to her, to ask her why she had not kept him…but he had not expected her to arrive in Winterfell that day.

From the moment he had heard whispers of her name, he had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Ashara Dayne was even more beautiful than he had dared to imagine. She really was the fairest woman Jon had ever seen and far more elegant than even the Lady Stark could ever hope to be. She was tall for a woman and oh so graceful, with the darkest of hair and beautiful eyes. He had stared at her unabashedly from his place in the background, searching her face and that of her trueborn son for traces of his own. And honestly, he was somewhat upset she hadn’t yet sought him out for herself – but he too had yet to find the courage to speak to her…

So instead he trailed behind her, keeping a respectable distance as she leisurely strolled through the courtyard, wrapped up in a beautiful purple cloak. It was the first time since she’d arrived at Winterfell that she was without company and Jon was scraping together his bravery to finally speak to her.

‘It will look far less suspicious if you simply accompanied me instead of following me,’ Ashara said suddenly and loudly, not even bothering to look back at him.

Jon froze were he stood and he felt the colour rise in his cheeks. He had thought he was being mightily sneaky but either he had vastly overestimated his own abilities or the Lady Selmy was more perceptive than most…

‘Forgive me, My Lady, I -,’ he faltered unsure of what to say.

She halted her step, finally turning around to face him, her mouth curved into a kind smile. ‘There is nothing to forgive, now come keep an old woman company and tell her why you’re following her around.’

‘You are not an old woman, My Lady,’ Jon said hastily as he hurried over to her.

‘Compared to you I am,’ she quipped good-naturedly, and up-close Jon could see the faint smile lines that framed her mouth. He found it did not make her look old – only more charming. ‘Now give me your arm and tell me what it is I can help you with.’

He dutifully offered her his arm and a nervous shiver ran down his spine as she took it. And he felt the warm touch of her hand on his skin, even through the thick layers of his cloak and tunic.

‘I was simply curious…My Lady.’

‘Curious? About me? People haven’t been curious about me in years. Now I am curious what it is you could be curious about,’ Ashara said giving him a sidelong look. ‘You’re Eddard’s boy, aren’t you? Jon?’

Jon swallowed down the lump in his throat. ‘Yes My Lady, I am Jon Snow.’

Ashara hummed. ‘You look very much like your father Jon – it is uncanny.’

‘And is that a good thing?’

Ashara smiled at him then, soft and kind and Jon wished he could wrap himself in its warmth. ‘I thought your father a handsome young man. But like him, you’d be even more handsome if you smiled a little more.’

Jon couldn’t help but grin shyly. ‘Thank you, My Lady.’

‘You’re less shy than he was though,’ Ashara remarked with a soft laugh. ‘A compliment as such would have sent your father running for the hills.’

‘You knew him well then?’ Jon asked, his heart hammering in his chest as a queer, cold feeling crawled up his spine and settled at the base of his skull.

‘I think I did, for a small time at least…but that was very long ago now,’ Ashara said, the corners of her mouth turning downward. ‘I do hope you’ve not come to me for stories of your father because I’m afraid I don’t have any interesting ones to offer you.’

Jon’s legs stopped moving rather abruptly and on their own accord. Ashara turned to him, her brow furrowed with worry as she looked at him, her large violet eyes staring at him intently. ‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice full of concern.

‘Are you my mother?’

It was brusque and inelegantly, but the words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them and their effect was instant. All colour drained from Ashara’s face and a shaky breath slipped from her parted lips.

‘Oh my poor boy,’ she breathed, her hand squeezing his, ‘you don’t know who your mother is?’

“You don’t know who your mother is” – the words echoed through Jon’s mind, leaving a trail of shattered dreams and hurt feelings in their wake and shaking Jon down to his very core. Ashara Dayne was not his mother. He was not the product of some great love story. He was simply Jon Snow – a bastard.

‘Oh Jon,’ a soft, warm hand gently wiped away his tears before caressing his cheek, ‘it’s all right, Jon – you’re alright sweet boy.’

‘I thought it was you,’ Jon muttered miserably, ‘they said it was you.’

‘I am sorry Jon, so sorry,’ Ashara said drawing him into an embrace, her hands rubbing soothing circles over his back. He melted into her touch, it was soft, and warm, and motherly - everything he had always hoped it would be like. But Ashara Dayne was not his mother, she was simply a stranger who took pity on him…

‘I am sorry for troubling you,’ Jon mumbled, slipping out of her embrace and attempting to turn away, but Ashara grabbed his arm. 

‘You have nothing to apologise for Jon,’ she said ardently. ‘But perhaps you should speak to your father and –,’

‘He won’t tell me.’

‘Eddard Stark won’t tell you who your mother is?’

‘He keeps saying he’ll tell me when I’m older – but he never does.’

‘You have a right to know,’ Ashara said, her voice taking on a hard quality. ‘And I will see to it that he tells you – your father is still in my debt I doubt he can deny me this.’

‘So the rumours are true?’ Jon asked quietly. ‘You were…entangled with each other.’

‘Is that what they say here in Winterfell?’

‘It is what I heard,’ Jon said, his cheeks suddenly burning with shame.

‘Let me tell you the truth since it seems to be of short supply here in the North,’ Ashara said, taking his hand in hers. ‘Your father and I, we – we cared deeply for each other. Or at least we thought we did…for a time. And we did have a child together, but that child was a girl that was born asleep and never woke up.’

Jon bowed his head. ‘I am sorry.’

‘You’re sorry - what a sweet boy you are Jon,’ Ashara said before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. ‘I wish you were one of mine, I would have quite liked to have another son such as you.’

Tears stung Jon’s eyes but he blinked them back and smiled weakly. If only this woman had been his mother – how sweet would that have been?

‘Now let me take your arm, and escort me to your father’s hall,’ Ashara said. ‘And for a short walk,  we’ll pretend you are my loving son, and I am your doting mother – and we’ll both feel happy again.’

King’s Landing - 283 AC

Servants had brought Ashara to her old room near the drafty chambers Elia had occupied during her marriage to Rhaegar. Elia had left that hall as soon as she had decided to wed Jaime, there had been too many memories there, none of them very pleasant. And so that part of the keep now lay practically abandoned.

Elia tried not to curse the servants for taking Ashara to such a lifeless, lonely place, knowing they had probably been as surprised by her arrival as Elia had been and simply hadn’t known what to do with her…

Elia entered the room without knocking. It was stuffy from lack of use and dark aside from a few candles that had been lit on the vanity. If Elia hadn’t been looking for her, it would have been easy to overlook the figure curled up on the bed laying so still and motionless.

Suddenly her beautiful, vibrant Ashara was but small and still. Ashara had always been Elia's superior both in beauty and health and she had never minded. Because Ashara was not just beautiful but also kind, funny, and vivacious – nothing like this fragile, wan thing on the bed that was a mere ghost of the woman she had always been.

'Ashara?' Elia said quietly - hesitant to break the room's silence. 

Ashara opened her eyes, their violet colour stark against the dark circles beneath them. To Elia, it was a painful reminder of how she herself had looked after she had awoken from the nightmare that was Aegon's birth. It was the look of a woman who had suffered through all seven hells. But Elia’s suffering had been rewarded with a beautiful, healthy babe – a comfort Ashara had been cruelly denied…

'Elia,' it was a raspy, broken whisper and it pierced Elia's heart.

In an instant she was on the bed beside her childhood friend, holding her tightly to her chest. Ashara sunk into the embrace, muffling her sobs against Elia's shoulder. Strong, capable Ashara was suddenly no different from Elia's helpless, little Rhaenys. It was a strange thing, and it broke Elia's heart in an entirely new way…

‘I’m here now, I’ll help you, I will always help you,’ Elia said softly as she stroked Ashara’s head, mindful not to tug on her matted hair. She decided that tonight when Ashara had settled some, she would bathe her and take the time to untangle the mass of knots that tangled her hair.

‘I should be helping you,’ Ashara whispered. ‘I  don’t know how you’ve managed – so brave.’

‘So are you,’ Elia said as she hummed the same soft Dornish tune she used to soothe her children.

‘I am not – I’m useless.’

‘Not now and not ever have you ever been useless Ashara Dayne,’ Elia said pressing a kiss to her friend’s temple. ‘Give it time – and things will get better.’

 Winterfell – Present Day 

Ned was not surprised when Ashara Dayne brazenly stormed into his hall as he held one final council at his table with the Queen, the Prince, and his own steward, Vayon Poole with Ser Arthur Dayne standing guard.

It was brusque, insolent, and furious, but Ned couldn’t find it in his heart to mind. Theirs had been a confrontation years in the making. A confrontation Ned had been preparing for since he’d first heard of the grief he had left in his wake – and yet still he was woefully unprepared…

His treatment of Ashara had been a dark cloud, haunting his days. After the Rebellion failed he had expected his life to end at the gates of King’s Landing, whether by order of the Queen or by the hand of either Ashara’s brother or her madman of a cousin. But to his surprise, he’d left the Crownlands with both his life and his title intact.

Then had come that damned tower. And he had honestly expected Arthur to put him out of his misery. And at the time – he really wouldn’t have minded. Standing there, damned and defeated with a poor, orphaned babe in his care, death had almost seemed like a kindness for both of them…

But Arthur, noble, glorious Arthur, his shoulders hunched and his brow furrowed with his own burdens had simply looked at him tiredly: “Live with what you’ve done Stark, I can tell you that it is a far graver punishment than death.”

‘Apologies, My Queen,’ Ashara said with a perfunctory curtsey. ‘I am sorry for interrupting your council but I need to speak with Lord Stark – I need to speak with him now.’

It was then that Ned caught sight of him, hovering at the hall’s entrance with his head bowed and his eyes cast down – exactly like when Rob and he had broken one of the glass garden’s precious panes. As a child caught doing something he shouldn’t have

Dread settled low in Ned’s stomach. No. Not now, not in front of Elia Martell and Aegon Targaryen – not while the Kingslayer prowled his halls – not with a damned dragon right outside of Winterfell.

‘Ashara, what’s the matter?’ Elia asked exchanging a worried look with Ser Arthur, who stepped forward, gently grasping his sister’s elbow.

‘I am all right,’ Ashara said batting her brother away. ‘I simply need to speak with Lord Stark – urgently.’

‘I’m sure it can wait,’ Arthur said gently – then his body froze, and Ned knew he too had caught sight of Jon. ‘Let them finish their council, I’ll keep you company while you wait.’

But Ashara pulled her arm out of her brother’s hold, narrowing her eyes at him. ‘I will not wait,’ she blazed before finally turning to Ned, just as beautiful as she had been that very first day at Harrenhal – and Ned stood frozen in place.

‘Ashara,’ Elia said gently. ‘This is Lord Stark’s home – he deserves some courtesy.’

‘He forfeited my courtesy when I found out his baseborn son thought me to be his mother.’

‘Oh,’ Elia said softly, ‘that must have been hard for you.’

‘It was harder for the poor boy,’ Ashara stated.

‘I think it’s best you leave us, Vayon,’ Aegon said turning towards Winterfell’s steward. ‘I think your Lord would rather deal with this privately.’

Vayon Poole scurried to his feet, obviously more than pleased to be given his leave. Ned could not blame him. Vayon was more than loyal and Ned doubted he enjoyed being witness to his liege lord’s humiliation.

‘Ashara, come sit,’ Elia said. ‘Let us discuss this matter calmly.’

