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Chapter One
Rhaegar
He looks at the empty seat to his left and his heart aches at the reminder of his son, his no-longer-little quiet Jaehaerys, being unconscious.
He's been sleeping for a fortnight, now. He's wasting away and his mother won't leave his bedside. Lyanna forgot all about her other son the moment we received news about Jae almost sinking.
" There is also the matter of the new establishments you have founded, Your Grace. " Lord Velaryon makes Rhaegar tear his eyes away from the Crown Prince's empty seat. The Master of Ships, yes, I'm in a small council meeting. Rhaegar reminds himself.
" What about them?" Jon Connington asks suspiciously. " The Maesters have already arrived, haven't they?" The Hand of the King didn't like the idea of 'hospitals' at all. He didn't understand why the King had to bother himself with the health of the small folk and why should he waste money on Maesters.
" Yes, my Lord, but they are complaining ab-" Ser Alliser Thorne, Lord Commander of the City Watch starts to talk, but is interrupted by Ser Oswell Whent suddenly entering the room. Jaehaerys! his heart cries desperately. Oswell was the one guarding his son and wife today. Has something happened to him? Is he awake? or is he gone?
Gone like Aegon.
Oswell, however, doesn't look upset at all and The King allows himself to hope. Please, don't take him away. Be merciful for once. He prays silently to the Old Gods and the New. "The Prince of Dragonstone is awake." Ser Oswell informs them breathlessly. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Lyanna "Here, have some water." "Thank you, My Lady." Jae accepts the goblet and looks at her with something resembling bewilderment in his eyes. Lyanna, herself, can't take her eyes off him, even as they start to fill with tears and her vision becomes blurry. He was all I had when that mad sisterfucker was called The King, just me and my baby boy against the world. She can't help remembering these things. "Are you quite alright ?" She asks the young Prince.
His hair is as thick as mine, curly and dark and messy, his face is not as long as Ned's or Benjen's ,but it's still slightly longer than normal. He's pale, has always been pale,"Even the ruthless sun of King's Landing can't burn a dragon!", how many times have I heard Viserys say that?
The Queen takes her time looking at her son's face and examining his features. It's almost like seeing him for the first time, when the midwife had given her a bald pink thing and told her that he was a healthy and strong boy. She remembers how Rhaegar was disappointed when he was told that the baby was a boy. She'll never forgive him for that. Jae was her little miracle that made her stay alive in this pit of snakes. " I am, yes... I am fine." He says and looks at his surroundings as if he can't believe his eyes. He looks at his own chambers as if there are real dragon flying around the room. " Is something wrong with your room, Jae?" Lyanna asks hesitantly. "No... What did you call me, My Lady?" He adds after a few seconds. "Jae, I called you Jae." The Queen doesn't know what makes him ask such a question, but answers anyway. Jaehaerys looks confused, but doesn't say anything and just lets his mother embrace him once more. "Your father will be here shortly, he's been so worried, we all have been. I can't describe how happy I am that you're finally awake!" she kisses his head and looks at him fondly. Jae looks strangely relieved to hear that. Did he think Rhaegar didn't care for him? Rhaegar might have been an asshole at first, but after a few moon turns he warmed up to his son and after he lost Aegon, he started to dote on his remaining children. "My father? he's here?" he asks incredulously. "Of course he's here, darling." "And my siblings? are they here as well?" he looks more confident now. "Edrick is probably causing mischief as we speak, I'll send for him. He was with us after breakfast, but I sent him with one of my Ladies to go play or something. He's only a little boy, didn't want him to be more upset than he already was. He'll rejoice to hear you're fine. Rhaenys isn't here, she wanted to come after she received the news, but the King wrote back to her and said it won't change anything. We should send a raven to inform her, of course." she said all this ridiculously fast. Jae looks at his mother like she's talking nonsense and looks around the room again.It's a very large room, covered with fine carpets and red curtains, with a few tapestries and a Targaryen banner on the wall and vases full of fresh flowers on an ironwood table. The tapestries show Aegon the Conqueror and his dragon, good Queen Alysanne and other famous Targaryens. The room is too Targaryen for Lyanna's taste, that's why she gifted her son a statue of a grey direwolf a few years ago. The direwolf sits right under a painting of Rhaegar, Lyanna and a nine year old Jaehaerys. Jae smiles when he sees the statue and looks traumatized by the painting. Lyanna is starting to think his son needs more rest when the door opens to reveal his husband. The silver haired man looks like he's about to die of happiness when he sees Jae sitting on the bed. "Jae, gods be good! How are you feeling?" Rhaegar asks and comes closer to embrace the Prince.
Good, that must reassure Jae, but why didn't he believe me when I told him his father would come to see him?
Jae just looks at Rhaegar as if he is a fire breathing dragon. Her husband carefully hugs their son, Jae wraps his arms around him as well, but he does it very awkwardly. Rhaegar steps back to take a look at him and kiss his hair. Jae looks at him incredulously again and looks very very confused. "My poor boy, he's still a bit dizzy and needs to rest. No training sessions for at least a sennight." she decided. "And I don't want him to go back to Dragonstone again." Lyanna adds. "He's the Prince of Dragonstone, he'll have to go back there eventually." The King argues. "Not untill he's old enough to actually rule Dragonstone. I don't know what you were thinking sending him to manage his castle and lands when he's still a green boy! He's only three and ten!" Lyanna scolds him. "Boys go to war at thirteen." Ser Oswell states. Jae looks startled by his presence. "I think my son needs to eat something and rest a bit more." Rhaegar tells her. " and where in the seven hells is Pycelle?"
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Jon
Jon pulled aside the curtains and looked out the window. The courtyard of the keep was full of Lords and Ladies in colorful clothing and soldiers wearing black armour with red cloaks on their shoulders and maidservants in simpler gowns of light green and pale blue. Jon looked and examined and searched for something in that sea of color. A clue, he thought, but everything and everyone just made him more confused.
They call me by someone else's name. I have someone else's clothes on. someone else's parents seem to think I'm their son. I'm being guarded by a knight wearing a white cloak and the people who brought me food called me "My Prince". The strangest thing is that I somehow traveled south in a very short time and I'm residing in the Red Keep.
What is happening? Even if I was miraculously moved to the Red Keep in King's Landing, I'm sure the bedchambers wouldn't have a Targaryen banner on the walls. Why do they call that silver haired man King? It's not a dream, I wouldn't have dreamt of something like this.
If it's not a strange dream, then what is it?
"Is the food not to your liking?" The knight asks him. The old maester called him Ser Oswell. "There's boar and chicken and fresh fruit and sweet wine, I call that a feast." Ser Oswell tells him merrily. "I am hungry." Jon says, more to himself than the knight. "You should be, while you were unconscious the Queen fed you water and honey, but that's not enough for a growing boy." The knight replies.
At least I'm not suddenly ten years older. The kind Lady , the Queen apparently, said I'm three and ten and that's correct. Might as well eat the food they provided me.
"Oh, I love mangos." Jon exclaimed. He had eaten mangos before. Lord Manderly sent dried mangos he imported from Dorne and Essos to Winterfell regularly. "Your love for them is a well known fact, My Prince." Ser Oswell informs him. " I shall now leave your highness to have his meal in peace. I will be guarding your door." "There is something I wished to ask of you, good Ser. When can I... I mean can I talk to the King? There's something I'd like to tell him." Jon awkwardly asked. "I'll send my esquire to ask the King for an audience later. He is currently at a small council meeting." The knight of the Kingsguard then pauses and waits for something Jon doesn't quite understand. Oh... He remembers suddenly, in his mind I am a Prince. "You may leave now." Jon permitted him. When Jon found himself alone again, he stood before the great mirror and observed his appearance carefully. His dark hair brushed his shoulders and his face was the long face of his Stark ancestors. He was thin with bony elbows and knees that were currently hidden beneath a tunic made of red silk and dark brown breeches. His eyes have always been his favorite feature, very unusually purple. Everything looks the same. ~~~~~~~~~ Rhaegar Aurane Waters is a handsome young man, tall and slender, with silver-gold hair and a matching short beard. He resembles his trueborn brother greatly, though he's noticably younger. When Pycelle informed that Jaehaerys is hale and healthy, Lord Monford Velaryon was very happy indeed. Aurane was the one who invited Jae on his boat to show him around the island. According to the bastard of Drift Mark the Prince was excited and wanted to learn about different kinds of boats and ships. It was their bad luck that suddenly a strong wind started to blow and the waves swallowed the small boat. According to Monford, Aurane learned to swim before he learned to walk, so he held on to Jae tightly and made for the shore. If Jae died, he would be blamed for taking him sailing, but now that he survived mostly unhurt, he would have to be rewarded for saving him. Rhaegar never had to reward a bastard of a minor house before. Perhaps a Knighthood would be suitable, I hear he's a decent swordsman. He sets aside the financial reports after realizing he's not able to concentrate on them. ~~~~~~ Jon He couldn't deny it as much as he tried, not when there was a Targaryen looking man walking around calling himself Rhaegar the First of His Name. Perhaps he had somehow traveled back in time to the era when dragons stilled ruled over Westeros. The problem was that he couldn't remember any King called Rhaegar, the only Targaryen known by that name was the Prince who abducted and raped his aunt. Also, he was quite certain none of them had a Stark looking woman as their wife, because the woman was , very obviously, a Stark, she looked like a much older and much more beautiful Arya and her smile reminded Jon of his Lord father, Eddard. And she was named Lyanna and Lyanna was a Stark name as much as Aegon was a Targaryen one.
Maybe it's not the past but the future. Maybe the Mad King's children came back to Westeros and now one of their descendants thinks I'm his child, because I have purple eyes and look like his wife, but any man would know his son's face as much as he knows his own. How could he mistake me ? Maybe it's just a nightmare.
But no dream ever lasted this long and tasted so real and had so many strange people in it. Usually his dreams were made up of adventures and jokes with Arya and Robb and his nightmares were full of the deadly creatures of Old Nan's tales. As much as he wished he was trueborn, he had never dreamed about being a Prince. At noon, a little boy and the Queen joined him for a delicious meal in one of the rooms near his bedchamber. The boy -called Edrick, a Stark name- had a round face and pink cheeks and light lilac eyes. His hair was so beautifully silver, it looked as though every strand was made of moonlight. The Queen asked him some confusing questions which he didn't know how to answer and by the time they had finished the dessert, she looked very concerned about his well-being. It was almost nightfall when his supposed father came to see him.
and he thinks I've lost my wits.