Ashara turned to Jon: ‘Come – this concerns you too.’

Jon wavered: ‘My Lady, I…’

‘Am welcome at this table,’ Ashara said brusquely. ‘Come and sit, this concerns you as much as it does me.’

Ned wanted to protest – wanted to send Jon to his room and order him to stay there until their guests were gone – until it was safe. But he couldn’t, not without raising further suspicion.

‘Lady Ashara I owe you my deepest apologies,’ Ned said quietly, feeling very small beneath her gaze. ‘It is not the first time I’ve heard of these whispers, but I thought I had silenced them years ago. Evidently I was wrong.’

Ned sharply remembered the night Catelyn had asked him if Ashara was Jon’s mother. He had been sharing her bed, both of them naked and content – or so he had thought. Her question had blindsided him completely and he had reacted furiously – so furiously that Catelyn had been terrified of him. Ned had never wanted to be the sort of husband who frightened his wife, but at that moment he had not cared. He had demanded she tell him where she had heard her malicious gossip and Catelyn had been too worried to even think to lie. He had rounded all of them up, maids and soldiers alike, and had raged at them,  warned them - threatened them. He had thought it had been enough. But clearly it hadn’t been…

‘The others take your apologies,’ Ashara said harshly.

Ned flinched as if he had been slapped: he had been the one to teach her that curse – and he knew her well enough to know that was why she had used it.

‘You know what would easily solve all of this drivel?’ Ashara said. ‘Simply being honest about who the boy’s mother is.’

Ned blanched: “Promise me, Ned”.

‘I will tell Jon when he’s older.’

Ashara slammed a hand down on the table – his table and Ned would not have tolerated it from anyone but her. ‘Nonsense.’

‘This is a private matter,’ Ned said, his voice calm though his heart hammered painfully in his chest. ‘It is no one’s business but mine and Jon’s.’

‘This is my business as much as it is yours – you made sure of that when you put a babe in my belly around the same time you fathered him. Or perhaps you have forgotten about my babe?’ Ashara hissed.

‘I could never forget,’ Ned said, cold as ice. That babe, along with its mother, was in every one of his prayers and it anguished him that Ashara would think otherwise.

‘Then how can you deny me this? How can you deny your son his mother’s name?’

‘Ashara,’ Elia said, grabbing her friend’s hand, ‘perhaps Lord Stark only looks to spare his son blushes...’

‘He didn’t father a child on a whore,’ Ashara said dully. ‘He is not as honourable as I once thought him to be – but this I am sure of. Eddard Stark does not frequent whores.’

Jon turned positively crimson, his gaze firmly fixed on the table in front of him, guilty and ashamed by what he had set into motion. And for the first time in the boy’s life, Ned regretted taking him into his home and calling him son. I should have sent him away, Ned realised. Bastard or not, the crannogmen surely would have accepted him. And Howland Reed, loyal Howland who kept all of Ned’s secrets, would have raised him well and kept him safe from angry faces and dragons…

 ‘There is a lot of hurt at this table,’ Elia said with a sigh, her large dark eyes settling on Ned. ‘Perhaps Lord Stark, you can ease some of that hurt and simply say who the boy’s mother is – I think it would do a great deal of good.’

‘I am sorry, Your Grace, I made a promise to her that I would not tell a soul,’ Ned said honestly.                                                           

‘I do not believe you,’ Ashara said bluntly. ‘I think noble Eddard Stark simply does not want his name to carry the stain of having fathered two bastards during his failed Rebellion.’

Something visceral clawed at Ned’s innards and for the life of him, he could not tell if Ashara’s blatant lack of trust in him angered him or wounded him.

‘The greatest stain on my name is the promise to you that I broke,’ Ned said softly. ‘That is why I will not make that mistake again – I will not break my promise to Jon’s mother.’

For a long moment, Ashara and Ned simply looked at each other. Even now, after all these years, Ned still thought she was still too beautiful to look at. How could the Gods have let this woman love him? How could the Gods have let him hurt her so…

‘I beg all of your pardons,’ Jon said, finally finding his voice as he looked up timidly. ‘I did not mean to cause so much trouble.’

‘There are no pardons to be given,’ Ashara said. ‘We…’

Elia cut her off with a wave of her hand, and there was a queer look on her face. Silently she rose from her seat and walked over to Jon.

Stop, Ned wanted to say, but the words would not come. So he bent his head and waited.

‘Your Grace,’ Jon said with a nervous nod of his head. ‘I -,’

‘Shhh,’ Elia said, cupping his face with a gentle hand and raising it, so his eyes met hers. She looked at him, really looked at him. Her gaze soft, searching, and unnerving. Finally, she nodded her head, just once and said: ‘I know who you are.'

Chapter Text

Chapter ten

She remembered feeling this way before - long ago before she'd won her crown. Before she'd had Jaime. It was the way she'd felt every time Rhaegar had crumbled the earth beneath her feet and had left her tethering on the edge of doom...She'd thought she'd left that feeling behind her. She'd thought she was safe now. But even now, so many years after his death, Rhaegar still managed to cause her anguish.

She'd felt as if she were sleepwalking. Her voice sounded far away and foreign, even to her own ears. Her movements sluggish and uncertain. Her stomach cold and hollow as she went through the motions.

The boy was Rhaegar's - she knew he was. He didn't look like him - not really - but there was something about his gaze that reminded her so of Rhaegar. His eyes were his own, but she had seen their look before - that melancholy gaze. She had spent hours with it as it fixed on books and scrolls. It was the gaze of a man who had cared more about old words and dead men than he had the future and the children before him.

And for a moment she'd forgotten how to breathe. It couldn't be true, could it?

But then, when she had looked closer, with a searching eye, she had seen an echo of the down-turned lips she'd once kissed - the mouth of the prince who had never quite learned how to smile.

Nothing about the boy screamed Rhaegar but there were whispers - whispers that rattled her mind and made her knees go weak.

Over the years she'd come to forgive Rhaegar for his follies - he had paid with his life for them, what more could she ask? But now there was this new ache - and it came in the form of a boy who was mostly Stark but with a face made out of vague memories of the man she'd married first.

Oh yes, she knew exactly who this boy was...

Pain kept her grounded. Pain kept her voice gentle and her fury down as the damned revelation tumbled from her lips: 'Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen - and your mother was Lyanna Stark, were they, not Lord Stark?'

Ned did not speak. He didn't need to. His silence was enough of an answer...and the boy, the poor motherless boy looked horror-stricken

Elia sighed, taking a moment and nothing more to pity herself - to bemoan the fact that once again she would have to wade through the chaos and mess that had been Rhaegar and Lyanna. Then, she steeled herself. She'd weathered tyrants and rebellions; fury and hatred; she could weather this parentless boy.

'Your Grace,' spoke the boy - Jon almost breathless from shock. 'I am afraid you are mistaken. I'm not-, I couldn't be...I'm...Lord Stark? Father?'

Elia looked at Lord Stark. She was not imposing. Far from it. But she shared her brother Oberyn's dark, unblinking gaze - the strange eyes of the Rhoynar - a hard gaze to meet. She challenged Ned Stark to deny her - to claim she was wrong - to fight for his lies.

He did not.

He looked older then; worn and sad. And Elia knew he would not lie - not anymore.

Jon too took his silence for what it was and turned a deathly pale. If Ashara had not stepped forward, a soothing hand on his elbow, Elia was sure he would have collapsed. 'It's just names, Jon,' Ashara said quietly, 'the only power they have is the power you give them.'

'I'm not,' he insisted, dark eyes flitting constantly between Elia and Aegon, frantic and frightened like a hunted animal. 'I am Jon Snow - just a Lord's bastard! I would never-, I could never! Your Grace!'

'Calm, boy,' Elia said, as she rested the calming weight of her hand upon his shoulder, her ruby rings catching the light and sparkling darkly.

Her stomach twisted horribly as she remembered words spoken to her a lifetime ago - a tale of blood and rubies splattered around by the merciless blows of a warhammer.

The boy - Jon, she reminded herself - had not dared look up. His head bowed respectfully as he dolefully awaited Elia's judgment of him.

Her heart broke.

'You must not fear me,' she said firmly. 'I only wish to hear the truth of this.'

Aegon moved to stand before Jon - his half-brother - and Elia saw little resemblance. Both were young, fit men: broad of shoulder and slim of waist. But Aegon, her golden boy, with his Targaryen features and Valyrian colouring towered over Jon, who was pale and dark, sturdy more than tall, as Starks tended to be.

In the North the name Stark inspired loyalty. Outside of it, a begrudging respect. But gone were the times the name alone could incite rebellion - Lyanna had seen to that. And Jon, though skilled and handsome, was not the sort to inspire blind loyalty. Of course, there were Northerners who might crave independence - or even dominion. But her son, her beautiful son, had a throne built on strength, prosperity and the might of three dragons. And not even the full strength of the North would stand much of a chance against the Valyrian monsters of war.

'You are not my enemy - or my rival, Jon,' Aegon said quietly, still very much the sweet boy who had curled up on Elia's lap for far longer than little boys were expected to before he turned to Ned. 'Jon wanted the truth from you, Lord Stark. And I, Aegon Targaryen, rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, will have it from you.'

Ned grimaced. The knees of the men of the North did not bend easily, Elia was well aware of that, but he must have realised that keeping quiet would only add more kindling to the simmering accusation of rebellion that was building around them. If he lied now, if he lied to Aegon - it would be treason and there would be no turning back.

'The truth will sound foolish to you,' Ned said finally, his face hard. 'But I swear to the Gods - my Gods - and on the lives of my children...there was no ill will at play. I have no desire for the Iron Throne.'

Aegon's face was impassive. 'Then why lie?'

There was a beat of silence. Thick and heavy.

'It was my sister's dying wish that I would swear to protect her son,' Ned said. 'No matter what had happened, no matter what she had done: she was my sister and I loved her.' He turned to Jon then, his face set in a complicated expression of regret and devotion. 'And I love her son. I love him as if he was my own.'

Jon broke away from Ned's stare, his gaze cast to the floor as he curled in on himself. A lonely, parentless child, cowering behind a stranger who should have been a brother.

'I thought you were simply a craven, Eddard Stark. But apparently, you are a twice damned fool as well,' spat Ashara, who had buried all sense of propriety when she had buried her little babe. 'Have you any idea what you've done? What this could lead to? Has our lifetime not already seen enough death and horror because of House Stark?'

'My sister was not alone in her wrongs,' Ned said brusquely, who though out of practice was no stranger to the lashes of Ashara Dayne's tongue.

'No, she was not,' Ashara conceded her eyes glinting with years worth of grudge, 'just as Rhaegar was not alone in not lifting a finger to save your father and brother. And just as you are not alone in this...isn't that so, brother mine?'

Arthur Dayne stood unmoved. The man had weathered the storms of Aerys' worsening moods. His sister's venom was nothing in comparison.

'You knew. You must have,' Ashara accused. 'How could you, Arthur?'

But still, the Sword of Morning said nothing.

'Speak,' Elia demanded, knowing Arthur would not discard her rank.

'I swore to Rhaegar I would protect his son. I do not swear oaths I do not intend to keep,' Arthur said simply and Elia's heart cracked once more. She had known Arthur Dayne all her life. He had been the fancy of her girlhood. How could he not have been? Arthur had always been too beautiful, too kind, too good. And though she had never dared to presume that she had ever had even a sliver of his affection, she had thought them friends...once.

'Rhaegar had another son - and a daughter,' Elia reminded him. 'Your own kin - your king.'

'Rhaegar was my king first. I told you, I told you all those years ago, he commanded me to-,'

'Rhaegar was never a King,' Elia said sharply. 'He was a boy playing at being a hero and it got him killed. And now I hear his childish fantasies didn't almost kill his two children. No, they almost killed his three children. So, no Ser Arthur, do not dare to pretend that boy was ever a king.'

'Rhaegar had his faults...I am not blind to that, but he never intended -,'

'To abandon his children, his sibling, his mother, to the whims of a madman? Because that is what he did, Arthur. He walked away and left us behind to fend for ourselves.'

'I know.'

'And what did you do? What did you do when Robert Baratheon knocked your Good Prince down? You stayed far, far away to play midwife and scheme against my son,' Elia said, her heart banging into her ribs with the pace of a galloping horse. She was breathing heavily, but somehow she still felt as if she was being suffocated, and for a moment, she feared she would faint.

'I love your son,' Arthur said softly. 'I have from the moment he was born. And I would gut myself if I had ever had a single disloyal thought towards him. But I swore to his father, I would take care of Lyanna and their child.'

'Lyanna and the child...safely tucked away far from war and violence? While we balanced on the edge of a precipice.'

Elia reached out to grab Aegon's arm, as if he was still an infant in danger of being ripped from her arms, and cursed the quiver in her voice. She sounded weak. Like the terrified girl, she had been when she had on the Iron Throne after Jaime had won her the crown, covered in blood and precariously balancing two small children and an ill-fitting crown.

She felt Aegon grasp her hand - felt him kiss it. 'We are well, mama. The war is over,' he said quietly, for her benefit alone.

'I know,' Arthur said, his purple eyes never leaving her own. 'I know what I did. I knew from the moment I chose to obey Rhaegar - instead of rushing to King's Landing. And I thought I had doomed you...Every day, I cursed myself. Every day, I hated myself. And every day, I mourned you, Elia.'

'What a fool you turned out to be,' Elia said softly.

Arthur nodded with a bitter, rueful smile. 'How I underestimated young Jaime.'

'Jaime did - what you never could have done. He saved us - because Jaime didn't heed cold vows and senseless oaths over the lives of the innocent.'

'I chose to keep my oath,' Arthur said, his tone never rising to her baiting words. 'And you may hate me for that, my Queen, and perhaps I hate myself for it too...but I cannot regret what I have done.'

'I am glad you were not in King's Landing that day - your honour and your vows would have gotten us all killed.' Her words were cold and cruel. The memory of those days made her cold and cruel - she hated those memories and she hated what they had turned her into.

'But...why lie about who Jon was?' Aegon questioned quietly. 'All this secrecy and trouble...why? Unless you were planning to-,'

'No.' Ned spoke decisively. 'There was no plot, no scheme, only Jon.'

'We simply wanted to keep him safe,' Arthur added.

Aegon's frown grew deeper. 'Keep him safe? From who?' There was a beat of silence, then Aegon's face twisted in disgust. 'From me? Were you protecting him from me? Because you were afraid I would grow up to be like...him?'

'Never!' Arthur said earnestly. 'Not once, Aegon did I question your good character! Or that of your mother...I know you. You have a gentle heart. But others?' - He scoffed - 'Babes die all the time for all sorts of reasons - and there were those around you who would not have hesitated to help Jon along a bit.'

He looked at her then and Elia knew - she knew what was implied without a single treasonous word leaving his lips.

Jaime, her Jaime, had killed his king - the man he had sworn to defend with his life - to protect her little Aegon. And the people still sang songs of how her golden lion had painted the field red with Robert Baratheon's blood when he had come to her gates for dragon blood. Just as songs were still sung about how his father had drowned an entire keep, from mouse to Lord...over a slight to his pride.

Would they have? Probably.

She looked to Stark next, crumbling under the weight of Arthur's gaze. 'And you? Did you fear my hand, Lord Stark?'

Ned looked at her, really looked at her and suddenly they were years younger, back on that horrible field with doom hanging over them both.

'No. Not you,' he said finally, 'but I feared everyone else. There was hardly a family left on the continent that held no grudge against Lyanna and Rhaegar. Many suffered because of what they'd started...and I knew that their son would be treated accordingly. I promised my sister I would protect him - I wanted to protect him. He is innocent of all of our crimes. He deserves a chance at a life - a good life.'

'So you made me a bastard?' Jon asked, his voice tremulous.

Ned closed his eyes for a moment before meeting Jon's gaze. 'I figured that a bastard of mine would be treated kindlier than any child of Lyanna.'

'Except by your wife,' Jon said.

'Your life has not been easy Jon, I know,' Ned said. 'But it has been easier than it would have been if I had spoken the truth. I love you as if you were my own son and I have only ever wanted the best for you...but perhaps I underestimated what it would cost you.'

Jon refused to meet his eye and instead turned away - desperately trying not to fall to pieces...and moments away from losing the fight.

It moved Elia to pity. How often had she been in Jon's place? How often had she yearned for help before Jaime had offered his hand without artifice or guile?

'Aegon,' she called, 'could you take Jon outside? I am sure the two of you have plenty to discuss without the weight of our old grudges weighing you down.'

'Your Grace,' Arthur started, but Elia stopped him with a wave of her hand.

'They are not savages, Ser Arthur. I am sure they will do just fine on their own,' Elia said curtly. 'Or at the least better than we are doing...than I am doing.'

'Come on, Jon,' Aegon said with a tight smile. 'Mother's right - it's best we do our own talking.'

For an instant it seemed as if Jon would simply follow Aegon and not look back - never look back perhaps. Elia wouldn't have blamed him. His entire life, his entire story had been a lie. But the boy surprised her, briefly turning to her, his dark head of curls ducked low and his gaze firmly fixed upon the floor. 'I won't tell anyone,' he said quietly. 'I swear, Your Grace, I won't tell anyone...I am not sure anyone would believe me anyway.'

'Do not worry yourself,' Elia answered, raising the boy's chin with a gentle touch of her fingers. 'I wouldn't have hurt you then, and I won't hurt you now. Go with Aegon.'

King’s Landing - 283 AC - Jaime

Jaime shared Elia's bed.

Simply shared - nothing further. And they had done so ever since they had been wed. There was talk, of course, there was - few husbands shared their wives' beds every night. And without a doubt - whispers of a Lannister heir would soon be heard. Idle whispers.
There was nothing carnal about their bed-sharing. Jaime could swear to his father - on all the gold in Lannisport - that he shared the little queen's bed. But unless he'd been taught wrong, no child could come of it.

There was enjoyment though, it was simply enjoyment beyond carnal satisfaction; he enjoyed the soft, warm body beside him, he enjoyed the lack of loneliness in the night, and in the mornings he enjoyed the wriggling of Aegon between them; the way the boy clambered over them as if he were scaling mountains, the way he giggled when his mother kissed his chubby feet, the way he didn't care Jaime wasn't his father - as long as he played with him.

It was a good and kind happiness Jaime had only vaguely remembered from his own childhood. And he wondered what had possessed Rhaegar to so easily part from it...But today their peaceful morning routine was once again disturbed by nervous bustling.

Baratheon and Arryn had arrived sometime during the night. The end had truelly started now.

And Tywin Lannister was of course at his puppetering best. Orders - thinly veiled as instructions - had trickled in as soon as they had been awoken. They were to ride out before midday to negotiate and they were to look resplendent.

Jaime had never known his father to use such a fanciful word and therefore had taken it to heart.

A nursemaid had duly taken charge of Aegon, as two maids braided and pinned Elia's long, ink-black hair into something his father deemed appropriate - a rare mistake honestly. Jaime thought her at her most stunning with her hair loose, but he doubted his father cared much for something as trivial as female beauty.

The youngest of the maids fumbled. She was sneaking glances and blushing as Jaime dressed. Jaime preened. He knew he was handsome and he enjoyed it. He knew even Elia thought so - he had seen her glance at him the first time they had shared the bed. Now she simply looked - and Jaime enjoyed that even more.

He had only just donned his shirt when even more people barged into their room; Rhaella, with three of her maids trailing behind her, laden with boxes and fabric.
For a moment Rhaella's eyes stuck to Jaime, sitting on her former good daughter's unmade bed, looking the bare minimum of decent and her step faltered...

'Is Rhaenys still asleep?' Elia questioned and Rhaella snapped out of her spell, placing a hand on Elia's rigid shoulder.

'Yes - and she did not leave her bed at all last night. Having Ashara as a bedmate eases her worries - and it eases Ashara's all the same,' Rhaella said with a kindly smile.

The harsh set of Elia's shoulders relaxed. Besides the army marching on the city - Elia's greatest worries were Ashara Dayne possibly throwing herself out of a window and Rhaenys spending her nights cowering under Rhaegar's bed with only her kitten and dragon eggs for company.

'Lord Lannister requested that I help you get ready,' Rhaella said as she motioned a maid over, her mouth twisting into a smirk. 'A wise decision honestly.'

The maid handed Elia a pair of elaborate ruby earrings. They were heavy, showy things but as Elia put them on, Jaime couldn't help but notice how elegant her neck suddenly seemed, or how her features turned sharp when framed by the deep red gems.

Rhaella stood behind Elia and grabbed her shoulders peering at the younger woman's reflection in the looking glass. 'Men wear chain mail and steel - but this, this is our armor, my girl. When we look like this - they cannot touch us - nothing can touch us.'

Elia grabbed one of her hands and smiled softly. 'I am glad you are with me.'

'I never should have left,' Rhaella said firmly before she gestured another maid forward. The girl, a tall, buxom thing, who was far less nervous than the other little creatures dithering about, held out an elaborately carved box with steady hands. Rhaella lifted a crown from it. A delicate circlet of gold and rubies - a lady's crown - a Queen's crown.

'It is too much,' Elia argued as Rhaella placed it on top of her head.

'You are a Queen - you are the Queen,' Rhaella stated. 'The crown is so they won't forget that. Now let us get you dressed, shall we? Lord Tywin has sent me with a dress he wishes for you to wear - red and gold silks, of course. Somewhere in this keep there is a poor seamstress he has enslaved to stitch you a wardrobe of Lannister colours.'

Jaime snorted a laugh, and suddenly Rhaella seemed to remember he was indeed still in the room.

'Leave your lady wife to get dressed,' she said in a clipped tone. 'And I reckon your father wishes you to appear in armour at her side - not your chemise.'

'I will take my leave then,' Jaime said good-naturedly, before gallantly bowing to Elia. 'Lady wife, I shall go see if my father has prepared some red and gold armor for me to wear and has perhaps painted my horse a colour more suited to his vision,' he said wryly.

Elia's laugh followed him into the hallway... but so did Rhaella. 'Ser Jaime - a word,' she demanded, her tone clipped.

He halted his step and turned to her. He felt...uneasy and it was not helped by how her heavily swollen belly pointed at him almost accusatory.

'Viserys said he wants to kill you.'

Jaime hid how taken aback he was behind a grin. 'When he's old enough he can try.'

Rhaella held up a hand. 'Stop Ser Jaime - I think we're both quite tired of that farce. You care - you care about people and you care about what they think of you. Otherwise, you would not try and brush all of this off with jokes and grins - otherwise, you would not have saved Elia.'