"For the hundredth time this evening, I am not your son, Your Grace." Jon said exasperatedly. "How have you decided to cozen me, your father, with a sorry jest?" the man replied, stubbornly refusing to believe him. "I know you look at me and see your so-" he was interrupted by the King. "I look at you and see my mother's nose and her eyes and the shape of my father's eyebrows. The shape of your lips and cheekbones resembles mine own and yes, you are my son." the man solemnly said. Jon didn't know how to explain. oh, I woke up in your son's bed this morning, but I am not him and I don't know where he might be, also I have no idea if my own family even exists in this mad universe I was suddenly transferred to. "Don't you remember your own father, child?" He asked. The man looked so desperate and so sad that Jon remembered all the reasons he had to be sad himself and fat tears started rolling down his cheeks. He was but a child, lost in the middle of strangers with no hope of finding his way back home. "Tremble not, there is no one here that would hurt you. You will get better soon, Jae. It's but a passing fantasy. " The silver haired man insisted. "Please! I just want to go find my family, but I don't know how.. please help me, somehow... you could help me... please..." The boy begged and sobbed and the man held him tightly against his chest and caressed his hair. "I am your family, son. Let me be your family." ~~~~~
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Rhaegar "Tell me, honestly, what do think?" he asked the Dornishman. "He insisted that he wasn't... well, wasn't himself?" Arthur answered his question with another one. He looks as troubled as I feel, of course, for he has known Jae since he was a babe at the breast. "The poor thing was trembling, told me he's never met me before. He told me I should go look for my real son and begged me to let him go look for his family. I should be thankful he didn't know were he could find his actual family!" Rhaegar was infuriated and he knew it showed on his face. Nobody dared to approach him other than the council members and even Dany stopped pestering him about Jae once he'd glared at the girl. He almost felt guilty, but the anger was more prominent. Infuriation was unfamiliar, he was more used to sorrow and melancholy. "But... He is Jae? Are you certain?" Ser Arthur asked hesitantly. "He's my son, Arthur. Aren't his face, his voice, his manner familiar to me from the cradle? Do think it possible that two boys, not of one blood and birth could look identical? Do think I can't discriminate between my boy and another?" Rhaegar frowned and stared at the painting on the wall across from him. The same as the one in Jae's room. "We can't let anyone find out. You should ask the Queen to choose a few trusted servants to attend him and keep the rest of them away. He had started to show up at your meetings, but currently..." Arthur didn't know how to say it, but he understood his meaning. "I had a similar plan, he can't converse with Lords and Ladies while he's denying his birth and inheritance. Perchance he is insane upon this one strain but has his wits unmarred about other matters. I need to make sure. I need to know if he remembers his lessons, but even if he doesn't, he can learn them all over again." Rhaegar said, determined that his son isn't completely lost. "I agree, he's a talented boy according to the Grandmaester and he learns fast enough when he's practicing swordsmanship. He's very young and the young learn fast and change fast." Arthur said, a reassuring smile on his face. "The crown prince is here, Your Grace." A servant announced just as he finished talking. "I guess now is as good a time as any," The King sighed, "let him in." The Prince entered shyly, Rhaegar had never known it was possible to enter a room shyly, but the boy's manner couldn't be described otherwise. He was tall for his age, Rhaegar realized, by the time he's fully grown, he'll be as tall as me. "I wanted to ask you a few questions," Jae said with an apologetic smile. "that is, if Your Grace would make time for me." Rhaegar remembered calling his own father by his title, and it greatly disturbs him to think of Jae treating him as he once treated Aerys, but it pains him more that Jae doesn't think of him as his father at all. "Of course, I always have time for you." He replied, beckoning him forward. Arthur raised his eyebrows, apparently amused. Rhaegar wasn't famous for being openly affectionate. I'll have to make an exception, he thought. Jae sat silently for a little while, his eyes downcast, then Arthur cleared his throat and he almost jumped. "Oh, I'm sorry." He blushed. "It's just I have so many questions... and well, I don't know which one to ask first, or even how to ask them, really..." he muttered. "Should I stay?" Ser Arthur asked. Rhaegar doesn't want him to leave, he suddenly realized. I don't want to be alone with my own son. "I would like if you stayed, Ser... I never did catch your name." Jae responded, looking up at the knight with curious eyes. "Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning." Rhaegar introduced him. The boy's eyes widened, looking at the Kingsgaurd with wonder. "So you really don't remember anyone?" Arthur asked bluntly. The Prince shook his head in denial. "So, your questions?" "Who was King before you?" The boy asked in a newly found confident voice. "Aerys II Targaryen, my father." "And before him?" Jae asked incredulously. "Jaehaerys II, your great grandfather." Rhaegar said with a blank expression and a grim sense of foreboding. "And before him... Aegon the Unlikely, Aegon V, is that right?" Jae asked again, looking at his father in bewilderment. "Exactly correct." Arthur replied. Jae looked at him for a few seconds, then turned to look at the King, his eyebrows furrowed, as if the answers made everything even more confusing, when he'd hoped to come to understand the situation. "But that's not how it happened! You never became King, you... you died, you died at the Ruby Ford!" Jae claimed. What!? ~~~~ Daenerys Dany's chambers reeked of perfume, the smell of a rose, Elinor Tyrell, the fruity aroma that was Dorna's and the spicy odor of Rhaenys that somehow lingered, even after moons of her absence. Her ladies-in-waiting were chatting like "a flock of hens", as Viserys liked to call them. "She's writing them herself, isn't she?" Betha asked the other two, Elinor and Dorna. Betha was five-and-ten, three namedays older than Dany, and considered herself a grown woman. She was the eldest daughter of Elbert Arryn, Lord Jon Arryn's nephew. "Why would she lie?" Dorna asked. Dorna came from the House Mallister of Seaguard, she was the niece of the current Lord. A pretty girl, a bit older than Dany, she was short and plump, with bright golden hair and big brown eyes. She was already betrothed to a stormlord's son, a Lonmouth. "Why would anyone write her love letters, you tell me?" Elinor answered, playing with a strand of her curly brown hair. She was a proud girl, beautiful and ambitious, always trying to flirt with Jae. Fortunately, Lyanna said he was too young to be tempted by her pouty lips and pretty bosoms. "She isn't even pretty, not actually highborn either. There's no way a boy would like her." Betha said. Dany knew they were talking about Melissa Sunglass, but she was sure Betha wanted to make fun of Dorna as well. Dorna apparently realized, too, and blushed. "She's pretty enough, and kind and gentle, anyone would be lucky to have her." Dany wasn't describing only Melissa, Dorna realized that too, and gave her a grateful smile. "Have you visited Prince Jaehaerys since he woke up?" The Tyrell girl changed the subject, smirking. Daenerys wanted to slap her flawless face, but knowing she couldn't do that, she wished Rhaenys was here to stare her down. Rhaenys always knew how to insult somebody with pretty words. "No, I haven't. My brother told me Jae needed his rest ." Dany admitted. "How thoughtful of you. I met his Highness, just as was walking into the holdfast, he seemed to have completely recovered. After I expressed my delight about his health and told him how sad I was when I heard about his misfortune, the Prince told me he was sorry he'd caused such a beautiful lady pain." She looked down at her feet, and blushed. Elinor was an amazing actress, she had to admit. Dany knew Elinor's cousin, Margaery wanted to be her Lady-in-waiting, but the Queen chose Elinor instead. She sometimes wished Elinor would go back to her flowery castle and never come back. "The Prince is very polite." Dorna responded weakly. "How goes your lessons with the rebec, Dorna?" Daenerys asked the blonde girl. "Oh, quite good, Princess. Septa Jullen says I'm making steady progress." She replied in a cheerful tone. Betha snorted. "That was very unladylike, Betha." Elinor rebuked. Gods be good, I've had enough of this nonsense. ~~~~
Jon
"Your father commands, that for weighty reasons of state, the prince must hide his infirmity in all ways possible, untill it has passed and he is as he was before, that he shall deny to none that he is the true prince, and heir to the Iron Throne; that he shall strive to bring unto his memory again those faces which he was wont to know—and where he fails he shall hold his peace, neither betraying by semblance of surprise or other sign that he has forgotten; upon occasions of state, whenever any matter perplexes you as to what you should do or what you should say, you must show nought of unrest to the curious that look on, but take advice in that matter from the Queen and myself." Ser Arthur informed him. Jon nodded. "I will obey his orders, and do as he instructed." he was too tired to argue with the man or talk to the King again, and he knew it was much easier to pretend to be a Prince than to try convincing people that he wasn't one. "Your mother also invited you to break your fast with her tomorrow. Your aunt, the Princess Daenerys and a guest will be present, as well." said the knight. "Who's the guest?" "A Northman, she said. Lord Howland Reed."
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Jon "How did you sleep?" The dark haired northern woman asked him. The sunlight poured into the room and made the small tiara on the Queen's head glitter. "Peacefully." He lied. He hadn't slept peacefully, he'd dreamt of snow and Winterfell. He'd dreamt of finding a dragon in the godswood, the enormous beast was starting at him with eyes the exact color of molten bronze. He felt a shudder at the thought of the dragon's soul-piercing gaze. The Queen offered him a genuine, motherly smile. Jon couldn't help feeling guilty, he didn't know this woman at all. He then noticed a small man sitting across from himself, with awfully dull brown hair and simple clothes. He looked highborn, but not wealthy or powerful, but then however did he manage to secure an invitation to breakfast with the Queen? "Lord Howland is an old friend of mine. He's from house Reed of Greywater Watch in the Neck." She introduced the short stranger. "It's a pleasure meeting you, my Lord." Jon said politely. "It was very kind of your mother to invite me for breakfast, had I known it was such a private family gathering, I wouldn't have bothered you with my presence." Lord Reed apologized. Jon realized that other than the Crannogman, the only other people present were the silver haired young girl, his supposed aunt and the little Edrick. Of course, there were also three knights of the Kingsgaurd standing outside and many attendants inside. "There's nothing to apologise for, my Lord. It's always nice to meet new people." The Princess replied amiably. She was wearing a dark red silk gown and her long hair flowed around her face and neck like a silver waterfall. She had the same eyes as Jon, he realized. Jon looked out the window, the sun is shining on the stinky city. "Jae, can you come and play with me today? Mother said you couldn't play yesterday and you were sick before, I miss you." The little boy said sheepishly. He was adorable, a really goodlooking child with a sweet boyish voice. "Sure." He uttered curtly. "I played with you when Jae was sick, are you tired of me already?" Daenerys asked teasingly. "No, I think you're nice, I promise, but I want to do boy things with Jae." Edrick told his aunt. The girl laughed, then winked at Jon. Jon felt his face flush and warm up. He wasn't sure what to say or do, this girl was almost the same age as Sansa and Jon really didn't remember talking to Sansa or her friend, Jeyne. He was more acquainted with boys his own age, or little kids like Arya and Bran. The breakfast lasted longer than Jon would've liked and there were exotic southern foods and fruit he'd never tasted before. Also, too many servants were around. He didn't know how such a lavish spectacle could look like a private family meeting to anyone. In the North practicality was of paramount importance and wasting food was almost considered a crime. Finally, when Jon had had more food than he was used to and more drinks than he was allowed to back in Winterfell, the Princess stood up to go start her lessons and Edrick's nanny came to take him. Jon also stood up and said goodbye to the Queen, when the Crannogman asked him if they could talk privately. So, they ended up the Prince's chambers which Jon called the Red Rooms in his mind. "I know about your problem, Jon Snow." The man surprised him. "You do?" He couldn't believe it. "Can you tell them that I'm not out of my mind? Nobody believes me!" he asked exasperatedly. "Have you heard about the stories that say the crannogmen have the blood of the Children of the Forest?" The Crannogman ignored his question completely. "I have." He answered, it never hurt to be polite. "Some of my people have powers, some sorts of unusual talents. I need you to be open minded and listen to me, because I know about your problem." Lord Reed claimed. "Are you saying those stories are true?" Jon asked incredulously. "Not entirely, but every story has a bit of the actual truth in it. What I'm about to to tell you, most people wouldn't believe, but I guess you have enough reasons to believe in magic." Jon nodded. "Nothing would surprise me anymore." "My son, Jojen has greendreams and he's dreamed of you. His dreams are unusual and often aren't really specific, he didn't see you as you are now, he saw you as a drago-" "But I'm not a dragon!" Jon interrupted. "That's one of the things I'm supposed to tell you. Jojen told me that in your other life, you may have lived differently, many other people also lived differently, but you were yourself, you were the same person. Prince Jaehaerys is the same as Jon Snow. I don't know many things about Jon Snow, only that you were known as him, but that wasn't your... let's say, your true identity." "You're saying that I had the same parents in that other life, is that it?" "Yes, Jojen said that you were protected by a lie and that lie was related to your name, your family, your parents." Howland said solemnly. And in that moment, he finally understood. My aunt Lyanna wasn't actually my aunt, but my mother, that was why he never talked about my mother. He was trying to protect me, because my half-siblings, my actual half-siblings, were murdered brutally. "I know this is a lot, suddenly finding the world around you so different from what you've known. Jojen only said that it happened because this way you would be better prepared, that everyone, the whole realm would be better prepared to fight "the enemy". I don't know who that enemy is, or what is your role in defeating it, but it's important that you adapt yourself to the new new environment. As a piece of advice, it'd be better if you didn't tell people about that other life, but I guess you've already done that." "Yes, I told the King and Ser Arthur, but nobody else knows." "Good. The most important thing is that you accept yourself and your position." "Can you teach me? In my world, history was different, only recent history, I guess, but nevertheless, I'm feeling lost. I don't know if the things I knew are still valid." " I don't know anything about court or King's Landing, but you can ask me, if you'd like." Jon nodded. "What would you like to know?" "Well, about House Stark, who holds the title?" He was anxious. If prince Rhaegar didn't kidnap Lyanna, uncle Brandon didn't die, and if he didn't die, then Lord Eddard didn't marry Lady Catelyn. Does Robb even exist? "Lord Rickard of house Stark, your grandfather is my Liege Lord." "He's still alive? What about Brandon?" "Lord Brandon died before you were born. When he was traveling from White Harbour to Seaguard, the ship sank. He was going to meet his betrothed, Lady Catelyn of the house Tully. Your other uncle, Lord Eddard became Rickard's heir and married Lady Catelyn in his brother's stead." "And they have children, right? Five children?" "Yes, I guess you knew them?" "Robb should be about my age and then Sansa, I think she's ten, then it's Arya, she's eight years old, Bran's six and Rickon is two." "Exactly correct." Howland smiled and Jon smiled back. Maybe I'll make Rhaegar take me to Winterfell, he's told me how much he cares for me more times than I can count, I'll wager he'll let me travel North if I ask. And by the gods, I have a mother, she's alive and kind and gentle and northern, she'll take me to Winterfell, she grew up there, just like me. He was overwhelmed by excitement and homesickness. "I'll stay here for a few days, the Queen offered me accommodation in the Red Keep." "That's great! We can talk more, about the North, about other regions, I told you I need to learn recent history over again." He replied. "Oh, maybe I shouldn't bother you, I can find a book and read it or I can ask Ser Arthur." He added hastily. "Don't worry, I'm not one of those people who'd like to go out in the city and I don't have any other people to meet. I haven't met His Grace yet, so I should go and present myself to the King, as protocol commands, but other than that my schedule is empty." Lord Reed assured him. ~~~~ Getting used to his new name was easy. Jaehaerys was a weird name, but most people called him Jae or Prince Jae. Getting used to his mother, on the other hand, was both the easiest and hardest thing he's ever done. Queen Lyanna is a northern woman, anyone with eyes can see that in her grey and white gowns and the snowflake shaped jewelry she prefers. She's a southern woman, too, she's learned the way of the game, the court's unwritten subtle rules. Then there's the King who's always busy, but checks on him everyday. He's relieved to hear Jon call him Father. Jon really doesn't want to, but he is his father and he's supposed to adapt himself. He can't help feeling excited when he's training with Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur, those two are legendary knights after all. The first day he goes to the yard and starts shooting arrows and sparring, people gather around to watch. They want to see for themselves that the heir to the Iron Throne has actually recovered. Somebody called Monford Velaryon asks to meet him, Jon talks to him with Ser Arthur whispering in his ear the whole time. The Dornishman never leaves him these days, telling him things he's supposed to know all the time to make sure he doesn't act oddly. "That's Lord Jon Connington, the hand of the King. He's your father's best friend and doesn't like anyone who's not Rhaegar." "That's Lord Mace Tyrell, also known as the Fat Flower. He's probably here to complain about unimportant matters, as usual. He has three sons. Willas, his heir, was crippled by Prince Oberyn Martell in a tourney, but I heard there's not much wrong with him. He just needs a walking stick. The Reach and Dorne aren't on the best terms, obviously." "That one's Lady Genna, she's Lord Tywin Lannister's sister. She acts as the Lady of Casterly Rock, because Lord Tywin never remarried after his beloved wife, Lady Joanna died." "The Redwyne twins, Ser Horas and Ser Hobber." "Oh, that's one of your mother's northerners, Ser Martyn Manderly. I'm told he's the only Manderly who isn't fat. He always tells anyone who'd care to listen that you look northern. He's a good swordsman." "That's Ser Richard Lonmouth, the knight of kisses and skulls or something like that. House Lonmouth has a strange sigil, don't you think? He used to be Rhaegar's squire and they're still good friends. He played with you when you were a baby, but then had to leave court for family matters. He'll be staying here again and will like to get to know you. Keep him close, he's loyal." "Lady Tanda Stokeworth with her daughters, Falyse and Lollys. Lollys is thirty-three and still a maiden." "Ser Jacelyn Bywater, the Ironhand, Captain of the River Gate. I don't really know him." So, after a fortnight, Jon's head was full of new names and faces. He's starting to read books about courtly etiquette and economic development and war strategy all at once. Whenever anyone mentions the Prince's newly found interest in scrolls, King Rhaegar looks oddly smug. He meets his uncle, the Prince of Summerhall, gets familiar with his aunt and little brother, finds friends, one of them Ser Loras, the newly knighted son of Lord Mace, who is a really good jouster, but Jon's better than him in swordsmanship. He still expects to wake up in Winterfell some days, but life goes on.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A Year Later
At Winterfell
Bran
"I want a scary story. Those are my favorites." Said Bran one day after his lessons with the maeter were finished. "Oh, my sweet summer child, what would you know of fear?" Old Nan smiled at him toothlessly from the chair she was sitting on, doing needlework. "I've heard all of your scary stories," Arya snorted. " Icy monsters and other stupid things." She was two namedays older than Bran and always said she'd heard the stories before. Bran didn't believe her. "My stories? No, my little lady, the stories aren't mine. The stories are, before me and after me. After you, too." Old Nan replied. She was an ugly old woman, weak and wrinkled, almost blind, with only a few wisps of white hair to cover her head. His father said she'd been at Winterfell since he could remember. "I don't care whose stories they are." Arya was in a bad mood today, she ruined one of Sansa's new dresses and Septa Mordane made her read two chapters of The Seven Pointed Star and apologize to Sansa. Mother was mad at her, too. Arya said that it was Sansa's fault, but according to her, it was always Sansa's fault. "I'll tell you a story about winter, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the cold winds blow. The Long Night when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die in the darkness. Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and Kings shivered and died in their castles. Women smothered their own children rather than see them starve, and cried and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks-" The old woman was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Master Luwin was at the door. "Lord Stark wants you all in his solar." ~~~~
Eddard
"I can't believe Lyanna's boy is almost a man grown. I remember him as a babe, a small thing, he was." Lord Rickard smiled fondly at the thought, then continued, "Aerys hadn't liked him, said he didn't look like a "true dragon", and Rhaegar, the fool," he growled."he wanted a girl, wasn't pleased that his Visenya was born a boy. He came into the room, calm and collected, didn't say anything untill the Mad King left, then he picked up the boy, named him and didn't look at him again untill his dearest Aegon died!" "How would you know? You came back here and never saw Jaehaerys again." Ned tried to reason with him. His father believed Rhaegar was a cold hearted swine who didn't deserve Lyanna and her boy. "Yes, because whenever I visited the capital, the boy magically disappeared! One time he'd went to see the Eyrie for himself, another time he was on that dreary island. I couldn't believe my eyes when I read this letter." His father handed him the said letter. It was written in the elegant handwriting of the king himself, announcing a royal visit to Winterfell. At that moment the door opened to reveal the children, all of them, maester Luwin, Vayoon Poole and Jory Cassel. "Grandfather, is something the matter?" Sansa asked, probably worried by the grim look on his face. "It's good news, darling." Ned's Lady wife said. "The king has sent word, he'll be riding to Winterfell soon." She addressed the room at large. "Oh, how nice!" Sansa said delightfully. Arya frowned, probably thinking about how she'll have to act the proper Lady at least for the duration of the visit. "How many in their party, did the message say?" Vayoon Poole, the steward inquired. "I should think a hundred knights at least, with all their retainers, and half as many freeriders." Lord Rickard told him. "Lyanna and the children will be traveling with the king, he'll take an easy pace for their sakes. " Ned informed them. "That'll give us enough time to prepare." Catelyn seemed pleased. "It looks as though Rhaegar's bringing half his court." Lord Rickard frowned. "Where the king goes, the realm follows." Catelyn said. "It will be good to see the children." Lord Stark smiled. "Prince Jaehaerys is as old as you, Robb, and Edrick, I've never even seen him and he's older than little Rickon." His father hummed in agreement, then took the letter back and snorted. "Damn his beautiful penmanship, damn his royal hide!" He chuckled.