Jaime stood still, frozen, like a scolded boy. He was unsure of what the dowager queen's intention was. He had murdered her husband and supplanted her son in Elia's bed, and her much-loved grandchildren were now part of his family. There was honestly very little about him Rhaella had a reason not to detest.

'I am glad it's you.'

Unexpected. 'Pardon?' Jaime questioned, shifting nervously.

'I am glad Elia married you,' Rhaella said. 'You are Tywin's son...but you also have a kindness to you. You take after your mother. I've always suspected - but I am glad to see it confirmed.'

'I am afraid I don't understand?'

Rhaella set her mouth into a thin line and squared her shoulders. 'I remember the look on your face. The morning of your first night's watch at my chamber door. I know what you must have heard that night...you knew what he did to me. And I remember how you looked at Aerys after - the anger, the disgust...you cared. Try as you might to deny it, but you have morals, Jaime. And that is why I know you will not hurt Elia and the children. You are a good man. No matter what others might say.'

'I am not a good man,' Jaime said honestly. 'I simply do good things on occasion. Mostly by accident, it seems.'

'That is a talent in itself,' Rhaella said with a half-smile. 'Thank you - Ser Jaime.'

'For what?´

'You know what for.'

The Dowager rattled him. She rattled him more than Baratheon, Stark and their army of heathens did. Jaime was a vain man - he had spent many hours considering himself and he had often thought himself handsome, brave, skilled - but good? Good was not a trait House Lannister particularly valued - it was not a trait Tywin Lannister valued. In fact, Jaime was quite sure it was a trait his father downright despised. And yet - Jaime felt an odd sort of pride at Rhaella's praise.

It was easier then. Easier to not feel the judgemental eyes upon him. Easier to pretend no one would look at the red cloak pinned to his gold armor and think he'd dyed his pristine Kingsguard cloak with the blood of a man he'd sworn to protect, as he surveyed the men, some Lannister, some Martell, some Houseless looking for purpose, scurrying around the courtyard, preparing for whatever faith - or his father would throw at him.

"My sister is a woman of elegant taste, yet somehow she always manages to marry men with...dubious tastes in armor,' his good brother Oberyn said in a lazy drawl. He was dressed in light, leather armor, as the Dornish were want to do and clearly regarded Jaime's gold armor as a mighty fine jap.

'I had not expected you to ride out with us.'

Oberyn raised his eyebrows in question. 'And why is that little lion man?'

Jaime did not bother to point out they were not children anymore and he now more than matched Oberyn in height. 'Your temper is renowned and my father has little patience for a barbed tongue.'

'Your father is not my master - and I reminded him of such. Elia is my sister and both Doran and I agree that none would guard her more fiercely.'

The words "half-mad" echoed through Jaime's head, but still, he could not stop himself. 'I am more than capable of protecting my wife - and I protected her well enough when you were not here to do so.'

Something dark and dangerous passes over Oberyn's face and for an instant, Jaime wondered if the man would draw on him. But then it passed and Oberyn nodded: 'You have my gratitude, little lion.'

King’s Landing - 283 AC - Elia

Elia was a stranger to war. She was no Visenya - she did not do battle, but that did not mean she knew nothing of violence and death. In her life, she had nearly met the Stranger twice.
Birthing a child under Aerys' thumb - under his stringent and mad thumb - had been dangerous business. Elia had cursed, Elia had bled, Elia had run fevers so high dragonflame could have burst from her body, but both times Elia had seen the Stranger and had walked past him. And she was confident she would walk past him again. After all, what were three angry Lords on the face of all the suffering she had endured? What were three Lords in the face of the men accompanying her to take up her cause?

The most feared Lord in the Seven Kingdoms; an experienced commander of the Golden Company; her beautiful, brilliant but half-mad little brother; and Jaime - her Jaime - handsome and brave, as a prince in a story.

Baratheon was a hothead. Stark she only knew from stories - some tragic, some heroic and some absolutely damning - but Jon Arryn had always struck her as sensible, he would recognize the worth of her war party, and with some luck, he would sue for peace without further need for blood...Elia prayed for peace without further blood. The Seven know enough had been spilled on account of Rhaegar's ill-advised fancies.

Someone whistled. It was a bird call - a call Elia knew well.

Ringing through the air was the song of the tiny warblers that nested around the Water Gardens - her Water Gardens. The sound came from behind her, from the man ordered to be her deadly shadow - and it had never sounded more sweet.

Areo Hotah was her brother's most trusted guard. Doran had insisted that Hotah would lead the guard - no matter how out of place he looked. "You will take Areo Hotah with you," Doran had ordered, "no man can stand against Hotah." And after a long, assessing look, Tywin had agreed. Hotah was after all an imposing man, with his long axe as long as a Dornish spear and shoulders as broad as a bear's, but despite his great skill for violence...Areo Hotah was kind - and Elia knew he had seen her worries and had sought to see her smile.

Her shoulders relaxed and her iron grip on her horse's reigns loosened; his slow trot was smooth and comforting now, instead of a march to doom.

'It will pass, little Queen,' Hotah spoke. 'And if not - Hotah will protect you and fight for you.'

It was confounding how many men seemed willing to fight and die for her - while to Rhaegar - who had fathered her children - she had never been more than an afterthought...just as she was to the three Lords who threatened her son's crown. And when the two parties came into each other's view, no one spared her a glance - she was nothing to them, a pawn in a game Westrosi women were not expected to know.

Jon Arryn had been a decrepit-looking man from the first time she had met him, and it seemed war had only added to his decline. Despite everyone's assurance that Lord Arryn had once been a comely and imposing man - Elia found it hard to match that description to the bald, almost toothless man who had the look of someone who had lost much weight in little time. His skin was sallow, his features worry-wary...but his gaze was measuring and his countenance self-assured.

Robert Baratheon was exactly as Elia remembered: large, robust and positively dangerous. His face was twisted in a thunderous expression and he seemed only moments away from throttling someone. But it wasn't his face or his imposing figure that drew Elia's attention...it was the Warhammer-stained copper that hung at his side. Elia's stomach turned and for a moment she felt as if she might faint...

She quickly averted her gaze to the young Warden of the North. She had not given Eddard -or Edd, as Ashara called him - Stark much attention when they had met, his brother, charming and boisterous, had stolen every bit of attention for himself, but now she realised he was...exactly as Ashara had described him: serious, unsmiling and lacking any charm whatsoever, but beneath that solemnness there were strong shoulders and sharp, kind eyes. Ned Stark was different from most men. Elia simply hoped Ashara had not misjudged him completely - for she had little hope that there was anything reasonable that could be done to stem Robert Baratheon's murderous intent. If Lord Arryn did Robert's bidding it was this young man who could save the lives of the men poised to fight each other because of her...

The two groups met in the middle between King's Landing and the Rebel Camp, a clearing where the midday sun beat down on them harshly. Only three lance lengths separated them - to Elia, it was an odd spectacle. But to Tywin Lannister it seemed as normal as breathing.

'Lord Arryn,' he greeted, ignoring the two youths that flanked the Lord of the Vale.

'Lord Tywin,' Jon Arryn said with a nod, 'I was surprised to hear of your arrival at King's Landing - your absence this past while had been...conspicuous.'

'And welcome, no doubt,' Tywin said, his tone clipped. 'Crowned or not, I refused to involve myself in a madman's war and I refused to be commanded by a starry-eyed boy.'

'Yet here you are.'

'The madman is gone - as is the starry-eyed boy. I was pleasantly surprised to find a competent ruler in their stead.'

Elia felt many gazes finally shift to her: Arryn's was cool, calculating, but Baratheon's...Baratheon's was a tempest.

'Ah yes, the princess your son - a sworn member of the Kingsguard - coincidentally married mere weeks into her widowhood.'

Fury twisted her gut: 'The prince had little regard for the vows of marriage. And he abandoned me to the whims of a monster many moons ago,' she said, willing her voice not to tremble, 'it made mourning his passing infinitely easier as I am sure you must understand, Lord Arryn, as I heard you have married your...I believe third bride, wasn't it?'

Jon Arryn looked taken aback for a moment, clearly not having expected her to speak. 'Forgive me, princess, I meant you no offence. You are well in your right to seek happiness. I simply wished to point out that your husband had taken a vow of chastity -,'

'Queen, Lord Arryn, she is our Queen and you will address her as such,' Tywin said, his face stern, his tone unyielding. 'As for my son; he was fifteen when he took that vow - an age at which both your charges were still being fostered by yourself because they were judged not yet to have reached manhood. Do you really wish to dwell on the malicious trickery of the mad king? Lord Arryn? Trickery with which he stole my rightful heir because he found his own so lacking?'

'Your son was sworn to protect his king.'

'His son is here - I will excuse you for not spotting me, Lord Arryn. Old age is no trifle,' Jaime said, his handsome face pale and sharp with anger. 'You might have forgotten, but I also swore to protect the innocent and to do that - I had to forsake my vow to King Aerys. And since the man was planning on burning an entire city to the ground- I am glad I have forsaken my vow to him.'

'I believe we can all agree Jaime chose the right vow to uphold, and I dare you to find a reasonable voice that will claim otherwise,' Tywin reasoned. 'Jaime did what we should have done years ago. If one of us had been so bold, it would have saved many lives and that is why my son's deed now tastes so bitter to you.'

'His head might not belong on the executioner's block - but, conveniently, it landed on the pillow of Aerys' heir's mother.'

'They are young and they are beautiful. War has made stranger pairings. But fact of the matter is that they are married. The Queen is now a member of my house as is her son - your King - and so they are under the protection of my House, my banner, my name - me,' his intimidating, pale green gaze fixed on Jon Arryn. 'You know what that means, Lord Arryn. You know who I am. You have a choice, I suggest you choose wisely.'

'I fear you underestimate our numbers and our conviction, Lord Lannister,' Jon Arryn said coolly. 'We outnumber you.'

Tywin sighed as if horribly put upon: 'So you will lay siege to King's Landing? A city whose walls stand firm? A city in which the small folk flock to my banner? A city with an open port controlled by the greatest fleet in Westeros? A fool's errand and you know it, Lord Arryn. You rushed your army forward and have no supply line - within a fortnight your supplies will have dwindled to dust, within a month you will be eating your horses. Not to mention the disease and discord that will spread amongst your men. There is no way for you to win this. We will outlast you.'

A wane shadow passed over Jon Arryn's face but he said nothing. Robert Baratheon however had reached the end of his tether.

'You dare dismiss us? We are not unproven. We have fought - we have bled - we have conquered-,'

'You have faced one competent opponent - one - and he sent you - and the full might of your forces - running with only the van of the Tyrell army at his disposal. You left your ancestral seat open to siege - your people are starving - yet you stand here and claim yourself a conquerer?' Tywin said sharply. 'If you had been one of my commanders - if you had been my son - I would have had your head for that.'

Robert turned purple with fury; angry, deep blotches bloomed bright as bruises from his neck to his hair and his eyes...they were murderous.

'At the Battle of the Bells-,'

'You did not win the Battle of the Bells - he did,' Tywin said nodding towards the stony-faced Eddard Stark. 'The only one you defeated was a foolish princeling who could not have led cattle - let alone an army.'

'I did not just defeat him - I crushed him,' Robert snapped, a threatening hand atop the hilt of his hammer. 'And by the Seven, I will crush you.'

'Greater men have tried - greater men have failed, but you are welcome to try,' Tywin said unperturbed. 'My brother marches on Storm's End as we speak and you will find that he does not have Lord Tyrell's soft touch. He will break the siege and he will sack your seat. Bend the knee now and save your brothers, save your people.'

'I would rather see my brothers dead than see them bow to Dragonspawn,' Robert snapped before spitting on the ground. 'And I will not rest until that vile line is cut down root and branch - that I swear to you.'

Elia pursed her lips and grabbed Beyard's mane - focusing on the horse's steady breathing as she suppressed a shudder. So Varys had not been wrong: in his blind hatred, Baratheon sought to have her children killed.

'Robert!' Ned Stark called tersely. 'That is enough! I will not suffer the threatening of babes.'

"He has some honour," Ashara had said, and with his disgust, Eddard Stark proved his mettle.

But the damage had already been done.

'That dragonspawn you speak of,' Oberyn said, his voice a languid drawl - as a snake gliding through the sand, 'is my dear nephew - my sister's little babe. Threaten him again, Baratheon, and I will hunt you through all Seven Hells.'

There was a moment of quiet. Robert knew Oberyn - Oberyn had unhorsed him when they had met in the joust. And no Lord or knight did not know why both Prince Doran and Princess Dorea had banned Oberyn from the melee. Robert was bullheaded but he was no fool - he did not underestimate the Red Viper.

'Enough! These are negotiations under a white flag - respect it - both of you!' Jon Arryn scolded.

Oberyn smiled - a sharp smile. 'Isn't this exactly what you claim this entire war is based on? The right a man has to defend his sister?'

Robert bristled, but Stark silenced him with a look.

'I apologise,' he said earnestly, 'you have my word that I do not mean any harm to the princess and her children,' he said earnestly before turning his attention - his solemn grey eyes - solely on Elia. 'And I am glad to see you well princess, despite your many sufferings at the hands of King Aerys...and his son. A mutual friend of ours - they said you were the best of women. That Rhaegar was a twice damned fool. I trust their judgement. I will not beg, princess, it is not in my nature. But if you know anything about my sister: I would ask you to tell me.'

Elia froze. She knew that how she would handle what came next carried the heaviest weight - and she carried it up her sleeve."Proof," Ashara had whispered when she had pressed the parchment into her hand in the secrecy of her bedroom. "It will be enough for Edd."

'She's Dornish - traitorous by nature,' Robert snarled. 'She'll never give us the truth, Ned. Not if she can help it.'

Once again Ned silenced his friend with a look.

'I saw Rhaegar once after Harrenhal,' Elia said, and she was proud of how calm her voice was, despite the hammering of her heart. 'He came to tell me that he had married your sister. And that he had first intended for us to be sister-wives, but your sister said her Gods would not allow such a thing. He said he came to set me aside. That he would see to our children and that he would treat me as if an honoured sister, but that Lyanna was now his wife in every way that counted.'

'He married her?' Ned questioned dumbfounded.

'Forced her no doubt!' Robert bellowed. 'I shouldn't have killed him - I let him off too easy, too clean - I should have tortured him for as many days as he tortured her! I should have-,'

'I have letters,' Elia interrupted her eyes fixed solely on Ned and disregarding Robert completely - she did not need a madman to listen, she needed a clever man to hear her.

'What sort of letters?'

'He took her to a Tower - a hunting lodge gifted to us by my mother. The local lord wrote to me to tell me what Rhaegar had done. And then...I have very recently received one from the hand of Arthur Dayne.' And that name was enough to silence even Robert. The Sword of Morning was the greatest swordsman of their time - perhaps the greatest ever, and his character was held above that of all others. A paragon of knightliness. 'He wrote it to his sisters, he always writes to them-,'

'To let them know where he is and that he is well,' Stark finished quietly, reciting the words from memory with a grim look. 'We looked for him at the Trident...When we couldn't find him, I thought he was with you.'

'He should have been. But he is with your sister,' Elia said flatly. 'His letter confirms that she went out of free will. It is yours if you so please.'

'Lies, all lies,' Robert bristled. 'Lyanna would never,-'

'Lyanna has wolf blood and she is wilful,' Stark said harshly, his face a storm of emotion. 'There was something - I knew there was something. Benjen, he-,' he took a deep, shuddering breath and steeled his spine. All emotion had drained from his face. Stoic but not quite frozen; his eyes, sad and tired, still spoke of how he had been through all Seven Hells, Elia realised and he was just as tired of it as she was. 'I would very much like those letters.'

Elia pulled the letters from the pocket of her sleeve and moved to dismount - it would be quite the feat considering the size of the step that had been needed to get her atop her giant mount.

'No,' Jaime said suddenly, his tone as severe as his father's as he glared at Baratheon with a fury she hadn't thought her smiling knight possessed. 'You will not go near them. They will not touch you.'

Elia stared at him dumbstruck for a moment, hardly noticing Areo Hotah standing patiently by her side. 'Queens do not dismount for mere mortals, little one,' he said with a crooked grin. 'Hotah will hand them over.'

'Thank you,' Elia said with a small smile.

It took Hotah but three of his giant steps to cross the distance. Stark politely accepted the letters and the deal was done without threat or danger, yet still, Jaime stared at Baratheon like she imagined a lion would size up his prey.

Stark carefully looked over the letters, before nodding just once. 'Will you tell me where this tower is?'

'Will you go collect her and go home?' Elia questioned their eyes meeting once more. 'Your kin and men have been avenged - your sister awaits you. You have what you came for.'

Stark's face was grim, but his eyes spoke of pain and regret. 'I made a promise...'

'It is our offer to you as well princess,' Lord Arryn said glibly. 'Shed the Targaryen yolk - it never treated you as you deserved. Take your children and go home to Dorne. They will be a prince and a princess still and we will see you fairly compensated for all your-,'

Elia held up a single hand, her ruby ring catching the sunlight - her eyes fixed on Baratheon's warhammer - on Rhaegar's blood and she shook her head. 'I too made a promise - my son's birthright is not for sale.'

'Battle it is,' Lord Arryn said grimly.

'I am not in the habit of giving second chances,' Tywin drawled. 'But heed my warning Lord Arryn - do not let the folly of youth force you to lead thousands of men into agony.'

'You are not the only one with tricks, Lord Lannister,' Lord Arryn replied brusquely before closing his eyes for a moment. 'And I pray the Seven forgive us when our day of judgment comes.'

Tywin was still as he looked his opponent over with calculating eyes. 'We shall meet on the battlefield.'

The battlefield.

Elia felt numb as they turned around their horses. She had hoped to turn Stark, and she knew - she knew - he had considered it, that he had seen things her way.... it was a bitter thing to swallow.

'Stark.'

Oberyn.

Elia turned to see her brother had not moved. Instead he stared at Stark with blazing eyes. And before Elia could put a stop to whatever darkness simmered at the edges of Oberyn's sanity - Oberyn spoke:

'If promises mean so much to you...why did my cousin have to bear the weight of her dead babe alone and unwed?' His grin was as sharp as his spear as he finally turned his horse around. 'Make peace with your Gods, Stark. If it comes to battle - I will find you.'

His threats Stark would not entertain - Elia knew this for sure. But Oberyn's first remark had hit its target. The young Warden of the North had never yet looked so much his age; his eyes wide, his cheeks ashen - and Elia made a terrible realisation: he had not known. 

Chapter Text

Chapter eleven

Winterfell - Eddard

The Queen drank deeply from her wine. Her face contorted with distaste - she was clearly not a heavy drinker, and Ned had never before seen her take more than birdlike nips from anything stronger than table ale. But now, she drank as if she wanted to be in her cups. Ned could not fault her for it. For the first time in years, the thought of drinking himself into oblivion seemed the best choice.

Arthur Dayne however had a different opinion and grasped Elia's shoulder gently: 'Elia,-'

'No!' She said knocking away his hand with a fervour that did not suit her and sneered: 'Do not touch me, Ser Arthur. Do not use our kinship and familiarity or your blasted honour as a means to excuse yourself or I will scream. I am done with your chivalry.'

The Sword of the Morning bowed his head and stepped away, his face drawn. And Ned realised that despite all his valour and all of his righteousness - life had not been kind to Arthur Dayne. Had he abandoned Rhaegar and Lyanna - would he have been the one at Elia's side? His son growing tall and strong beside the young king?

No - Elia's harsh words rang true in Ned's mind: if Arthur Dayne had been at King's Landing, he would have died a valiant death and Elia and her children a violent one. Elia's life, Aegon's crown - the Kingslayer had brought that about and no one else could have done so.

'Apologies, Your Grace, but you are shaking,' Arthur said - no matter how deep the water between them was, Ned knew Arthur Dayne would always care for the little Queen, though it was not his place to guess in what way.

'Of course I am shaking - you have just sprung quite the tale on me,' Elia said returning to her seat, still firmly gripping her cup: to drink from it or to hurl it across the room - and Ned would have thought her well in her right even if she chose to hurl it at his head.

Ashara sat down beside her, gently prying the cup from her and replacing it with her own hand.

'I am sorry to cause you anguish,' Ned said with a bow of his head. 'I am sorry for all the anguish my House has caused you over the years. But for all her flaws and misdeeds - I loved my sister - my little sister - and I could not deny her her final request. But it was my choice to do so and I will bear the consequences of my deceit.'

When Ned had sat in front of that damned Tower with Jon in his arms he had understood that the promise he had made Lyanna could very well lead to his head on the executioner's block: he
lied to the crown and squirrelled away a son of Rhaegar - a possible pretender - in lands that had rebelled. Brandon and their father had lost their lives for far less grievous offences. It had terrified him more than he would ever admit aloud. But now, Ned had peace with whatever consequence would be doled out. The Queen was a fair woman, she would never turn her wrath to his wife and children. As for his own life...he had made the decision, and he would pay the price for it; such was the way of things, such was the way of the North.

'Do not be ridiculous,' Elia snapped. 'I send you to the Wall or the executioner's block and what then? Your son is a good boy but he cannot govern the North - not yet, not now. There would be instability and insurgency, and eventually, the Crown would have to intervene. I have not worked as hard as I have to hand my son a realm in which his first decision shall be whether to wage war and risk his men or to turn the North into a second Field of Fire. I will not put that on his conscience.You will stay where you are, Lord Stark and you will live with what you have done - as we all have to.´

Ned bowed his head. 'As you wish,' he said simply, but his insides turned at the thought of war and dragonfire. He had no appetite for war - not anymore; tragedy had bled it out of him. And by his life or his death, he would do everything in his power to keep his children from its horror.

'But what of Jon?' Ashara questioned gently.

'What of Jon,' Elia echoed quietly, 'that is the question, isn't it?' She fixed Ned with a look. 'Do you think there are men foolish enough to raise him up as a pretender if they knew...what he is? Who hei is?'

'There will always be fools, you know this as well as I do. But I am not one of them and neither is Jon,' Ned said truthfully. 'The boy has his ambitions, but they do not reach so high.'

'The pretenders themselves are usually not the ones hungry for the throne,' Elia argued. 'I do not doubt Jon's character, but I do not doubt the Northern distaste for the South either. And I fear some would use him for their own ends.'

'Some of the same men who hate the South would kill Jon for the sin of his parentage. Rhaegar and Lyanna cost all of us much - but others, such as Crowfood lost everything...He and many like him would see the end of Jon's life as a sort of atonement,' Ned said grimly.