Jaehaerys
The honor guard his grandfather had sent to meet them on the road had arrived just after breakfast. The morning air was cold enough that the legendary Sword of the Morning himself was wearing the enormous wolf fur cloak he had purchased in White Harbour. The cloak covered his golden armour and white cloak of the Kingsgaurd completely. "House Dayne has the blood of the First Men, I'm sure I'll look like an ancient King of Winter when I'm wearing it!" Arthur had said as he paid for it.
He was wrong, he looks nothing like an ancient king, he looks like a miserable southron that regrets ever leaving Dorne.
In fact, the entire southern retinue had buried themselves in thick furs and they now looked like an odd mixture of furry mammals. Loras looked particularly devastated. The young Knight was wearing thick fur lined gloves and a heavy hooded cloak. "The men that arrived this morning, they said we were close!" Loras grumbled. "We are close, mother said we'll see Winterfell in about an hour." Jon assured him. Jon himself enjoyed the burn of the frigid northern air. His head was uncovered and he wore a simple woolen black cloak. "Are you sure you're fine? Your clothes aren't that different from what you wore in the capital." The Reachman looked worried. Jon clapped him hard on the shoulder and chuckled. "I'm alright, Loras. It's not that cold." Jon almost laughed at the unbelieving look Ser Oswell gave him. "You are half northern, after all." Ser Martyn Manderly stated as he reined up beside them. "Have you ever been at Winterfell, Ser Martyn?" Loras asked. Ser Martyn nodded his head. " Well, do they have hearths or are they immune to frigidity, like his Highness here?" Ser Martyn's laugh sounded more like a roar. "They do, they do! The castle is warmer in winter than the Red Keep in the summer." "How is that possible?" Loras asked incredulously as he caressed his horse's neck. "The castle was built over natural hot springs. Hot water runs through its walls like blood through a man's body." Jon answered him this time. "Well, that's a relief. I'm never getting out of it during our stay in the North." Ser Oswell contributed to the conversation. "If I remember correctly, you liked the idea of exploring the Wolfswood with me." Jon reminded him, smirking. "I'm sure your cousins will be happy to show you around, also Arthur seemed rather proud of his First Man blood a few weeks ago." Oswell turned back to look at the miserable Dornishman who was riding beside the Queen's carriage. Jon's mother wasn't in it, of course, Ser Arthur was guarding the younger Prince. Lyanna was riding next to his husband, mounted on her favorite horse, a northern mare called Frost. She was wearing her hair in a dark braid across one shoulder and was smiling broadly at Jory Cassel. Rhaegar didn't seem to be very much bothered by the northern climate either, sitting on his black stallion and wearing his "King's face". After another hour of listening to the two southern knights complaining about the weather, the grey walls of Winterfell appeared in front of them. "By the gods, we've finally arrived!" Loras cried in absolute happiness. Jon wanted to ride faster, to overtake everyone else and enter the castle as soon as possible. The sight of the impressive structure overwhelmed him while simultaneously making him feel safe. Not that he thought he wasn't safe with his new family, his mother loved him and Rhaegar did as well, though he had a hard time expressing it. He had the best knights in the realm protecting him every second of the day, but Winterfell was what truly made him feel safe.
Rickard
His guests poured through the gates, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights. Over their heads a dozen black banners whipped back and forth in the cold wind, emblazoned with the three headed dragon of the Royal House. He knew many of the riders, there came the king himself, Rhaegar, the first of his name, with hair like molten silver, and there came Ser Oswell Whent, wearing a strange helmet that had bat wings. His own daughter, Lyanna, she looked different, older and ladylike, yet still so similar to the girl who wore Benjen's clothes and ran around the castle looking like a stable boy. The tall boy next to her could only be his grandson, dark haired like all of Rickard's children, but with the purple eyes of his own paternal grandmother, the late Queen Rhaella. The king dismounted and walked over to him. "I'm glad to find you in good health, Lord Stark." He said in his enchanting voice. In a moment Lyanna was standing before him as well, beautiful and happy and excited. "Father. Oh, I've missed you!" Lyanna forgot all protocol and leaped forward to engulf him in a bone crushing hug. Rickard held her close for a few seconds, then let go of her and looked at her husband. "Winterfell is yours, Your Grace." Rickard told him. He refused to look away from the younger man's gaze, untill he broke their eye contact himself. "Meet your grandfather, children." The king beckoned them forward, the tall dark haired youth and a miniature version of himself. "Father, this is Jaehaerys, my eldest and the Crown Prince, and Edrick, named after you and Ned." Lyanna introduced them. The miniature Rhaegar came to stand next to his mother and gave Rickard a wide grin. The boy somehow looked like Benjen as well, despite his Targaryen coloring. "Pleasured to meet you, my Lord." The older Prince inclined his head. His voice was hoarse, wasn't still settled, but Rickard knew he would never sound like his father and felt strangely smug about that. "Let me make introductions, Your Grace. This is my son and heir, Eddard." He looked at Ned who was embracing his sister now. "Well met, brother." he told Ned. Ned bowed and started to introduce his wife and children. "Lady Catelyn, how nice to meet you again." The man he'd identified as Oswell Whent, jumped into the process. House Whent was of the Riverlands and they were kin by Cat's mother's side, so he forgave the man his insolence. The North was intimidating to outsiders and Ser Oswell probably was just glad to see a familiar face. "It's good to see you too, Ser." Catelyn answered amiably. Rickard noticed Arya beaming at Jaehaerys and he was giving her a very fond smile as well. Odd. "Never have I ever been happier to see a set of grey walls, I must admit." Said another silver haired man that had appeared from the crowed of the dismounted guests. He wasn't proud to admit that the man's lilac eyes, the exact shade Aerys' had been, made Rickard shiver. "Prince Viserys of Summerhall, my brother." his goodson introduced as if he thought they wouldn't recognize him. The prince nodded at him as greeting and shook Ned's hand and congratulated him on having such a beautiful family. He was soon to have a brood of redheaded children himself. The King's younger brother was betrothed to Myranda Arryn, Lysa and Elbert's daughter, Rickard suddenly remembered. Then the other highborn members of the southern retinue were introduced, including Ser Loras Tyrell, a handsome young man who didn't seem to be able to stop looking at the Crown Prince. "Father, take me to the crypts." Lyanna said softly so that only him and a few people around them heard her. "Lya, the journey was long and arduous, perhaps you should wait until tomorrow." Rhaegar said, chosing every word carefully. "No, it can't be delayed! Jae, come here, darling." Lyanna called her son. The prince obeyed, looking confused. "I want to show him the crypts." She said to her husband. "Must you? Let him go inside, talk to his cousins, have fun. He doesn't need to see his dead ancestors right now." The king argued. Rickard hated to admit that he was right, he didn't understand why his daughter was insisting to bring the boy. "No, I'll come. it's fine, father." The boy in question spoke up. "Come on, then. Father, lead the way." Lyanna said triumphantly. Rickard called for a lantern. The stone steps were narrow, so he went first, holding up the light. He was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the steps. In the light of the lantern, shadows moved and lurched. "Where's Brandon?" She asked. He didn't say anything, just walked between the pillars. The other two follow silently as well. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords of Winterfell, the Kings of Winter watched them pass. In long rows they sat, silent and blind and ancient, with great stone direwolves curling around their feet. He stopped at last, when they were in front of the likeness of his long dead son. "Brandon." His grandson whispered the name like it was a secret, Rickard liked the way his eyes widened with respect and even fondness as he looked on his uncle's face. Lyanna knelt before the statue.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Rickard
"I never wanted to let you go south. I wanted you here with me, if not in Winterfell, at least still in the North." He turned away from the window to look into his daughter's eyes. "Don't lie, father, it'll do nobody any good." She answered bitterly. "Even before Aerys demanded I come south and get married, you were planning to have me wed Jaime Lannister... or Robert Baratheon." Rickard shook his head. "Those were just silly ideas. It never got as far as negotiations or signing contracts." Rhaegar was married to Elia of Dorne and had two children already, an heir and a daughter to marry off, or a wife for his heir in this case, and when the Dornish princess had lost her life in childbed, giving birth to Aegon, he really didn't need a new wife. When a letter had come from the capital, commanding the Warden of the North to travel to King's Landing with his only daughter, Rickard couldn't be more surprised. The letter informed him that the king wished for a betrothal and marriage between the Lady Lyanna and the Crown Prince. How could he refuse? He had arranged a southern marriage for his heir, a very unusual thing for a northern lord, refusing the King's offer wouldn't be so different from telling everyone that the North was planning treason. Aerys had burned men for far less suspicious acts. In addition, he had liked the idea of a northener being so powerful and influential. "At first I hated you. I hated everyone and everything. I had to live in close proximity to a mad man, pretending that I was happy I was a princess. I had to deal with the most cunning people in the realm, when I couldn't even control my facial expressions... and the Queen expected me to look after Rhaegar's children, I was but a child myself.. and Rhaegar, well, I didn't see him very much. I was thankful that he never came to spend the night with me.." She blushed, remembering she was talking to her father. "Then, he found out, the Mad King, I mean. He summoned us and threatened to bed me himself if Rhaegar didn't." Lyanna took a deep breath. "When did it get better?" Rickard asked softly. "I got with child, and Aerys confined me to my bedchambers, fearing the babe would be hurt if I stepped out of my room." She continued the story, ignoring his question. "I was going out of my mind, sitting and doing needlework all day. I just wanted it to be over, sometimes I wished I would die, like Elia did." She somehow managed to smile, remembering her thoughts. "Lyanna.. I-" "No, let me tell you. I never got a chance to tell you." She pleaded with him. "You came to visit, you arrived just a day before Jae was born. You remember how I cried and screamed, it hurt so much and I thought that I was going to die. Then I realized I actually didn't want to die. I was so scared." Lyanna looked like the little girl who had clinged to her father's arm as they'd approached the Iron Throne a million years ago. "When I held him close to my chest for the first time and he moved his little fingers and touched my hand, I knew I loved him. I couldn't leave him to face the world on his own, when his mad grandfather disliked him and his own father was disappointed in him." She stood up and walked over to the small window. Glass was very expensive when their ancestors repaired the castle a few hundred years ago, so the windows were all small. "Father, there's a rider." She said in a very different tone.
Bran
They rode out to see a man beheaded, twenty-and-five riders, and Bran rode among them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he had been deemed old enough to go with his father and grandfather to see the king's justice done. The king himself had stayed behind to answer the letters he had received from his Lord Hand, but his son, Bran's cousin sat tall and still on his stallion. Bran was between Robb and Jae on his pony, trying to seem older than seven, pretending that it wasn't his first time seeing an execution. Behind them, stood Ser Arthur Dayne himself, his legendary sword strapped to his back. The man had been caught outside a small holdfast in the hills. Robb thought that he must be a wildling, sworn fealty to Mance Raider, the King-beyond-the-Wall. Old Nan had told Bran about wildlings, they were cruel men, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, and drank blood from polished horns. Wildling women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children. "He doesn't look like a wildling." Jae whispered. "No, he's a deserter. Look at his black cloak." Ser Arthur whispered back. Robb nodded in agreement. The man was wearing black from head to toe, though his furs were greasy. Question were asked and answers were given, but afterwards Bran couldn't remember much of what was discussed. Finally his grandfather gave a command, and the man was dragged to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. Two guards forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord Rickard dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought forth the Starks' ancestral sword, Ice, a Valyrian steel blade. "In the name of Rhaegar of the house Targaryen, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by word of Rickard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." Brandon's grandfather looked older than he actually was, he suddenly realized as Lord Rickard lifted the greatsword above his head. "Don't look away, Bran," Robb advised. "Father will know if you do." "Keep your pony well in hand." Jae whispered. His own bright purple eyes were fixated on the deserter. Bran didn't look away as the man's head was cut off and red blood sprayed across the snow. He turned to look at the prince after a few seconds. "Keep an eye on him, Brandon. Can you do that for me? Observe him." Lord Rickard had said to him the day the royals arrived. "You did well." His brother placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled warmly, but Bran couldn't take his eyes off the blood. "He died bravely, he had courage, at the least." Robb continued, looking to Jae as if to elicit agreement. "No, he was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark." Jae said quietly. The redhead wasn't impressed. "The Others take his eyes." He swore. By then, their father had galloped to stand beside them, and when he heard this, he frowned at his eldest son. "Was it your first time seeing a decapitation?" Lord Eddard asked his nephew. "No." He responded curtly. "Robb, race you to the bridge?" He added. "Sure." Robb answered. They got along well, sometimes acting like they were close friends, sometimes like they were twins. The prince kicked his horse forward, Robb followed, laughing and hooting. After a while, the sound of his laughter receded, and the woods grew silent again. "I'm not as young as I used to be. Bugger it, I'll never catch up to them." Ser Arthur swore. The hooves of his horse kicked up showers of snow as he went after his charge. "Are you well, Bran?" He turned to see his grandfather who had moved up to ride beside them. "Yes. Father, Robb says the man died bravely, but Jae thought he was scared." Bran said. "What do you think?" His father asked. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" Bran said after he'd thought about it. "That's the only time a man can be brave." Lord Eddard replied. "Do you know why I had to do it?" Rickard asked him as they rode back to Winterfell. "He was an oathbreaker, I think." "You mistake me. The question wasn't why the man had to die. Do you know why I had to do it?" Lord rickard asked again. "The king has a headsman." Bran said with uncertainty. Before his grandfather or father could answer, however, Robb reappeared on the crest of the hill. "Father, Bran, come quickly! We've found something!" He shouted. He disappeared again. "Trouble, my Lords?" One of their men asked. "Definitely. Come, let's see what mischief they've gotten into." Lord Eddard said. They found the two boys on the riverbank north of the bridge. "Gods!" Theon gasped. Bran didn't know why. He couldn't see anything but Robb and his cousin standing close, talking in hushed voices. "Robb, get away from it!" Jory drew his sword. "It's already dead." Ser Arthur Dayne informed him. The knight was standing a little further, a strange look in his eyes as he watched the scene. "What in the seven hells is it?" Greyjoy asked. "A wolf." Robb replied. "Look at the size of it!" Theon exclaimed. "It's a freak!" A huge animal was half buried under the bloodstained snow. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, it was bigger than Bran's pony. "It's a direwolf." Jae spoke calmly, turning away from Robb to stand next to his Kingsgaurd. "They grow larger than a normal wolf." Bran finally noticed the bundle in Robb's arms. He gave a cry of delight, running over to his brother to take a closer look. The pup was a tiny ball of grey fur, its eyes still closed. "Do you want to hold it?" Robb asked. "Go on." Bran hesitantly took the pup. "Here you go." His cousin put a second pup in his arms. "There are five of them." "Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years," Hullen muttered. "I like it not." "It is a sign." Lord Rickard said. "It's only a dead animal, father." Lord Eddard frowned. "The pups will be dead soon enough, too." Hullen said. "The sooner the better." "Give the beast here, Bran." Theon drew a dagger. "No, you can't kill it! it's mine." Bran said fiercely. The pups squirmed in his arms. "We'll keep them." Robb said determinedly. "Hullen speaks truly, son. A quick death is a mercy." His father said. "We can keep them. Ser Rodrik's red bitch whelped again last week. It was a small litter, she'll have milk enough." Robb insisted. "Grandfather, please." Bran looked at him expectantly. "The direwolf is the sigil of house Stark." Lord Rickard mentioned. "There are five pups, three male, two female. You have five children, uncle." Jae told Bran's father. "They were meant to have these pups." His Lord father regarded Jae carefully. Robb rushed into the silence. "I'll feed him myself, father. I'll soak a towel with warm milk and let him suck from that." "Me too!" Bran cried. After they were warned about how strong direwolves will get, how they should train the pups themselves, feed and look after them themselves, they finally mounted their horses to ride back to Winterfell. Halfway cross the bridge, Jae stopped abruptly. "What is it?" The Dornishman asked him. "Can't you here it?" Prince Jae asked. "There." He turned away and galloped back across the bridge. A moment later he was riding back to them with a big smile on his pale face. The sixth pup's fur was pure white, and his eyes were as red as the blood of the man who had died earlier. Bran found it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others where still blind. "An albino." Theon snorted. "This one will die first." "I think not. He's mine, Greyjoy." Jaehaerys gave him a chilling look.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Jaehaerys
He took a deep breath, the cold morning air filling his lungs helped to calm him. These strange dreams always made him want to vomit, not that he dreamed of anything revolting, but the dreams were sometimes so foreign, and sometimes so familiar.
It was him again. Egg.
He'd started dreaming of the first twelve years of Prince Jaehaerys' life a few moons ago, about the time he'd finally almost gotten used to his new circumstances. It was as if the gods didn't want him to have a peaceful moment for the rest of his life. Every morning when he woke up with his head full of these kind of images, he felt like Prince Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne for a few seconds. It scared him that he was adjusting so well. That shouldn't be possible, he was a bastard, heir to nothing, the next day he turned into a prince. He might someday be king and rule from the Wall to Dorne. It scared him while simultaneously making him excited. He'd finished dressing when somebody knocked on the guest champers' door. "Yes?" "Breakfast at the great Hall, then training, hurry, your highness." Even after spending an entire year in the south, Jon was used to sparring in such conditions, he had spent more than 6 years training in the often snowy courtyard of Winterfell after all. Loras, on the other hand, didn't remember ever seeing snow. He moved hesitantly on the unfamiliar surface, so Jon didn't find him as challenging as he he usually did. "Move your feet, you poncy flower!" Ser Oswell yelled from where he was standing next to Winterfell's master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel. Under his simple black tunic, sweat ran down Jon's chest as he stepped forward to attack again. Loras' defense turned clumsy as he stumbled backward, his feet sliding on the ground for a few seconds, but Jon didn't need more time, the Reachman lost his weapon quickly when Jon struck at the him again. "Nicely done." Ser Aurane commented. He was the captain of Dragonstone's guards and he and a score of his men accompanied Jon on the journey North. It made him feel a strange sort of pride, having soldiers that were directly under his command. "Loras wasn't used to the circumstances and made it too easy for you." Arthur looked around the courtyard. "Perhaps Lord Robb would oblige." Robb nodded his head, his red hair caught the light, shining like copper. Jon's heart skipped a beat whenever he looked upon those he still considered his siblings. He never thought he could miss them so much, but his time in King's Landing made him miss all of them terribly. Little Bran with his sweet smile and dreams of becoming a renowned knight, Arya who hated embroidery with a burning passion, he'd even missed Sansa, beautiful and well-mannered and too proud to converse with the bastard of Winterfell. He felt a queer feeling whenever Sansa curtsied to him, something he couldn't put a name on. In absence of Robb, he'd taken to spending time with the young squires in the Red Keep, befriending a few highborn lads. When he'd truly realized that the knights of the Kingsgaurd were at his disposal, he started to train harder than he used to, and having such great warriors teach him had made Jon improve immensely. Robb was a good fighter, everyone said. He had been better at jousting, but Jon had been the better sword. After a few moons of training in the south, Oswell and Arthur, even the Lord Commander had started bragging about their brilliant student. Now, Jon was sure he could defeat the heir to Winterfell quite easily, but spending time in the capital had made him even more observant than before, so Ser Arthur's suggestion caused him quite a bit of worry. Many people were standing to watch, servants, Stark men, some of his own men from Dragonstone, a few lesser Lords, and his grandfather, Lord Rickard. Northerners respected strength, Jon didn't want to make Robb look weak in front of such a big audience. "I'm a bit tired, actually." said Jon. "Horse shit! You never get tired this easily." Oswell interjected. Jon gave him a look, hoping to make him understand that he didn't want to fight his cousin. Then, he saw a small figure and smiled. "Watch your tongue, ser. There's a Lady among us." Jon said, causing Lord Stark to look over his shoulder. Arya was standing right behind him. The fact that her light grey dress was missing a button was oddly comforting to Jon. "My apologies, Lady Arya." The knight offered a little bow in addition to his apology. "Don't call me that!" Arya scowled. Lord Rickard looked down at the girl with a smile. Since their arrival, Jon had noticed that his grandfather was particularly fond of Arya, their relationship was something akin to what was between him and his little sister back when was Jon Snow. "Maybe the younger boys would be willing. Where's prince Edrick?" Ser Arthur asked, getting him to stop his line of thinking. Jon shrugged, his little brother was probably somewhere with Bran. He was a bit younger than Brandon, but just as tall. They both got that from their father. King Rhaegar was six and a half feet tall. "They were in the Godswood, I think." Arya informed the Dornishman. "Well, shall we go find them?" Lord Stark said. Jon realized with a start that the old man was addressing him. "Sure."
Rickard
The old untouched forest smelled of moist earth. It was dark and unsettling to strangers, but had a calming effect on Rickard and all the northern men before him. As they walked among the trees, he started praying silently to the old gods for his dear daughter and her sons, for Ned and his own family. Jaehaerys walked with him, slowing down considerately, as Rickard wasn't as swift as he used to be. His knees would only stop hurting when he was relaxing in the hot springs. "There they are." The young man said, pointing to where the two boys were. Bran and Edrick stood next to an unevenly shaped snowman, grinning from ear to ear. "Look what we made!" Edrick jumped up, his wavy hair was tousled and his chubby cheeks pink. While he was playing in the Godswood with an older boy named Brandon, the boy's resemblance to Ben was almost painful. "Look at his nose!" Bran pointed to what was supposedly the snowman's face, where a long crooked carrot was acting as its nose. "Charming." The older prince chuckled. "I came to fetch you two. It's time for swordsmanship lessons." "Really?" Bran asked. "Yes, Ser Rodrik is waiting." Jae confirmed. "Let's see who's faster!" The redhead suggested and started to run. "Wait!" Edrick ran after him. The snowman stood alone between sentinel trees for a few seconds before his nose fell off. Jae went over and picked it up, biting a big part and starting to chew. Rickard couldn't stop his own laughter. "What? it's a perfectly good carrot." Jae said defensively. "Come here, boy. Let us talk a little." Richard sat on a smooth rock. He knew any attempts to bond with his grandson would be awkward, they met each other a few days ago, they were still strangers. Those purple eyes of his shone brightly as he walked closer and sat on a fallen log in front of him. He played with his fingers, his posture stiff as if he expected an interrogation, then he leaned forward interestedly, focusing on something invisible to Rickard. "Is that a Mark?" Jaehaerys inquired incredulously. "Yes, would you like to see?" He pulled back the sleeve, so his grandson could see his left wrist clearly. The two direwolves wrapped around his wrist and around each other. The female one had silver fur streaked with dark grey and her eyes looked like pools of molten gold. It represented his late wife, Lady Lyarra. The male was a bit bigger, and his fur was much darker, almost black, his eyes were an icy blue color. Jae reached out to touch the Gods' painting. His long fingers traced the outlines gentley, then he withdrew suddenly and looked up to Rickard with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. It's just... this is the first time I see a Mark." He explained. "Understandable. I hadn't seen one before my own appeared on my wrist on my seven-and-tenth nameday. They are very rare." The gods love to play games, he'd learned long ago, changing men's lives, making someone miserable and someone else as happy as possible, turning powerful men into beggars. Marking people was one of their favorite games. The Maesters had written a thousand books about Marks, trying to find the reasons of the gods blessings, they had learned the general facts from the people who were Marked, but none of them claimed to know everything about them. The Marks appeared when a maid had her moon blood for the first time, or when a man reached his majority. The Old gods and the New agreed that soulmates were married to each other from the moment their Marks appeared. People who were Marked never could have children with someone other than their soulmate, it wasn't physically possible. It was believed that children born of these matches are going to be great people. Marks rarely appeared. Rickard knew that a minor lord in the Reach was Marked and he and his Marked wife lived together with no children. Currently Rickard and that Lord and Lady were the only Marked people in all of Westeros. Everyone knew that Prince Duncan Targaryen and his wife were Marked. It was also common knowledge that once a knight of the Kingsgaurd was Marked, that he was freed from his vows and he got married to the maiden who was his soulmate. It was known that for the first few years of marriage, the soulmates lives were dependent on each other. If one of them died, the other one would die not long after. Everyone knew that an assassin once tried to murder Jaehaerys I through murdering his Marked wife. Rickard remembered his own wedding clearly, everyone wanted to see the direwolves on their wrists. He grew to love his wife eventually, and accepting her death was the hardest thing he's ever done. "They're beautiful." The prince said softly, his eyes still fixated on the Mark. "This one looks a bit like Nymeria." "Nymeria?" "Arya named her wolf pup after the Rhoynish Queen." Jae grinned.