'He cannot stay here,' Elia said quietly, as if to herself.

'The Wall is an option,' Arthur said.

It had been the deal they had made, Ned and the three Kingsguards sworn to care for Rhaegar's son: Ned would raise the babe as his son, and when the time came, when he was ready, the boy would take the Black and live out his life at the Wall. It had been a harsh decision - sentencing a little orphaned baby to the Wall. But what other choice did they have? Who else would want this boy? A living reminder of a war that should never have been fought?

'Jon has spoken in favour of taking the Black,' Ned said. 'It would do him good to live with his uncle Benjen-,'

'Who he now knows has lied to him all of his life?' Ashara questioned scathing. 'Yes, I am sure that will go very well.'

'Sister, it would be best for everyone if Jon went to the Wall,' Arthur said calmly. 'Any claim he might have according to some will disappear as soon as he takes his vows.'

'Best for everyone except for Jon, you mean?' Ashara said indignantly. 'The wall is dangerous - he is a boy. He deserves a chance at a life before you condemn him to that frozen hell.'

She was right. Of course, she was right.

'Than what would you suggest? To take him to King's Landing as a hostage? That will keep him safe,' Arthur said in the same scathing tone his sister favoured, his even temper slipping under the onslaught of Ashara's sharp disapproval. Afterall Ashara had the talent to get under the skin of even the most even-tempered man, as Ned himself could attest to.

There was one other option, Ned supposed.
Howland. Good, loyal, too-kind Howland Reed had once bravely offered to take Jon home with him to Greywater Watch where no one would ever find him. The life of the crannogmen was harsh - but fair. Jon could find friendship there, a sense of belonging.

But before Ned could suggest sending Jon to one of the most isolated corners of the realm, Ashara spoke.

He had never been able to match her quick wit.

I will foster him,' she said decisively.

'He is too old to be fostered,' Ned said before adding, as gently as his rough manners allowed; 'and it will only add more grist to the mill - everyone will think you his mother for sure.'

'It seems everyone already does,' Ashara said, her eyes unreadable. 'My my reputation has already thoroughly been besmirched, Lord Stark - at least let some good come of it.'

Ned felt lost...just as lost as he had felt in that camp outside of King's Landing as his reality had crumbled around him. After Elia had cut him deep and her brother, her cruel, honest brother had dealt him an axe blow to the roots.
He had spent every moment of his life since then trying to do his best for those he loved; Catelyn, the children, Jon and Ashara Dayne - of course Ashara Dayne - only to see life spit on every choice he made.

'Lord Stark is right, he is too old to start a foster,' Elia said decisively. 'Even with the rumour of his parentage, it would raise questions.'

' Then we call it training,' Ashara said. 'Jon showed promise in the practice yard and Aegon has shown favour to his brother. What more could a baseborn son or a bastard half-brother ask for than a commission with the Gold Cloaks and a possible chance at a White Cloak?'

'It sounds like the kinder option,' Elia said.

'I would rather not see Jon leave for the capitol,' Ned said. 'The North is where he belongs -,'

'I am not asking for your permission, Lord Stark,' Elia said sternly and Ned bit his tongue. The Crown had not often meddled in Northern affairs since Winterfell had come under his command.
And no matter how just the Queen's anger, or rule - he chaffed under being commanded. 'Jon will be perfectly safe in King's Landing - or must I remind you that I employ one of Baratheon's bastards? That he lives and works in the Red Keep without worry or fear? There were those who said I should have done away with Gendry. Just as some said, I should have executed Stannis, and Gods forbid Renly - a mere boy at the time. Even your head was up for debate once, Lord Stark, as I am sure you remember? But the people who serve me - the people you suspect would plot against Jon - deferred to my judgement.'

Of course Ned had heard of Gendry. The boy Robert had managed to sire on a whore as he rushed towards King's Landing in his final days of life. When his existence became known, Ned had offered to House him at Winterfell, just as Old Lord Estermont had offered to raise his great-grandson at Greenstone. But the Queen had refused them both stating the boy was perfectly happy with his foster parents and would remain with them. Ned had been...sceptical, as he was of everything so close after the Rebellion. But some moons later, a raven from Lord Estermont had confirmed that Gendry was indeed happy and well cared for. Just as Renly had been allowed to grow up without worry or fear. Perhaps Elia would be able to ensure Jon's safety too with her iron fist wrapped in silks, but he was still loath to let his boy wade into the viper pit that was King's Landing - the boy was as ill-suited for it as Ned himself.

'How do you know Barristan will approve of taking on your rumoured son as a trainee?' Arthur asked - it was not an unreasonable question. The Barristan Selmy Ned had known was a dutiful, reasonable man but not without pride.

'I told my husband the truth before we were wed,' Ashara said as she pointedly looked to Ned, her eyebrow arched with imperious judgement. 'He knows Jon is not mine, and rumours and talk mean absolutely nothing to him. If Jon is willing to work hard - Barristan will treat him kindly and teach him well.'

If he was honest, Ned knew a role under Barristan - the Bold - Selmy and a possible position with his Gold Cloaks was a life far less bleak than serving at the Wall. Under Ser Barristan and Manly Stokeworth, the Gold Cloaks had regained their lustre, and all who served there served with honour, distinction and complete and utter loyalty to the Crown. In return, they were given good, clean, safe housing and wages that ensured they could properly provide for a family.
The Wall, though still supplied with good men and younger sons from the noble Houses of the North, saw its numbers bolstered mostly with all sorts of criminals and still demanded a disavow of any other family than the Brothers of the Night's Watch. In his heart of hearts, Ned knew which future he preferred for his boy - despite the possible risks that haunted his thoughts.

'To train under Barristan Selmy, is a great honour,' Ned said finally. 'I thank you, Lady Selmy for affording Jon this chance...despite all the ways I have done wrong by you.'

And for once he was selfish, for once he allowed himself to look at her, the love and dream of his youth - still the most heartbreakingly beautiful woman he had ever seen - with all the love and admiration he held for her. And he knew that if things had been different; if Lyanna had not done what she had done or if he had told Hoster Tully no. Edd would have gladly lived out his life quietly admiring the woman that was Ashara Dayne.

Ashara returned his gaze, the full weight of her haunting eyes on him and said: 'I am not some poor Jenny of Oldstones...I do not dance with my ghosts. I burried my ghosts with our daughter and I am happier for it - perhaps you should try to bury your ghosts as well, Edd.'

King’s Landing - 283 AC - Jaime

One foot.
That was all Jaime's horse had set into the courtyard of the Red Keep before his father turned to him with a look so sour it could curdle water. It was the very same look he had given Jaime whenever Cersei and him had managed to drive off another Septa. He had been a boy then and the look had always lead to some choice words and a boxing of his ears. Always Jaime - never Cersei.

Not even after aunt Gemma outright told his father that it was Cersei who was the driving force behind all the torment inflicted on the hapless victims.

"It doesn't matter," Tywin had said. "Cersei is a girl. Jaime is my heir - he needs to do better."

Jaime needs to do better. It might as well have been the words of their House, so rarely had he managed to step out of the enormous shadow his father cast. It made him feel like a stupid boy still. A stupid boy who needed his father to clean up his messes.

And so instead of taking Elia's arm to eat with the children, before the war council would claim them for the rest of the day, Jaime dutifully followed his father like a scolded hound.

And that is how Jaime found himself in the Tower of the Hand, being stripped of his armour by a nervous squire as his father set out pieces on a table map planning his strategy, occasionally glancing up imperiously - as if he were actually peering down at Jaime from atop the Iron Throne.

The squire, a boy he vaguely recognised as a distant Lannister cousin, fumbled with the clasps of Jaime's chestplate - Jaime couldn't blame him. The tension was almost unbearable. It was one of Tywin Lannister's favourite tactics: driving his opponents mad with the expectation of what was to come. It worked particularly well on Jaime.

'Father - if there is some lesson you wish to teach me. Teach me.'

Tywin glanced up at him. 'Mouthing off to Arryn was stupid,' he said as he set a cavalry piece down with a loud thud. 'Lannisters do not act like fools - not anymore. I saw to that.'

Jaime just stared at him.

'Go on,' Tywin said not deining him worthy of a look, 'say something clever. You and that stupid mouth of yours. Arryn baited you and of course you could not resist. A lion, Jaime, does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep. Remember that.'

'I don't care -,'

'You do.You always did.' His disdain evident from his tone.

'I could not abide him speaking about me and my wife as if -,'

'Your wife. You sold your marriage to me as a matter of convenience - ambition perhaps. Your actions speak differently. Do you actually think yourself in love with the girl?'

Jaime honestly did not know if what he felt for Elia went beyond "fond" but he did not wish to further damn himself in the eyes of his father with his ignorance. 'You married mother for love.'

'I did and your mother was the making of me. If you truelly fancy yourself in love with this girl - let her be the making of you and show her she did not marry a dolt,' Tywin looked at Jaime then. 'Ellyn Tarbeck was fond of japs - as was her brother Reynard. They too always had something clever to say. But then they over-reached: to all who would hear they japed of toothless lions and to my father they japed of scruffing his hissing little kit. Perhaps if they had japed less there would still be Tarbecks and Reynes. Actions, Jaime will always be louder than clever words.'

Jaime was not clever. But he could read between the lines: Jon Arryn's insult to Jaime would not go unanswered. 'I understand,' he said with an obedient nod of his head.

'Out,' Tywin said, dismissing the squire as he rose to his feet. The boy hastily bowed before rushing out of the room. Jaime would seek him out later - he could do with a brave squire and to perform a task under the scrutiny of Tywin Lannister showed the lad had steel to him. 'You have given us a chance to establish a dynasty - a dynasty that could last a thousand years.' He walked to Jaime and took his face in hand, forcing Jaime to meet his eyes. 'I need you to become the man you are meant to be. Not next year. Not tomorrow. Now.'

Jaime swallowed, palms sweaty and his heart beating in his throat just as it has when he was a boy and his Maester instructed him to recite the Lannister Family tree before his father's unimpressed gaze. He tried to control himself - tried to steel himself against the crushing weight of his father's expectations and finding it as hard as ever. Only Uncle Kevan had ever managed to live up to the lofty standards Jaime's father had set for him: steady, tireless, prudent and clever Uncle Kevin..coincidentally also the uncle whom Jaime was least alike.

Tywin returned to his map, once again busying himself with moving around the pieces.

'I will try my best to be worthy of your faith, father,' Jaime said quietly.

'I hope you will do more than try,' Tywin remarked. 'Fail and not only will our House face collapse - but your wife and her children will be as good as dead.'

Jaime felt as of he would choke on his own heartbeat, curling and flexing his fingers to stop them from shaking. 'I understand.'

'Good,' Tywin said with a nod, no longer bothering to even glance at Jaime.

'Do you need me to speak to Oberyn and,-'

'I don't care what prince Oberyn says! He is to marry my daughter - as long as he does not make a fool out of her he can do as he bloody well pleases. You are my heir - you need to do better!'

Some things truely did never change.

'Yes, father.'

'I will see you in an hour for the war council. Come prepared.' Jaime recognised a dismissal when he heard it and left the Hand's audiance chamber with an unacknowledged bow.

As he descended the stairs that lead to the Hand's Tower, he found Elia waiting at the bottom with two Dornish guards dutifully standing behind her.

She smiled when she saw him - a genuine smile, her warm eyes just as inviting as the upward quirk of her lips.