Rhaegar
Before Rhaegar's second marriage, House Targaryen had been decreased to two men, a woman, two children and a babe. It wasn't very populated even now, he had to admit, but Viserys was going to get married within a fortnight after their return to the capital, and his betrothed was young enough to be fertile, but not too young that she'd be too weak to carry. Hopefully, he'd father at least two children on the girl for House Targaryen of Summerhall. Jaehaerys was four-and-ten, strong and intelligent and a fearsome warrior even as a greenboy. Arthur swore that in a few years nobody would be able to defeat his son. He wanted to give him two or three more years, then he'd get married as well, securing another heir to the throne of their forefathers. As for Daenerys, she hadn't even flowered yet, as her Septa had felt it was her duty to inform him and Lyanna, but she was too young still, some girls didn't flower even after they were older than seven-and-ten. Dany was still a child. She was a comely girl, and she would be a woman with the inhumane beauty of old Valyria. Any man would be more than pleased to have her for a wife. A princess, daughter of the old king, sister to the current one, and gentle and kind. Rhaegar had always feared that she'd turn out to be too meek, too maneuverable, but he assured himself that she would grow out of it. Rhaegar looked up from the old scroll he was reading, when he realized he wasn't paying attention to its contents at all. There was a window on the wall across from him, the post-dawn light poured through it into the library. It's morning. He remembered the reason he'd spent the whole night here, instead of sleeping next to his Queen. "I don't understand why he can't keep it." Lyanna had said. " I think you're just making excuses, you never wanted him to somehow connect with the North. " "By all the gods, Lya, that little ball of fur isn't a lap dog! Direwolves are dangerous, I don't know what your brother was thinking, letting them bring back the beasts. I'd like if spending time with his cousins was his way of connecting." Rhaegar didn't want his heir to like the North too much, he had to admit. Jae never liked Dragonstone or Summerhall very much. And as he grew older, he stopped thinking of the Red Keep as his home. He was always fascinated with anything related to the North. He liked that Winterfell was a home, not a court, liked that northerners weren't fond of playing 'word games' or 'flowery court speech'. But he was supposed to be King someday, not a northern lord. His whole life would be made up of word games and political problems. Rhaegar wanted his heir to be proud of his Targaryen heritage, especially after what happened last year. The incident and what happened after made Rhaegar particularly sensitive to his son showing interest in northern culture. It wasn't easy to hear his son deny him and their family and all they stood for. He'd even redecorated his chambers, much to Lyanna's delight. He'd chosen white and light blue curtains to replace the red ones, but thankfully hadn't asked for the tapestries to be taken off the walls. "The breakfast in the Great Hall is already over, Your Grace. These people start the day frightfully early." Ser Dickon Manwoody, the youngest and newest member of the Kingsguard informed him. Darry had died of natural causes a few years earlier, and when Prince Lewyn and The White Bull both died of the Plague, Rhaegar had no choice but to listen to Ser Barristan and bring Jaime Lannister back into the Kingsguard. A few years after the Plague, Arthur found Ser Dickon, a brutally strong man with a great reputation as a swordsman. Ser Dickon was a simple man who followed orders without question, didn't talk much unless he was drunk, but didn't drink very often anyway. Rhaegar sometimes wished there was another two of him to fill the empty places on the Kingsguard. "Send a page to the kitchens to tell them to bring my breakfast to the Queen's solar." On his way to his wife's solar, he continued thinking about the Kingsguard. He knew that the Lord Commander and Arthur were considering Loras Tyrell. He wasn't a bad choice, skilled despite his age, and Arthur claimed that he was almost as good as Jaime Lannister when he joined. The fact that Jaime was back in King's Landing did nothing to relax him. Rhaegar never knew how exactly he should feel about the Lion of Lannister. At first he was an excited green boy, arrogant and always smirking, he changed after spending a few days guarding Aerys. He was shocked, then frightened, then he started to question his morals, it was clear to anyone who would look at him those days. A year later, Rhaegar came back from visiting Dragonstone to find his father dead, and Ser Jaime confined in the black cells by order of Ser Gerold Hightower. His mother asked him to spare Jaime, admitting that she was the one to kill Aerys. The new king had sent his pregnant mother to Dragonstone, then sent Ser Jaime back to Casterly Rock. The murder of the king was publicly announced as a peaceful death in his sleep. Grand Maester Pycelle sent word to the citadel, claiming the King had died of a heart condition. Lord Tywin was pleased to have his heir back, but Jaime refused to marry anyone, and refused to have the High Septon release him from his vows. He claimed that he was a knight of the Kingsguard untill he died. Then he went to live with his sister, the new Lady Baratheon, and stayed at Storm's End for a few years. When he'd finally came back, Rhaegar had a long talk with him. Jaime had swore that he was the one to kill Aerys, not Rhaella. Rhaegar didn't believe him, the dagger that killed his father was an old Targaryen heirloom and Rhaella had had it since she was a girl, and he somehow knew that if Jaime wanted to kill someone, he'd do it with his own gilded sword. When Rhaegar opened the door an old servant was dusting the room. She dropped into an awfully unpracticed curtsy. "The Queen is with Lady Stark, Your Grace." The woman said. Rhaegar tried very hard not to groan.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Jaehaerys As he walked the length of the dark corridor, he recognized the grey stone floor of Winterfell. He didn't know why it seemed strange to him, he was supposed to be in Winterfell, wasn't he? Then he realized that the name of Winterfell itself sounded odd in his mind. Winterfell, he thought, but along with the warmth that was associated with it in his mind, there was another feeling. The feeling was curiously foreign, like a text written in another language, like the texture of a fabric you've never touched before. The stranger thing was that he understood it; he was confused. It was nothing he'd ever known before, but he knew what it meant and what had caused it. He hadn't known what Winterfell meant, and when he'd heard the thought like a whisper echoing in his head, he was confused. But that doesn't make any sense! I know what Winterfell means, I thought about it in the first place, because I knew I was in Winterfell. He stopped thinking, and it was oddly easy. It was night, and the torches were lit. The light of the flames danced beautifully on the wall. In front of the room he was lodging in, there were two men. They seemed too large, too tall, as though they'd become giants overnight. He walked over to them, no, he wasn't walking. He was... crawling? He came closer, but the guards didn't notice until he was right in front of them. He was looking up to them, each one of them looked as tall as the Broken Tower, or Tower of the Hand. A very strange dream indeed. "Hello, little pup!" one of the giants smiled down at him.
Catelyn
"These are the southern styled dresses I commissioned for you," said Catelyn as she laid one of Arya's dresses on her bed. It was a rather simple one, made of fine silver silk with some dark grey direwolves running around the modest collar. Its long sleeves were dotted with small snowflakes that Catelyn had embroidered herself. The little girl said nothing. "Most of them are just like the ones you wear now, they're just made of materials better suited to the southern climate." It was decided that Catelyn and Ned and their two girls, along with Bran and Rickon would travel to King's Landing with the king's party to attend Myranda's wedding. "Is there a riding dress too?" her daughter asked hopefully. Arya loved riding, a Stark family trait that her redheaded daughter hadn't inherited. "Yes." She placed another one over the silver dress. This one was light blue, and Sansa had embroidered small butterflies all over the bodice. "Did Sansa make it?" Arya scowled at the prettier dress. "Yes, she spent almost a sennight sewing it, and I'd thank you to mind your manners and thank your sister," the Lady of Winterfell said warningly. "I'll look horrible if I wear this!" "You won't," she promised. "I know you'd rather wear breeches and run around swinging a wooden sword all the time, but we are going to the king's court, and we're going to attend a royal wedding, and I won't have you ruining our families' reputation. I know you don't want to be a lady, but you are, so you'll have to endure." She knelt next to his younger daughter and caressed her dark hair to soften her words. "I wish you were free to do whatever you pleased, but women in our position never have such liberties. It'll be easier if you accept that fact, sweetling." Arya snorted. "Why do I have to go south? I can stay here with grandfather." Her grey eyes looked up at Cat, silently making the same request. "We're going to travel on the kingsroad, and it's a good opportunity for you to see more of the Seven Kingdoms. We'll get to meet your uncle Edmure and aunt Lysa and your cousin. Promise me you'll try to behave like the lady you are." "Can I bring Nymeria?" Arya replied irrelevantly. She sighed. Those beasts had no place in the household of a great house, but Lord Rickard and Ned had agreed that the children could keep them. "You promised to look after them, and train them, and feed them yourselves, so you'll have to bring them," she said much to Arya's delight. "Perhaps Jae's father will let him keep Ghost, too." Jer little girl wasn't trying to hide her dislike of the king. "Please be more careful when you're speaking of the king," Catelyn said exasperatedly. By the Seven, I never knew children could be so troublesome! She exited Arya's bedchamber and made for Sansa's. She, at least, was happy to travel south. Bran was delighted, too. He'd been begging his parents to let him squire for a knight for a year now.
Sansa
Her father had left before dawn, she was informed as they broke their fast. "King Rhaegar sent for him. They're visiting the holdfasts around the Trident, I believe," said Lady Catelyn. "Are there many of them?" she asked. Presently Lady appeared next to her seat, Sansa fed her a piece of bacon. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen. "Yes," mother answered shortly as she was busy making Rickon sit on the bench instead of kneeling on the floor next to the great black beast that was his direwolf. "A highborn lady doesn't feed dogs at her table." Septa Mordane gave Sansa a disapproving look. "She isn't a dog," said Sansa. "They grow uncommonly fast. Arya's pup is already as large as a hound," mother observed. It was true, though Lady was the smallest of the litter, and hadn't grown as much as the others. Shaggydog was the biggest, Bran's unnamed pup and Nymeria and Ghost were the second in size. Lady was the smallest, beautiful and well mannered and ladylike. Septa Mordane looked like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. As Mother looked around the inn's common room, Rickon gave Shaggydog a big piece of meat, Sansa had no idea where it was produced from. "Where's Arya?" Bran asked. "She said she wasn't hungry." Sansa shrugged. "She probably went to the kitchen hours ago and ate something," Bran said carelessly. Arya would probably kick him in the sheens for saying that to their mother. Mother let out a sharp gasp. "Please go find her, Sansa. We're all invited to ride with the queen in her wheelhouse today. I should make her wear something appropriate." "Aunt Lyanna doesn't like the wheelhouse. She called it "that monstrosity" yesterday, and "that hideous windowless thing" the day before yesterday," Bran informed them. Sansa hid a giggle behind her pretty handkerchief. "May I be excused?" "You may." She slid from the bench. As she was going out of the door, she heard her mother's voice: "Where did you get the meat, Rickon?" Sansa giggled again. She was looking forward to spending more time with her aunt. It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and the fact that the queen was her aunt made it better. Her aunt Lyanna was gorgeous, her hair was long and shiny and always styled beautifully, the diamond coronet she sometimes wore was beautiful, her dresses were beautiful, and Sansa liked beautiful things. The queen had complimented her on her sewing skills, and praised her beauty. Sansa thought she might see Ser Loras as well. He was very handsome, a gallant knight like the songs she loved so much. He sometimes rode next to the wheelhouse, but sadly, as it was said earlier, it had no windows. Outside the men were breaking down the tents and loading the wagons for another day's march. She found Arya on the banks of the Trident. "What are you doing?" "I'm brushing Nymeria's fur. Have you gone blind all of a sudden?" she answered rudely. Sansa ignored her rudeness, it was her very nature to do the most unladylike things possible. "You better wear something pretty. We're riding in the wheelhouse today." The sight of her scrawny little sister in those filthy riding leathers almost made her sick. What would the queen think? "You can go if you like, but I'm not," Arya said, continuing to brush her direwolf's matted fur. "I'm going to ride upstream with Mycah and... and look for beavers," she added the last part after thinking for a few seconds. Suspicious, she thought. "You should have come with us when we were crossing the Neck. I counted thirty-six flowers I never saw before, and we saw a lizard-lion," Arya continued. "We?" "Me and Jaehaerys. He was with me when I went to pluck the poison kisses," Arya explained, "but he can't come today, so I'm going with Mycah." Sansa had hated every moment of the twelve days they'd spent crossing the Neck. The air had been damp and clammy, the causeway so narrow they had to camp right on the kingsroad. The poison kisses were the purple and green flowers that Arya had found in the swamps. Sansa shuddered. If you were stupid enough to leave the causeway, there were quicksands waiting to suck you down, and snakes and lizard-lions, but none of that had stopped the reckless little Stark. Later, they'd found out why the flowers were called poison kisses because they gave Arya a rash. "I'm going riding," Arya repeated as she tried to brush out Nymeria's tangles. "Why would you do that?" Sansa looked at her sister in disbelief. "Why would you ride on a smelly horse and get sore and sweat-" she was interupted. "Get back here, Nymeria!" Arya shouted. She'd given a hard yank with the brush, and the wolf had run away. Arya went to chase after her. "Arya!" she yelled at the little girl, but Arya didn't look back. Sansa was so angry she wanted to scream. Arthur It was late in the evening when the Crown Prince finally came to meet his father. Rhaegar was sitting on a comfortable chair in Lord Darry's audience chamber. Lord Darry was standing next to his desk. Two days ago when Arthur and Rhaegar and Lord Eddard had came back to the kingsroad to continue their march, Jaehaerys wasn't in the inn, nor was his little cousin. They'd sent out men searching for them, but they'd come back to the inn by themselves. There'd been dried blood on the back of Jae's neck. "I found her next