'I was starting to think your father would never dismiss you,' she stated.

'You haven't been waiting here the entire time, have you?'

Elia shook her head. 'I was with the children. Rhaenys is...anxious. She was worried when you did not show - I don't think she will settle until she has seen you well.'

Jaime felt - warm. During his time serving in the King's Guard, far removed from his family, he had come accustomed to those around him generally caring quite little for his comfort - or his life. There were afterall knights and Lannisters aplenty. But suddenly there was this little family he had acquired by chance that valued his wellbeing. It was...enjoyable.

Jaime offered Elia his arm, as he was want to do, as they walked to the nursery. Her guards following at a respectable distance.

'You seem - tense?' Elia questioned.

'My father has that effect on people,' Jaime said honestly. 'He has informed me of his expectations of me. They are...steep.'

'We have asked much of your these past few days. I apologise.'

'Do not apologise. It has been long since I have felt this alive,' Jaime said. 'Aerys used me as a glorified doorstop and all I had to occupy my time were my grievances with him and my disapproval of him. I much prefer this life.'

'Are you not frightened?'

Jaime considered his answer for a moment or two. 'Not of the battle or the battlefield. I trust my father - he is indomitable. Try as they might: I do not believe the Rebels can outwit him when it comes to strategy with the advantages we have. And on the battlefield I trust myself. I am not a humble man - I know my worth with a sword. And I mean to look for Baratheon in the battle lines.'

'Don't,' Elia said quietly. 'Do not look for him. Baratheon, he scares me.'

'He's a brute and uses it to his advantage,' Jaime said, his lip curling in distaste. 'He throws his strength around - but I am strong too. He cannot cower me. Besides,' he added with a smile, 'I refuse to be bested by a man wielding a hammer.'

But Elia did not laugh or smile . She halted and turned to him, looking up at him with those impossibly dark eyes as her small hand grasped his tightly. 'Rhaegar was confident when he rode out - but Robert still defeated him in battle. I heard the stories of how he died. I was angry - I am angry - so, so angry with Rhaegar for all of his follies. But he did not deserve to die that way. Promise me, Jaime. Promise me you won't look for him on the battlefield. I have so much to be afraid of already, take away this fear for me, promise me you won't look for him.'

Jaime stood frozen; he had not expected his little wife to care enough about him to fear for him. But he was inexplicably glad that she did.

'I am not Rhaegar,' Jaime said as gently as he could, but without even trying to be arrogant, it was the fact of it: he was not Rhaegar. Yes, Rhaegar had won at Harrenhal, but Jaime would have bet Casterly Rock that Arthur Dayne had let him win. Rhaegar was no novice - but his skill had never come close to men such as the Sword of Morning - or Jaime himself. He'd had no business fighting a man such as Robert Baratheon.

Elia pressed a kiss to his hand - as soft and sweet as a blessing. 'I know.'

Jaime swore to himself then and there he would do whatever his father deemed necessary of him, just so he could gift her, not a crown of flowers, but a kingdom.
But whatever else could have passed between them was interrupted by a sharp intake of breath.

'Milord,' the guard called, his voice alarmed as he rushed past them, towards the stairway. The stairway that led to Elia's apartments. Jaime followed him wordlessly -

Ghostly fingers crept up his spine and grabbed him by the throat leaving him breathless: there was blood - a trail of it coming around the corner. And as he looked around it, he saw its source: just up the winding stairs lay the prone body of a Gold Cloak, gutted - brutally.

The Dornish man beside him went taut, his sword already halfway unsheathed. 'Go!' Jaime commanded before calling to the other guard: 'Hide her and get help!'

He spared neither of them another look as he stormed up the stairs but he heard - he heard the exact moment Elia saw the blood. She screamed. A blood-curdling scream that reverberated through the staircase and made Jaime's heart ache. It was scream not unlike the ones he had heard coming from Queen Rhaella's bedroom on the nights he had gone away inside. Only now Jaime had a chance - a chance to fix it.

Then there was another sound - a sound he knew well - a sound you could not forget: the rattling death-moan of a man dying a violent death.

It spurred him forward - pushing himself forward, pushing himself past such trivial things as his pounding heart and burning lungs until he finally reached the top of the stairs - and he was struck with such a sight he did not know where to look first.

Five bodies were scattered around the hallway - and there was enough blood to put a butcher's to shame. Three of the bodies were Gold Cloaks - the other two were Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. Two men Jaime had always considered firmly in his father's deep pockets but apparently even the Lord of Lannisport could be overbid.
Standing between the massive body of Ser Gregor and the nursery door was the most unlikely pair Jaime had ever seen: Ashara Dayne and Sandor Clegane - one the great beauty of the Seven Kingdoms and the other, the younger brother of Gregor, whose half-burned face was considered too gruesome for polite company.

Ashara stood pressed against the door; her eyes wide and frightened as she clutched a sword in a pale-knuckled grip. The sword was blooded and the lady's face and pretty, violet dress were splattered with blood that hopefully did not belong to her.

'Ashara?' Jaime called out, her eyes flitted from the monsterous dead man to Jaime, her chest heaving. 'Let's give that sword to me. It is all right he is very, very dead.' Jaime stepped over Ser Gregor's body, noting how his thick neck had been heavily cleaved, and gently pried the sword from Ashara's iron grip. 'Are you injured?'

She simply looked at him - dumb with the suspense of the fight.

'Ashara - are you hurt?' Jaime tried again as he tossed the sword to a corner and the guard - a Dayne man apparently, moved to clean Ashara's face with his sleeve as he spoke softly to her in Dornish as if she were a frightened babe.

'She's fine,' Sandor said, his gravely voice even hoarser than usual, as he stood hunched over, a very bloody hand clutching his side - undoubtedly stemming a cut. There were several of them all over his body, bleeding sluggishly and his scared face looked as if it had taken quite a beating. 'They didn't touch her - and they didn't get in. I knew that stupid fuck was up to something. I followed him - and a good fucking thing I did.'

'And you? Anything lethal?' Jaime questioned as Sandor spat out a mouthful of blood - directly on his brother's body.

Sandor shook his head and Jaime was glad for it. The Hound, as most called him, was a gruesome looking man, hard and brutal, with an absolutely piss poor temper, but he was not as monsterous as he looked. He had some honour to him - albeit a sort entirely of his own design and Jaime knew him to be as loyal as the hounds he preferred over people. 'Though the cunt would have fucking killed me if it hadn't been for her,' Sandor said with a nod towards Ashara, before adding, almost as an afterthought. 'Fucking Daynes.'

'Ashara fought Gregor Clegane?' Jaime said his disbelief overcoming every other emotion.

Sandor shook his head. 'Brought that sword down on his neck when he was choking the life out or me. Bastard was so shocked I managed to get him with my dagger. His back might have been turned. But the girl still has bigger balls than most men in this fucking Keep.'

It was then that Oberyn, followed by a host of men came barreling up the stairs: weapons drawn and bodies tense.

'The children?' Oberyn demanded harshly as he eyed the carnage.

'Fine,' Clegane said. 'We locked them in with the old Queen and Stokeworth.'

'Manly Stokeworth let you lock him up with the children?' Jaime questioned in disbelief. The Commander of the City Watch was not one to shrink away from a fight.

'The cunt took his hand,' Sandor said, kicking Gregor's body with the tip of his boot to clarify which cunt he was referring to.

Jaime swore before pounding on the door. 'Manly it's Jaime - open the door!'

Quiet. Except for Elia's ghostly voice ripping through the air, the panic in it so tangible Jaime felt it in his bones. 'My children! Where are my children? Rhaenys! Aegon!'

'Let her up!' Oberyn called tiredly - as if the release of tension had sapped him of all of his almost inhumane vigor. The clever, clever man had ordered some poor soul to keep Elia away from what could have been.

She was there in an instant, her cumbersome dress pulled up to her knees. She looked ill - just as she had done in the weeks following Aegon's laboured birth: bloodless, bitten lips and dark eyes that seemed impossibly huge against chalky skin. Jaime shot forward as her step faltered, but Oberyn was there, grabbing her elbows and holding her up.

'All is well,' Oberyn said his voice and touch far too gentle for a man they called the Viper as he pulled her to his chest, 'they barred the door - no one never got to the children.'

Elia slammed a fist into his chest, her face twisting in a fury that did not suit her and Jaime thought the siblings had never looked more alike. 'How dare you! How dare you keep me from them!' Elia shouted her voice trembling with terror as she pounded her brother's chest again and again. He made no effort to stop her, obediently accepting every beat of her fists.

'They're in the nursery,' Oberyn said, his tone gentle as if he were speaking to a spooked horse. 'Elia, Stokeworth locked them in. Listen to me, Elia: no one got to them. They are safe.'

Elia sobbed as she collapsed against him. Her anger snuffed out as if it were the flame of a candle.

Again Jaime pounded on the door - harder, more insistend, deciding the farce had gone on long enough: 'Manly - open the door!'

Elia looked to the door only to catch sight of her friend, the Dayne guard still firmly by her side. 'Ashara?' She called out - her voice high and sharp with panic.

'I am well,' Ashara whispered, staring at her bloody hands with hollow-eyes. Elia immediately rushed over to her, her dainty slippers splashing through the blood and the two women embraced as Jaime continued to pound on the door, his frustration steadily rising.

'Manly, open the door!' Jaime shouted emphasising each word with a fervent beat of his fist.

'Probably passed out from bloodloss,' Clegane remarked. 'Even a tough bastard like Stokeworth doesn't just shrug off losing a fucking hand.'

'I thought you said the old Queen was in there with him?' Jaime said irritable.

'Probably fainted too,' Sandor said gruffly, as he shoved away what Jaime assumed was a Maester. 'Isn't that what good ladies do? Except for the fucking Dayne ones apparently.'

Ashara looked up at the mention of her name but said nothing.

'All the more reason to open this door,' Jaime stated, anxiously raking a hand through his hair as he eyed the solid oak door assessingly. No matter how injured, Manly would have thought to bolt the door. If they were getting in without any help from the inside, they would need a battering ram to break down the door.

'Is there a secret passageway you know of?' Oberyn questioned. 'This keep is riddled with them, is it not?'

'All the ones to family appartements have been bricked up,' Jaime stated prikly. 'The Targaryens did learn some lessons during the their little civil war. We're wasting time -,'

'Let me try,' Elia said quietly, slipping from Ashara's desperate grasp.

Jaime frowned. 'Do you know a trick to get the door open?'

'I might,' Elia said her mouth twisted in a determined line.

Jaime stepped out of the way, ordering two men to go off in search of something they could use to beat the door in if Elia's efforts were for nought, all the while pacing nervously behind her. He hated this state of uselessness; hated that Elia's children - the children under his care - were out of his reach, possibly in danger and he was just useless...

So much for becoming the man he was born to be.

'It is Elia,' his little wife said softly as she placed a hand on the door, leaning in close as if whispering to it, 'you can open the door - it is safe now. The bad men are dead. I promise.'

There it was.
The unmistakable sound of a bolt being slid back.
And then nothing more.
Carefully, Elia opened the door.
Standing behind it was a Viserys Targaryen, shaking like a leaf, with a tear-stained face as he held up a sword that was far too big for his body. He looked rather pathetic, but Jaime didn't doubt he would have tried to attack whoever had beaten the door down. The boy sobbed as Elia reached for him and dropped the sword with a loud clang.

'You did well,' Elia said pressing a kiss to the boy's head as he clung to her as fervently as Aegon would. 'Rhaegar would have been so proud of you, you brave boy.'

Manly was indeed passed out. He sat slumped against a bookcase, right across from the door. In his right hand he still clutched his sword, but where his left hand should have been was now only a bloodsoaked rag and judging from prince Viserys' stained hands, he was the one who had bandaged him - quite a feat for a soft, spoiled princling.

'Good lad,' Jaime said patting his shoulder as he looked to see where Rhaella had hid the little children.

'Tend to Commander Stokeworth! Put him on one of the beds!' Elia called over her shoulder. Oberyn and the Maester sprang into action, firing off orders as no less than four men were needed to move the robust Commander to the bed. 'Viserys,' Elia said her voice soft and sweet once more, as she turned back to the young prince and brushed the boy's hair back from his sweaty forehead, 'where is your mother? Where are the babies?'

He raised a single trembling finger towards the bookcase.

Elia looked up, her eyes wide with realisation as she clutched Viserys to her chest. 'They moved the bookcase - there's a small wardrobe there! They blocked the door!'

'Help me!' Jaime called as he went to move the heavy case out of the way. As he grabbed hold, his hand came away wet and red - blood. Manly Stokeworth - the absolute beast of a man - had moved the bookcase after he had been injured through sheer force of will.

If he lived - Jaime swore to gift the man his weight in gold.

Elia dove for the door as soon as Jaime and two others had moved the bookcase enough for her to squeeze forward - calling her children's names anxiously.

'We are well,' Rhaella said reassuringly, though her voice sounded as tired as Jaime had ever heard it.

'Look mama!' Rhaenys called out - her voice a good deal more cheerful than Jaime felt.

Whatever Elia saw wrenched a gasp from her lips. She stumbled back, eyes wide and her fingers pressed to her lips as she sank to the floor, the blood-stained skirts of her dress pooling around her. Fear gripped Jaime's heart with icy fingers and he peered into the wardrobe: Rhaella sat huddled against the wall, her grandchildren held securely in her arms. All looked hearty and hale. But there was a hiss - nothing particularly shocking considering what a prickly little thing Rhaenys' little kitten was. Only...the wriggling, hissing little body in Rhaenys' little arms was not her black kitten. Two bright bronze eyes glowed in the darkness of the wardrobe as they fixed on Jaime - there was an otherworldly look to them - a malevolence that made Jaime's skin crawl.

A dragon. A tiny, tiny dragon.

The little beast coiled its slim, green body protectively in Rhaenys arms, its jaw snapping at Jaime in warning

A fucking dragon.

'Shhh Vhagar,' Rhaenys said pressing a kiss to the creature's head as if it really was that damned little cat of hers. 'Jaime is my friend.'

'Vhagar?' Rhaella questioned gently as she combed her long, slim fingers through her granddaughter's inky hair.

'Her name,' Rhaenys said decisively before nodding her little chin at her brother. 'He is Balerion.' Jaime felt the world spin as he caught sight of the small, tar-black being wrapped protectively around a sleeping Aegon's shoulders, placid, except for its eyes, eyes the colour of burning coal, which regarded Jaime intently.

Two fucking dragons.

Dragons had been gone for over one hundred years - one hundred years - and now the Gods had decided to fuck Jaime over by throwing two of them in his lap - in the tiny hands of the babes in his care - and both little beasts looked at Jaime as if they were prepared to feast on his bones.

'Oberyn! Come here! Come here now!' He called positively seething with hysterical anger and more than a hint of panic. Knights, soldiers, brigands - blood, vomit, shit - Jaime could handle it all. But dragons? There was no one alive in all the Seven Kingdoms who could handle dragons.

Elia crawled into the wardrobe, the want to hold her children obvious but she dithered as the creatures both regarded her with interest.

'Elia, take care,' Jaime said making a grab for his dagger - they were little still, Jaime could kill them if need be.

'They are quite friendly,' Rhaella said as if describing a pair of placid hounds, 'and clever - they will recognise you for who you are. Do not be afraid, dear girl.'

Carefully Elia pulled Aegon into her lap, the still dozing child nestling himself instantly against his mother's chest. For a moment the little creature regarded Elia intently, but after it sniffed the air, it rested its head against her arm - as if a fond little pet.

A colourful curse boomed behind Jaime - Oberyn, the puppeteer of this farce.

'What did you do?' Jaime questioned icely, sounding frighteningly like his father.

'They were petrified!' Oberyn exclaimed, crouching down to regard the creatures more closely.

'Clearly,' Jaime said dryly. 'They indeed look quite petrified to me. What witchcraft have you meddled with this time?' Rumours of how the Prince of Dorne dabbled with sorcery - and dabbled in witches - had spread all over the realm and this madness positively stunk of dark magic.

'I would not knowingly spring such a thing on my sister's infant children!' Oberyn said indignantly.

'Oberyn is right, the eggs were indeed petrified,' Rhaella said soothingly, sounding far too reasonable. 'Rhaenys was terrified - her cries awoke them, the blood spilt brought them to life. Dragons are strange creatures, but they will always respond to those who have the blood of the dragon.' Her lips twisted into a satisfied smirk. 'I hope that the Gods show Aerys this in whatever hell they have banished him to. I hope he will suffer his torment in the knowledge that the grandchild he dismissed woke the dragons.'

Winterfell - Aegon

"Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land." Only his coin had never landed, his mother had caught it and held it firmly in her hand, forcing it with all her might on greatness. Aegon was young when he had realised why - it had been easy really. The Targaryen madness outweighed the greatness - it outweighed it heavily. There were things, terrible, horrible things creeping in his bloodline and they scared Aegon - possibly even more than they scared the realm

So, he always did his best to be his best. He still felt it though, the emotions that had brought many a Targaryen to their knees: anger, fear, envy, jealousy - but he could never, not under any circumstance, ever lean into them. He could feel them, but he always needed to step away from them...and into the arms of those who loved him - luckily he had plenty of arms to choose from.

But Jon - burdened with the same blood, left behind by the same father...he did not.
He was a Targaryen alone in the world...a terrible, terrible thing.

'Breathe, Jon,' he said as they walked beside each other - his half-brother and him - as Jon struggled with anger, with tears, or with grief? He wasn't sure, but whatever it was - it drained all colour from his face and made him shake.

'I am trying...Your Grace.'

'Aegon - my name is Aegon,' he smiled wryly. 'You should call me Aegon.

Jon shook his head. 'I couldn't - people would talk if they heard...'

'Let them talk,' Aegon said with a shrug. 'My father always says that lions and dragons don't concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.'

Jon halted just as they stepped into the Godswood to stare at him openly, the quiet vacant of the holy forest making him brave. 'Your father?'

Aegon's lips quirked upward. 'Jaime. Jaime is my father. Or at least in every way that matters. Much like you and Lord Stark, I suppose.'

It was the truth. Rhaegar Targaryen had neither lived long enough nor given Aegon enough thought during his life to be considered his father. Silver hair and purple eyes - that was the measure of Rhaegar's foray into fatherhood. And it seemed Jon had been given even less.

'Lord Stark is not my father,' Jon said harshly, plopping down on a fallen tree, his limbs slow and lax with an exhaustion that was beyond his years.

'He is more your father than Rhaegar was - though I suppose he at least valued your life.' Aegon heard the bitterness in his own voice and shook his head to rid himself of it: Rhaegar had paid the price for what he had done - the greatest price and being angry towards a man long gone would never help anything.

'I am sorry,' Jon said quietly. 'I know how it feels when someone treats you as less. It's a rotten feeling and I never would wish it to be on my account.'

'You are blameless,' Aegon said as he sat down beside him. 'Whatever bad blood there might be between us, or however deep the water between us might be. It is his fault. Not ours.'

'Do you hate him?' Jon asked, his face open and honest. There was no artifice to Jon, but he did remain guarded: eyeing Aegon warily as if he could suddenly turn on him. It was a fair fear, Aegon supposed, he'd spent his whole life with men staring at him with bated breath, waiting for him to turn mad.

'I can't hate someone I never knew,' Aegon said. 'My sister - our sister, she remembers him, she remembers waiting for her papa to come save her from the bad men. She hates him.'

'What is she like? Rhaenys, I mean.'

'Rhaenys...' Aegon took a deep breath: it was hard to do his sister justice with words. Rhaenys was the type of person you had to experience to understand. 'Rhaenys is quick to sense a slight and absolutely cherishes her grudges...but her fire can as easily warm you as burn you. She loves fiercely - and I hope one day you will know for yourself. But...it will take time. The Rebellion marked her. Lyanna Stark is not just a name to her as it is to me.'

'Lovely - another woman who will curse my bones because of my blood,' Jon said sardonically.

Aegon grimaced. He had noticed Jon's position at Winterfell was very...contradictory. Outside of Dorne - or his uncle Oberyn's household - it was rare to see a supposed bastard raised in a Lord's nursery, amongst his trueborn children, receiving the same training and education as them. But Lady Stark had never introduced Jon to anyone; not even when Daemon Sand had been introduced to her without pretence - though he supposed even the most prejudiced women were willing to overlook Daemon's bastard status on account of his sky blue eyes and dimpled smile.
And at mealtimes, Jon had always been conspicuoulously kept out of sight: tucked away with the pages and the squires in the dark back of the hall. Honestly if it not for Robb and Jon's white wolf, Aegon would not have known Jon existed at all.

'She will come around - give her time,' Aegon said. His sister, for all her anger, was not unfair and there were ways to curb her temperament: 'You will come to her wedding - she will be happy then. Willas brings out the absolute best of her.'

'I don't think I should be at her wedding.'

'It would be silly if you came to my coronation but not Rhaenys' wedding.'

Jon stared at him with an inscrutable look. 'With all do respect, Your Grace, me coming to your coronation is the absolute worst idea I have ever heard and I have just asked Lady Selmy - without any form of warming - if she was my mother.'

Aegon let out a bark of laughter and shook his head. 'You are my half-brother, you have a right to be there.'

'The conquered have no right to ask anything of the conquerer. Your throne was won on the battlefield. I won't risk anyone using me to cast doubt on that,' Jon said grimly. 'I won't cause you trouble. I won't risk your life. I meant it.'

Aegon smiled, though he doubted Jon noticed as he angrily stared at the forest floor. He wasn't angry at Aegon, of that Aegon was sure. Jon was angry at life, at faith, at whatever Gods he worshipped, for dealing him such a rotten hand.

'Lann is my brother,' Aegon said not unkindly. 'I held his little hand when he was learning to walk, I picked him up when he fell. I've fought with him and I've defended him. I grew tall with him. Lann is my echo and my shadow. My brother in a way you never got to be...but there is room for you as well, Jon. If you want, I will find a place for you...I would very much like for us to be friends. And I would very much like for you to meet our Grandmother.'

There was a ghost of smile lightening Jon's dour features. 'Never had a grandmother...never had much friends either.'

'All the more reason to come South.'

'I don't think your family will approve.'

'I will worry about that when the day comes,' Aegon said suddenly hearing quite a lot of Jaime in his tone. 'Today let's focus on another things.'

'If it is all the same to you - I am quite done with today,' Jon said dryly.

'Nonesense,' Aegon said with a grin, he knew he had won, he knew Jon would come South and things would settle after everyone got over their initial upset. 'You have the blood of the dragon in your veins - it's high time you take your first flight.'