to the river." The prince had pointed to the thin girl. "Three boys were hitting her and her friend with wooden swords." Oswell had been furious, he'd sent out men to find the commoners. The boys were one or two years older than Jae. "We were beating up the little ginger, I swear, m'lord," the biggest one had said. He had a big ugly bruise on his face. "Then, the other one came whacking me with a stick! So I beat up the little cunt good an' proper, m'lord. He'd no business coming into the fight!" he'd told Arthur defensively, mistaking Ned Stark's daughter for a boy. Apparently they had been cursing loudly as they fought, so the prince had heard them when he was walking around that morning. Arthur walked in after Jae and closed the door behind himself. "The boys you fought have been brought here," the king told his son. "Why?" he sounded confused. I swear to the Crone, these Maesters teach the lads nothing these days! "Well, because they've struck you, my prince, so they should be punished," said Lord Darry. "It was just a silly fight. Children fight," he protested. "They hit me, and I did the same." His knuckles did attest to him throwing a few good punches. Arthur thought he probably didn't want people to think he couldn't defend himself in a fight. He was fourteen, and boys were terribly proud around that age. "That doesn't matter, lad," Arthur said. "Commoners can't just attack the future king and remain unpunished." "They didn't attack me. They were hitting Arya and her friend, and I interfered because they were older and bigger than them, and one of them was taking Arya's wooden sword and wanted to hit her with it," Jae explained. "And which one landed a blow on the back of your neck?" Rhaegar asked. "It doesn't matter," he answered. Rhaegar stood up and walked over to him. "Jae, you can't seriously expect me to let them go. They hit you and your cousin, you know the punishment for that," the king told his son. "If a man strikes a blood royal, the hand he used to strike should be cut off." Lord Darry put in. Prince Jae gasped. "That's just unnecessarily brutal! Can't you... I don't know, just order him to be whipped?" "My father used to have me whipped when I misbehaved," said Oswell. "A servant will be whipped if they steal from a castle's kitchen. For striking the Crown Prince? It's simply not enough." "They didn't know! It was all my fault, I should've announced myself and told them to stop, but I didn't. I acted foolishly. Those boys deserve punishment for hitting two kids much younger than themselves, but not because of fighting me,"he insisted. "When you came back, half your tunic had turned red." Rhaegar walked over and looked right into his eyes. Jae didn't look at him and turned to face Arthur. "I acted foolishly," he repeated, desperately looking at them all. "They didn't know who I was, they didn't know any better." "What were you wearing?" Arthur had been leading the search and hadn't been there when he returned. "Those old brown breeches and a simple white tunic that was, as the king said, almost completely bloodstained by the time he got back," Oswell informed him, his tone fierce and angry. He understood. Rhaegar was like a brother to Oswell as much as he was to Arthur, so they both felt like Jae was their own nephew, and there was some sort of traditional overprotectiveness of children in the Kingsguard. "The point is: he wasn't wearing anything noticeably royal. Commoners are usually better than that at recognizing the highborn, but as they were already in the middle of a fight when they saw the prince, certainly they didn't know any better." He walked over to the king then. "And they look much worse than Jae does. He stood his ground, my friend." "Are you saying what they already received was enough?" the silver haired man asked incredulously. "Leave, please. All except Ser Arthur," he commanded after a short pause.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Oswell It was some time after midnight when the king opened the door to his guest quarters in Castle Darry and peeked out. "Come in, my friend," he said. "I can't sleep, and there's no point in you standing outside my door all alone." "We can be sleepless together." Oswell grinned as he walked in. Rhaegar retuned a tired smile. "You look like you could use a good night's sleep," Oswell commented. "Maybe you should have a bit of dreamwine and try to rest." "I've dreamt enough for tonight. For a lifetime, really." Rhaegar sat on the bed. The Kingsguard noted that he hadn't spent a night with his wife since they left King's Landing. He was never very passionate about bedding women. Even as a greenboys, Oswell couldn't remember the silver prince hiring a whore. "What will happen to those boys?" Oswell asked in order to start a conversation; Rhaegar would be silent all night if you'd leave him to his thoughts. "I had a big fight with Arthur over that. I did what he wanted in the end. Lord Darry talked to them, scared them. They're going to be whipped after we've left Darry on the morrow." He lied on the bed, and groaned. "I should've been more stern." "You were as stern as you need to be," Oswell assured him. He sat on a comfortable armchair, and they said nothing for a long while. "Jae worries me, I admit," said the king when Oswell was fairly certain he'd finally gone to sleep. "Damn it, Rhaegar, you scared me out of my wits!" "Such a brave knight," he teased. "Jae acts strangely still. Sometimes doesn't answer when somebody calls him. I thought we were over that phase, but it seems the North didn't have a good effect on him," he continued, frowning. He raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think the North had a bad effect on him. He made a lot of friends and seemed to enjoy the journey." "That's the exact problem." Rhaegar groaned in a very unkingly manner. "He likes the North too much. And those seven-times-damned direwolves! He wants to keep one as a pet." "I've seen them. Jae's pup looks adorable," Oswell informed him. "And what if he wants to keep one of them? You're a bloody Targaryen, your ancestors kept dragons as pets." "The Kings of Winter had direwolves. Keeping a direwolf is... is too northern," the father explained. Oswell would never be worried about a child of his own body. "I don't know what to say," he admitted. Lyanna Her dress was uncomfortable. The slow movement of the wheelhouse was more frustrating than ever. "We're almost there," said Rhaegar. The sight of her calm and perfectly composed husband was intolerable. His beautiful hair shined, and his crown hadn't moved an inch since he'd placed it there this morning. Sometimes it seemed like he could control everything, yet Lyanna still had problems with making her hair look presentable. "This is unbearable," she snapped. "What are you referring to, my love?" He looked truly confused, even though she knew it was an act. "I admit I am lost." He smiled beautifully, and Lyanna wanted to rip out his hair. She just glared at him. "She's talking about the wheelhouse." Arya scowled. "You're a man, you can ride." Her niece looked at him suspiciously. "Why are you here?" Her mother gasped. "Arya, is that a polite question to ask?" "It's too hot to be polite," she answered testily, "and I want to ride, you said I was allowed to!" "Please mind your manners, Arya. I'm sorry for her rudeness, Your Grace," Catelyn said like a perfect southern lady. Rhaegar answered with something equally uninteresting. Perhaps he should have married someone like her; a woman who preferred sitting in a wheelhouse and reclining on plush cushions to riding and feeling the wind through her hair. Gods, I swear I haven't let my hair down in more than ten years. "I'm thirsty, Mama," Edrick whispered. He'd stopped playing with his wooden knights hours ago. Lyanna reflected that even reliving Ser Duncan the Tall's adventures through toys would get boring after a while. Especially if your only playmates were two older girls. "There's some orange juice, sweetling. Do you want a glass?" she asked. "No, I want water," he whined. "Well, I want to ride, for all the good it does me," Arya snapped at the boy. Edrick pouted. Catelyn said nothing, she was probably too tired of having to apologise for her daughter every thirty seconds. Rickon was asleep. Rhaegar opened the wheelhouse's door and asked the knight riding next to them, "Is there any water left in your wineskin?" The knight surrendered his wineskin, and the king closed the door. "Here you go," he said, offering the water to the little boy. Meanwhile, Sansa was embroidering the edge of a white handkerchief. She was the most polite and well-mannered girl Lyanna had ever seen. The queen wanted to ask her something when somebody knocked on the door. Arya groaned. "Would you please open the door, Lady Catelyn?" Rhaegar asked politely. Ned's wife opened the door, and Jae jumped in, almost knocking her down. He looked at Catelyn, blushed and hastilymumbled an apology. Then, he sat as far away from her as possible. "Why did you come in?" Arya looked at her cousin like she couldn't believe anyone would willingly enter the wheelhouse. She asked the question Lyanna wanted to ask. The only reason she was sitting in a wheelhouse like a delicate southern lady was a lost bet. "I'm a bit hungry, and Ser Arthur said you have cakes and fruits." He was beaming at Arya. His expression while looking at the little girl worried her, but surely it meant nothing. Ned's littlest girl was too young to be sexually interesting to a boy. "Isn't Bran joining us?" Catelyn asked. "He must be tired, it's his first time riding a horse for such a long period of time." Jae swallowed the big piece of cake quickly. "He's going to join you, and Lord Eddard told me to tell Arya she can ride when Bran is done." He didn't look at Lady Catelyn while he answered. "Well, he better come in soon or I'm going to kick him in the b-" Arya's mouth was covered with Sansa's hand before she could finish her threat. The pretty handkerchief fell on the floor. "What happened to your horse when you jumped in?" Lyanna asked, trying not to laugh at Catelyn Tully's mortified expression. "Loras is holding the reins. I'm going to eat an orange, then I'll go out again," Jae answered. "Why isn't Bran coming in already?" the little girl moaned. Nobody said anything. Jae offered her a piece of orange. _____ The king dismounted, looking like he'd just dressed up, not like he'd been traveling the whole day. He'd stayed in the wheelhouse, and only mounted his stallion before entering the city. Appearances were everything, the same man's mother had once told Lyanna. "Welcome back to the capital, Your Grace," said the Hand of the King. "Thank you, Jon." Rhaegar offered his friend a warm smile. "I hope everything's been going smoothly." "It has," Connington answered. "My queen, I hope the journey wasn't too tiring," he added, bending and kissing her hand. She just smiled. She'd mastered the art of smiling when she would rather snort years ago. "Lord Connington." Jae looked at the man with a blank expression. The relationship between the Hand and the crown prince was best described as 'mutual disinterest'. "My prince." His words were accompanied with a bit of a grimace.
Willas
They rode through the king's city in a litter with gold curtains, and as Willas looked through them, the people looked like small golden figurines. He'd heard about the new sewer system, and it seemed to work well since the city didn't stink as badly as it used to. Small mercies. "What did Loras think about the girl?" his grandmother asked. "Princess Rhaenys looks more Martell than Targaryen; in fact, she doesn't look like her father at all, nevertheless, it's widely known that she's the king's favorite child," he repeated like a parrot. "I've heard she's Elia reborn, so let me warn you: Elia was a plain girl, and always sickly." She looked at Willas expectantly. "My lord father has expressed his wish that I marry soon, and you've told me many times that my marriage is house Tyrell's priority." Willas was getting frustrated with his grandmother. Nothing was set in stone yet; he was going to meet the princess, and they were going to talk, and only if they both wished it, the betrothal would be announced. Willas didn't care much for beauty; he wanted a smart and educated wife who wouldn't mind his bad leg. He'd be happy if his prospective wife was pretty, of course, but he wasn't going to complain if she was plain. "Yes, yes. I'm going to talk to the girl myself as soon as we get there. To make sure she doesn't have stupid ideas about marrying her own brother or uncle!" She shook her head. "You can never know with Targaryens." "Loras said Prince Jaehaerys never talks about his sister; almost as if he forgets her existence when she's not around. I doubt they'd be having an affair." His grandmother was awfully suspicious about Targaryens. "He said they all seem very sane and normal," he added. Olenna snorted. "Loras is as big an oaf as his father. You shouldn't trust his judgement." "I'm sure he'll find the princess very charming," Margaery said calmly. His sister was wearing a dark green gown embroidered with as many golden roses as possible. Willas was a Tyrell himself, yet he couldn't understand his family's insistence on putting golden roses everywhere. "I can see the Red Keep," said Willas irrelevantly, hoping they would arrive soon. His leg hurt. Samwell He found the library two days after their arrival. The smell of old parchment and crispy paper had welcomed him. The sun shined brightly and lit up the room. The long oaken table between the bookcases felt like home. There was plenty of spare scrolls and quills lying around, and Sam had found some old High Valyrian poetry he was trying to translate. "If ever any beauty I did see..." he mumbled while scribbling the translation. The door creaked open, but Sam ignored it. It's probably the acolyte again... he's the only one who ever comes in here. "If ever any beauty I did see, which I desired, and got, ’twas but a dream of thee," Sam mumbled again. "You must be Samwell Tarly," a clear, alluring voice declared. Sam looked up. The owner of the voice was a tall, lean man whose silver-gold hair made him easily identifiable. His long, elegant fingers were holding a leather bound book and his dark indigo eyes were observing Sam. "Your Grace." Sam blushed. "Your father told me you were..." the king paused, to think of a polite way to quote his father's disapproving words no doubt. "... fond of books," he continued. Sam nodded. "Is that why you're hiding in my private library as the other young men gather in the yard to spar?" Sam winced. He imagined Dickon in armour, holding a shield bearing the sigil of House Tarly and smiling arrogantly. "I am no warrior, Your Grace." "Your brother fights, doesn't he?" the king asked. "You're Randyll's heir. A ruler doesn't necessarily need to be a warrior. Warriors often lack to see the finer details of ruling." "I... I am going to join the Night's Watch, so I'll never be the lord," he explained. "You are almost a man grown now, and my heir", his father's voice echoed in his mind. Sam remembered his lord father's long knife. "You have given me no cause to disown you, but neither will I allow you to inherit the land and title that should be Dickon's." "Truly?" The king looked at him incredulously. He probably thinks I won't last a second if I have to fight a wildling and he's right. "Yes, sire. I'll be leaving for the Wall soon." It's seven hundred feet high... I hate high places... "Well, I wish you good luck, Samwell," he said, not unkindly.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He drew the dagger and laid it on the table between them; a length of dragonbone and Valyrian steel, as sharp as the difference between right and wrong, between true and false, between life and death.
-from an Eddard Chapter in A Game of Thrones-
Tyrion Tyrion thought that kings must be experts in twisting their words enough to reveal nothing of their true intentions while maintaining a demanding tone. His Lord father had received a wedding invitation just as the news of Prince Viserys' wedding were spreading throughout the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms. In that invitation, the king had somehow expressed his wishes about receiving Tyrion as House Lannister's representative. Not that the Lord of Casterly Rock had shared the contents of the king's letter with the dwarf, but as Lord Tywin was more likely to send uncle Kevan, or even Lancel, gods forbid, before he'd allow his own son to represent their house at a royal wedding, Tyrion was almost certain that it was caused by king Rhaegar. Tywin was angry with the king, he'd realized, even though the Old Lion was trying very hard to conceal it."The city stinks," Tyrion said out loud even though nobody was close enough to hear him. The litter was empty except for himself and his books. "If you have a good nose you can smell the treachery too," Jaime had once written in one of his shockingly long letters. Jaime had never been fond of writing letters, or reading them. He wasn't interested in anything that didn't involve a blade. His brother never untied a knot when he could slash it in two with his sword. The city was home to dragons and dragonriders once, he thought. Balerion the Black Dread would fly, and the whole city would fall under its shadow. Tyrion was looking forward to seeing the dragon skulls. It was his first time visiting King's Landing. My lord father would rather nobody knew of my existence, so he's tried to hide me... He didn't bring me with him whenever he came here. "But I am here anyway," he told Archmaester Dorren's Architecture Across the Narrow Sea. Jaehaerys After the training, his entire body was satisfyingly sore. Arthur must have disarmed me a thousand times by now, he thought as he changed out of his sweaty clothes. Maybe he trained hard in order to distract himself, or maybe because it was the easiest part of his new life. Whatever it was, now prince Jaehaerys Targaryen could beat 13-year-old Jon Snow in a few seconds. I've been pretending to be a dragon for barely a year, he thought. What's a year compared to thirteen years? His uncle's wedding was only a few days away. Just yesterday, Jon had been mortified by an army of tailors and seamstresses that had rushed into his room and drowned him in silk and samite and velvet. In the end, Jon had been successful in convincing them that he would look absolutely ridiculous in velvet, and they'd agreed to make his wedding attire as simple as possible. In the north, people mostly wore wool for however long the fabric was usable. People wore heavy fur-lined clothes if they could afford them. Silk was for highborn ladies, and only in the warmest days of the summer. Jon remembered when Lord Eddard had gifted him a fur-collared cloak for his namesday. The fur had come from a great black wolf his lord father had slain himself. Uncle, he corrected himself bitterly. Lady Catelyn had been angry with him, he remembered. She was angry at me... but never angry with the man who'd supposedly betrayed her. She forgave him for making me, but didn't forgive me for existing... As he thought of Lady Catelyn, he remembered that when they'd visited Winterfell the Sept hadn't been there. Just like the first time he'd seen the empty space where her Sept used to be, he felt oddly pleased. It never belonged in Winterfell... Septs are southern frivolities. And you have to pray in one, whispered an irritating voice in his head. Ever since he'd woken up in the Red Keep, he'd had to visit the Sept once every fortnight to light candles for the Seven. He'd had to learn about them as well. A septa read the Seven Pointed Star to him every other day. The holy book of the new gods was annoyingly long and boring. No wonder Arya always escaped her lessons. Jon chose a dark red tunic and put on a black leather jerkin over it. One of the odd changes in his life, other than his improvement in swordplay and his newly gained knowledge of the Seven, was that he had to choose what he was going to wear very carefully. In the north nobody cared much about what a bastard wore; in King's Landing lords and ladies walked around looking like they'd put on their castle's banners and everyone excepted the Crown Prince to show off his noble lineage proudly. He couldn't wear whites and greys frequently for if he did, people would think the queen influenced their future king too much. Her mother had helped him compromised by ordering some new clothes; black doublets and surcoats with little bits of grey or red, red leather sword belts with polished white buckles, and that hideous silk shirt that king Rhaegar insisted he should wear more often. Jon grimaced as he looked at the shirt again. He had to admire the high standard of workmanship and the fine materials; it was beautiful. The problem was that the shirt had a red dragon emblazoned around the neck and shoulders, and between the red thread that was used, the dressmaker had somehow managed to squeeze in many small red rubies! The precious stones always caught the light and shined prettily in the southern sun. Jon hated it. "Jae?" a soft voice called from outside. Rhaenys. "Enter," he answered. The dark haired princess stepped in, her slim figure was covered by a red gown. The bodice was tight, and the collar was cut short to reveal her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Her skin wasn't as pale as her father's or Jon's, it was darker like her Dornish mother's, in warm tones of light brown. The lower part of her gown was full, and there were a thousand little golden suns embroidered on it. The sleeves were embroidered with a few red flying dragons, only a bit darker than the red color of her gown. "Jae!" She gasped. "Please tell me you weren't going to show up for the midday meal wearing those clothes." He watched himself in the mirror. He was wearing Targaryen colors, but his clothes wear far too simple. The tunic was made of cotton and the leather jerkin was plain black. "The great hall would be full of Tyrells and Lannisters and Arryns by now, and if you walked into it like this, you would look like a peasant. Gods be good, Loras Tyrell wears armour encrusted with sapphires in the shape of flowers, yet my brother wants to wear plain leather to an important feast!" she exclaimed, running around the room and picking up articles of clothing. She dropped her chosen pieces on the bed in front of him. Jon sighed in relief; the hideous shirt wasn't included. "Change quickly," she ordered. "You're late as it is." Jon thought maybe that was how Sansa behaved around Robb. Rhaegar After the midday meal, Arthur was curious about how he'd gotten the Old Lion to expose his son. "So you commanded Lord Tywin to send his son in his stead?" Arthur asked, clearly bewildered at the thought of anyone making Tywin do anything. "I'm the king,"Rhaegar reminded him irritably. "I can command Lord Tywin." "I know that, Rhaegar, but Tywin's been hiding the dwarf in the Rock since the day he was born. I know that Oberyn saw the boy when he was just born, but the number of courtiers who've seen him and aren't named Lannister can be counted with the fingers on one hand." "He is malformed," he commented. "But he isn't stupid. You two had quite the clever conversation," Arthur reminded him. "He's an eloquent man, well-read with a good mind for politics. He managed to answer all of Lady Olenna's thorny remarks with witty comments." Rhaegar smiled at the memory. "Are you going to follow your father and name him Hand?" the Dornish knight asked. Rhaegar glared at him. "You know Lord Tywin will want something. I'm surprised he didn't do anything all these years, just staying in the Westerlands and ruling them quietly." "And I thought of something he may appreciate," Rhaegar informed his friend. "You did?" Arthur was very interested. "Jae will have to get married eventually. He'll need a wife." "Myrcella Baratheon," said Arthur. "But she's a Baratheon. Tywin wouldn't be satisfied." "All of Robert's children are completely controlled by their mother, they even have Lannister names, and it's not my fault he doesn't have a Lannister granddaughter. I offered to get Jaime out of the Kingsguard." Rhaegar shrugged. "He's an old man, he should be more worried about who'll inherit the Rock when he's dead, Tyrion." Arthur snorted. "You know that there's no way he'll leave his house's legacy to the Imp. He's got brothers and cousins and many other relatives, and he prefers them to his own dwarf son, if the way he's treated him all this time is any indication." "Varys says Myrcella is beautiful and well-mannered and accomplished." Rhaegar changed the subject. "She's what?Twelve?" "They won't get married immediately. I'll give Jae a chance to meet the girl and get acquainted. They can get married in a few years. Maybe we'll even wait till the girl is sixteen or older." "And have you talked to Lyanna about it?" Arthur enquired, smirking. "I will. It's not like there are many other highborn ladies about his age. I won't marry my son to a minor lord's daughter, and when Myranda marries Viserys, there will be that Highgarden girl, and Jae's northern cousins left in the market. Arianne is Doran's heir, and Lyanna told me her father plans to have Lady Sansa and Arya married to Northern lords." Rhaegar wasn't going to miss the chance to make a good alliance with two Great Houses, and that could be accomplished by making Lady Myrcella a princess. "What's wrong with the Highgarden girl? She's lovely," Arthur pointed out. "Rhaenys seems to like Willas Tyrell, and if she marries him, Lord Mace will undoubtedly suggest a match between Lady Margaery and Jae, but no, I won't accept that." Rhaegar wouldn't use two of his children to satisfy Mace Tyrell's ambitious mind. If Jae and Myrcella's betrothal got to marriage, house Targaryen's hold over Westeros would be very secure indeed. "You seem to have planned everything. I had a nice conversation with Lady Arya at the feast. She was fascinated by the Dornish women's freedom, and I thought maybe..." Arthur wriggled his eyebrows. "Lyanna said that Lord Eddard's children were to be married in the north," Rhaegar repeated. "Lord Eddard has five children," the Sword of the Morning replied. "Arya Stark would make a fine Lady of Starfall." "That's actually a very good idea, considering the girl's inclination towards riding astride and learning swordsmanship. I'll recommend the match to Ned Stark tomorrow." "Lord Varys is without and begs urgent audience," the page boy informed him. "Let him in." The eunuch walked in, but his smell preceded himself, as foul and sweet as flowers on a grave. He made a gesture with his powdery hands, and someone else walked in after him. "You should know better than to invite other people into the king's quarters without asking his permission first, eunuch." It was no secret that Ser Arthur Dayne despised the Spider. "Please forgive my breach of decorum, Your Grace," Varys giggled. "I am sure you'll be pleased to know that the smith you asked for has arrived." Rhaegar looked at the smith, a man maybe ten years his senior, dark skinned and dark haired. From the Summer Islands, he decided. "And did our smith have to meet me for his job to be done?" he asked coldly. "His job is nowhere near being done, Your Grace." Varys giggled again."He says that the steel is not enough." "The arakh isn't so large to have enough steel for a longsword," the dark man spoke up. The arakh had belonged to a Dothraki horselord, and when he died his bloodriders had fought on the blade, but a common selsword had been around and he'd defeated them all. Later, Rhaegar had payed the Essosi a fortune to make him give up the Valyrian steel arakh. "Are you sure?" he asked. The Summer Islander nodded his head. Rhaegar drew the dagger and laid it on the table. The blade that took my father's life. It was a Valyrian steel dagger with a plain dragonbone hilt, as sharp as the difference between life and death. "Add this to the steel, then." The smith reached out and picked it up, then pricked his hand on the sharp edge and smiled. Rhaegar remembered his father who used to cut himself on the Iron Throne often; this was the blade that he had been stabbed with. Is it death I'll pass on to my son? Is it wise to give Jae something made of death? Kinslaying and kingslaying both. "Qotho will make you a fine longsword," the man promised him."The eunuch was not wrong in choosing me." "We call him Lord eunuch to his face,"said Arthur. "You're very kind to remind him of my title, good ser, though no one is under any obligation to call me a lord for I'm not a nobleman," Varys' sickening voice answered. He wasn't bothered by the japes, everyone knew, yet they didn't stop mocking him. "I know the secret to adding taint to metal," Qotho claimed, rather pleased with himself. "Without adding paint, I put color in the steel itself. My work is art, you'll see. Would his grace prefer a certain color? " "Red," he replied. Red, like his blood; he who was my father, once. Why did you have to kill him? Your own brother, your unborn babe's father, your kin, your king, your blood... He was mad, everyone knew. He wasn't kind to her. He raped and abused her. But why did you have to kill him, mother? "It shall be a glorious blade," Qotho promised. Varys led the man out of his room, bowed deeply, then he disappeared as well.
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He was strong and swift and fierce, and all that lived in the good green world went in fear of him.
- A Storm of Swords, Bran I -
Jaehaerys
He was walking down a long empty hall. Jon recognized the place immediately. He laughed joyously, and his voice echoed. Jon opened a door and shouted, "Robb!" Nobody answered. He walked faster and opened all the doors he saw. "Father, where are you?"
He walked around the castle, but he couldn't find anyone. Even the ravens were gone, and the rookery was completely empty. He walked towards the stables. He expected to find horses and the stable boys tending to them, but no one was there. Instead, the stables were full of bones. Fear filled him and left no room for any other feeling. He started to run. In his haste, he climbed the steps three at a time and screamed for someone, anyone. Suddenly he found himself in front of the door to the crypts. It was dark inside; the darkest darkness he'd ever seen, as if a bottle of black ink had spilled all over the place. He had to go down, he knew. I don't want to, he thought. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter were down there, sitting on their cold marble thrones with their old rusted swords on their laps and the grey stone wolves curling around their feet. They would look at him with those grey granite eyes resentfully. "You're not a Stark. This isn't your place," they'd whisper. Jon tried to scream, but the sound never exited his mouth. He didn't have a torch to light his way, and it got darker and darker as he walked down the steps. He felt like a blind man, but when he started to sob pitifully, the darkness ended.
The wolf was running. The forest wasn't as thick as the one that was closer to his home, but the smells were almost the same.
He could hear a little squirrel nibbling on something, and he heard the little creatures that could fly, beating their small transparent wings. Insects, the human-sound came to his mind. Flies and dragonflies... The ground was moist beneath his paws, and the tree branches weren't low enough to hit him in the sides. He liked this place, and he liked the old trees that were in it. The godswood... A human-sound to describe the place echoed in the wolf's head. The wolf knew that his brothers and sisters were close. The black brother was so near he could lick his scent on the cool night breeze. The smaller sister was asleep, far away in the red man-rock... Jon sat up in his bed, sweating and breathing heavily. The first part of the dream wasn't anything new; he'd been dreaming it since the incident last year, but the second part was still strange. It was the fourth time he dreamt of being a wolf, running in Ghost's body, even hunting as a wolf. I was in his body... or his mind? I ran with Ghost as if I was one with the direwolf. Why all the magical things in the world had to happen to him? Jon wondered. "You should get ready for the day, Your Grace." The Kingsguard knight walked in. "And then, breakfast with the queen." Lyanna The king wasn't beside her when she woke, just as expected. Rhaegar often rose earlier than the sun. Lyanna would find him walking in the garden before the day's duties began or in his solar drowned in old scrolls written by maesters long dead. Sometimes he'd already be dressed when she woke, sitting on their bed or a comfortable chair and cradling his harp. The door creaked open. Her handmaidens brought water for her to bathe in. "Good morrow, Your Grace." One of them smiled at her. "I invited people to breakfast, didn't I?" she groaned. "All the wedding guests, my queen, except for the foreigners," the other maid replied. "Well, best get into the water." The maid helped her take off her shift and Lyanna sat in the big copper tub. After the breakfast in the Queen's Ballroom, Viserys' wedding was to be at midday in the Great Sept of Baelor, and in the evening a feast would be held in the throne room. The maids were dressing her when her royal husband showed up, Arthur Dayne in tow. Lyanna twirled around, her soft whitish grey dress looked beautiful in the morning light. Rhaegar smiled; he loved pretty things. "You look exquisite, my love." He loved when pretty things belonged to him. "It's as though you've wrapped yourself in a thin layer of a stormy cloud. You'll be wearing the pearls, right?" "Yes." When she was done, countless strings of pearls gleamed in her dark hair, and Good Queen Alysanne's necklace adorned her pale neck. The dress was made of a silk so fine it was almost translucent, and it was hugging her body beautifully. The light grey color made her own grey eyes twinkle. "Shall we?" The king held out his arm. "I hate weddings," Lyanna answered as she linked her arm to his. "The royal ones," she specified. "Of course you do." He offered her a tight-lipped smile. They broke their fast on bacon, honeycakes filled with blackberries and walnuts, a small kind of fish that was served with pomegranate juice, autumn pears, and a Dornish dish of onions, cheese, and chopped eggs cooked up with fiery peppers. There was lots of mead and wine to wash it all down which were most appreciated by some of their guests, most of all the Lannister dwarf. Musicians strolled among the tables, their flutes and pipes and lap harps thronging the air. A fool sang rude songs about the guests. Jae was sitting between Rhaegar and Viserys, occasionally nibbling a bit of fruit. Edrick was sitting next to Ned's two younger sons, devouring honeycakes and begging Lyanna to let him have a cup of wine. Rhaenys was conversing with the Tyrells today, smiling handsomely whenever Lord Willas said anything that was supposed to be funny. The boy was prettier than Rhaegar's only daughter, she thought rather uncharitably. When the food had been cleared away, she presented Viserys with the bridal cloak he was supposed to drape over his bride's shoulders. It was the same cloak Queen Rhaella wore when she wed the Mad King, but Lyanna didn't mention it; Lady Myranda would already be nervous enough. Lya only offered her best wishes for the couple and painted a pretty picture of the life they'd have together. Viserys received many gifts. Jae gave him a great bow of the golden wood from the Summer Isles and quiver of long arrows fletched with red feathers. She was sure Jae hadn't known about the bow before it was presented to his uncle. From Ned, he received silver spurs and a northern-styled red leather saddle. After a while Lyanna left to check on the bride who was having breakfast with her close relatives. Lyanna gifted her a gold brooch in the shape of a flying falcon. Daenerys Dany's tummy hurt, and her wrist itched. She stayed in bed all morning, refusing to leave the slippery silk sheets of her bed to attend the breakfast. Viserys could survive without Dany's gift for a few days yet. She fretted like a babe, pressing her stomach as if it would somehow stop the pain. She realized what was happening when she felt the wetness between her thighs. "My moon's blood," she informed the empty room. "Oh, I feel filthy. I've ruined my nightgown and the sheets." She called for a maid frantically and told her to go find princess Rhaenys and bring her here. A few minutes later, Lyanna stormed into the room like a worried mother. For a moment, Dany hated her for not actually being her mother. Her mother was supposed to be here, rubbing her tummy and laughing at her embarrassment. "What is it, Dany? Are you feeling poorly?" she asked, tucking a lick of dark hair behind her ear. The queen looked radiant, and here she was, still in her bed with her hair messy and sweaty, smelling of blood. She wasn't comfortable with Lyanna, she wanted Rhaenys. "It's nothing," she responded, on the verge of tears. "Oh, don't be silly." The northern woman came closer. "Did you have some of that raw fish last night? Is your belly hurting?" She shook her head, sitting up. "It's the... you know, the blood." Lyanna looked confused for a few seconds, then she looked uncomfortable, too. "Oh, your moon's blood. It's nothing to worry about, sweet girl. It happens to all the women in the world." "Does it hurt like this every time? How do women live with it?" she sobbed, feeling oddly emotional. "It's different for each person, I think..." She looked around, clearly not used to calming young distressed maidens. Dany remembered her, a few years ago, drinking and cursing Rhaegar. "I should've been born a man," she'd said. "So, it's going to be particularly painful for me?" Dany couldn't stop the flow of tears."I hate it!" "It's the Maiden's blessing, princess." The septa had somehow slipped into the room unnoticed. "You're a woman now." "Could you find her the cloths? I have some in my bedchamber, just ask Bella to give them to you," Lyanna ordered. The septa curtsied stiffly, clearly not pleased with the task. Dany wanted to wipe her tears and start acting like a princess when she saw it. It was a beautiful, realistic painting. Two small dragons were flying on her pale skin, each of them as large as her middle finger's nail. One of them was as black as midnight sky, and the other was as green as the riverlands in spring. Her wrist didn't itch anymore.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert. You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath."
A Game of Thrones, Eddard VII
Jaehaerys "Oh, this is truly magnificent," said Viserys. Jon thought that he'd run out of positive adjectives to describe the gifts very soon; they'd been at it for two hours now. "Have you thought about your own wedding?" the king suddenly asked. "Not really," he lied. The fact of the matter was that a few days after he'd decided to pretend to be a prince, he'd remembered that Jaehaerys Targaryen was, well, a Targaryen. He'd been terrified; he thought they'd soon make him marry the woman they'd told him was his sister. Then, he'd thought of how different life would be. Marriage and producing heirs would be his duty. A bastard had no name to give, but the crown prince's wife would someday be queen. "Well, there's a lady I've had in mind for some time. A well-bred girl born of the union of two great houses." The king looked very pleased with himself. "I've already made some arrangements. I've written to her grandfather." "Who is it?" "Lady Myrcella of House Baratheon," he replied. Jon didn't know what to say. 'Did you know her father killed you in that other world?' didn't seem like a good reply. "Lord Tyrion is very fond of his sister's children, he tells me his niece would be delighted to meet you." Jon just looked at him. I don't want to be wed, he meant to say. I'm still a boy, as green as summer grass... But this man was his king, and his father as much as it pained him to think of it. I owe him my obedience. This is my duty, he had to remind himself. "I would wed anyone you would deem suitable," he finally answered. "Oh, don't be so grim about it." Tyrion Lannister's voice was cheery as he moved closer to end the private moment between father and son. "My niece will be a great beauty when she flowers, I'm sure." The winecup held in between his short fingers was almost empty. "I am sure she'll definitely look a great deal better than you," Jon replied. Maybe that was a cruel thing to say, and it certainly wasn't the best insult the dwarf had ever received, but he was irritated. His father wanted to marry him to someone he didn't know, he hadn't even told him anything before sending a raven to Lord Lannister. "She doesn't need to grow into a great beauty to look better than me, my lord," Tyrion answered simply, though Jon could see how he almost bit his tongue; probably in order to stop himself from saying anything offensively sarcastic to Jon. The king observed this interaction with a keen eye. "If you would excuse me, father." Jon rose to his feet. He thought it was best to remove himself from a room full of lords and knights whilst he was feeling irrationally testy lest he offend more important people than the ugly uncle of his bride-to-be. The king nodded, and Jon fled the Queen's Ballroom. One Kingsguard followed him out into the inner ward of Maegor's holdfast. Jon was wearing a few pieces of jewelry that the princess Rhaenys had chosen for him including a delicate golden bracelet. He'd been trying to hide it beneath the long sleeve of his dark red tunic all morning for it seemed more like something Sansa would wear rather than Robb. The skin of his left wrist had been tingling all the time. Jon remembered that the maester at Winterfell had once told him that leather can make some men empty their stomachs, and that some people's bodies were wont to be irritated by some things that other people's bodies tolerated fairly. He knew that some women couldn't wear gold because it would cause a nasty rash on the skin it touched. It was almost nothing when he'd woken up that morning, but the tingling and itching had increased over the breakfast, and now Jon wanted desperately to scratch his wrist. He took off the damned bracelet, and touched the skin it'd covered. It was slightly warmer than usual. Jon looked down, expecting to see little red spots, but his eyes widened in surprise of what he saw. "No," he spoke aloud, "It cannot be." Daenerys She didn't show them the Mark. Instead she got dressed, and combed her hair till it shined. She placed the cloth in her small clothes, and covered the dragons with long silk gloves that almost reached her elbow. These kind of gloves were fairly popular last year. They'll stare at me, she thought, but it doesn't matter. After the queen and the septa left, she walked to his brother's chambers quickly. The gods never marked a man or woman who was already married. Sometimes they'd mark a woman sworn to the faith or a man sworn to the Kingsguard or the Night's Watch or other orders that required vows of celibacy. Sometimes they marked men as old as ninety to young maidens who had just flowered. Two dragons... Both the spouses were dragons. Viserys was never cruel to her. He fears Rhaegar, that's why he never slapped me or pushed me off a flight of stairs... He's hated me since I can remember. He hates me because I killed our lady mother, she thought as she reached out and knocked at his door. "Who is it?" Viserys asked. "Princess Daenerys," one of the knights standing guard at the door answered him. She entered. Her brother was wearing a helm that made him look as if his head was on fire. One of the wedding gifts, no doubt. He removed it, and his silver-gold hair fell about his shoulders in disarray. "Are you Marked?" Daenerys asked boldly. Her brother blinked. His large lilac eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" he asked after a few seconds. "Stupid girl, of course I'm not Marked." He huffed in annoyance. Viserys opened his mouth to order Dany back to her own rooms, but she was already out of his chambers.
How stupid of me to think it could be him!
Daenerys had kissed a few boys before; one of Prince Oberyn's squires, and Lancel Lannister when he'd traveled to King's Landing with his lord father, and even a stable boy when they were visiting Dragonstone and she was just ten years of age. She imagined kissing Jae as she ran back to her chambers. Once she was inside, she barred the door and took off her gloves to stare at her Mark. Rhaegar "Did it ever occur to you that I have a right to know?" Lyanna was angry. She walked around their bedchamber impossibly fast and stomped her feet like a defiant child. "Men!" She said the word as if it was a great insult. "They plant their seed, and nine moons later when the babe comes, they act as if it was theirs alone." "Lyanna," he started, "listen to m-" "Oh, yes I should listen to you!" she suddenly shouted. "You know better, and I'm just a woman, just a broodmare to give you children. I should spend all my days sewing and trying to please men by being a mindless doll for them to show off." She was shaking. Rhaegar suddenly felt guilty. His father hadn't asked his opinion when he'd chosen Elia for him, nor for his second marriage to a girl much younger than him. Rhaegar had followed his example, he suddenly realized. He'd just informed Jae that his future bride was chosen, and Jae didn't complain. Jae was quiet, like Rhaegar himself, and he would consider it an obedient son's duty to marry whoever was chosen for him. Lyanna was a different matter entirely. "I shouldn't concern myself with such important things. I should only think about my gowns and jewelry and pray to the Mother Above to give me more children," she growled at him. Rhaegar was attracted to the fact that Lyanna wasn't a brainless doll. Elia had been an intelligent woman. She'd spent many hours going over the ledgers and trying to figure out ways to increase the crown's income. She'd had brilliant ideas when it came to political manipulation. Rhaegar had been proud to call her his wife. Lyanna was witty, too. She was stronger than Elia, however, both physically and mentally. She loved riding astride on her northern horses, she loved hunting and she could skin the game herself. Rhaegar often thought that Lyanna would like nothing more than than to suddenly turn into a man. She wanted freedom, but she was trapped here in the Red Keep. On her first days as queen, she'd said, "I don't like talking to women." Lyanna had grown up with three brothers in the north. She'd lost her mother when she was still young, and because there was no septa to look after her, she'd been free to do whatever she wanted for a few years.Lyanna had started acting as the lady of the castle when she was about thirteen, she'd once confessed. She'd had experience in running a household, she loved that aspect of her new role, but she loathed court. "They sit there and compliment each others' gowns and children. They talk about their castle gardens and the new spices from across the Narrow Sea. It's all terribly boring." Throughout the years she'd grown more comfortable with these "clucking hens", but every few months she would have an episode like this. Only this time it wasn't about how she hated being queen, it was about how Rhaegar didn't tell her important things as if she was a silly maiden.
I should've consulted with her. She should have a say in the matter of her son's marriage.
Rhaegar knew that Lyanna wasn't unintelligent, but it was easy to forget that, because she was much younger than him, and she wasn't interested in politics, and sometimes she just wanted to live like a wilding and do stupidly reckless tricks on horseback. Lyanna hated when people underestimated her. "Did you even remember me when you were cooking up this ingenious plan to tie yourself to Tywin?" She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him expectantly. Rhaegar got distracted by the way her round breasts were pushed up closer to each other for a second before he started to think of how he could answer her. "And you never even told me that our son had lost his memory!" his queen continued before he could have a chance to talk. However did she find out? "I didn't want to worry you, my dear," he answered weakly. Lyanna would complain about this till their last days. And worst of all, she'd be right. "I could comfort him; I'm his mother. I can handle serious problems, Rhaegar!" Jaehaerys Remember that song Sansa used to sing all the time? he asked himself. The song had been taught to her when she'd first started to learn music. It was a religious song, meant to teach children about Marks and their meaning and their importance. It told a story about a young knight who was in love with a fair maiden. One day the knight found a Mark on his skin, so he went to search for the girl who bore the same Mark. He was deeply disappointed when he realized that his lady love didn't have the Mark, and the knight wouldn't be able to marry her. Just as he was saying poetic things about how he was "drowning in sorrow and despair", another girl knocked at his door. This girl was the one the gods had chosen for him. She was happy about it and expressed her gratitude to the Seven with a few, in Jon's opinion, exceedingly boring verses. But the knight didn't like the girl and decided that the gods had made a mistake. Septa Mordane at this point always reminded everyone that the gods were wise and just; they were never mistaken. The stupid man decided to cut off his hand from a little above the wrist to remove the Mark. He considered this as a sign of love to the first girl. So when had just cut off his hand, he went to see the woman he loved to show his sacrifice, but that girl was "unfaithful" to him. The song didn't elaborate on the unfaithfulness since it was supposed to be an appropriate hymn for young children. Jon didn't really remember much of the rest. Just that the man kind of went berserk, but after a few days he decided that he would live with his Marked wife after all. As he stood there in the middle of an abandoned corridor, staring at the winged creatures on his left wrist, he couldn't help but think of that dumb old story. He remembered the only other Mark he'd seen; his grandfather's. He felt was as if the shapes of those mythical beings were burning his mind, even though the skin felt perfectly comfortable. He felt sick. It didn't matter how long he'd been pretending to be Jae, he'd never considered himself as Jae. All this time, Jon felt as if his actual identity was a secret nobody was supposed to know. Like he could continue thinking of himself as Jon Snow, like he was just a mummer, like it didn't really matter who others thought he was. "Is there something wrong?" the Kingsguard asked. Jon rearranged his face into what he hoped was a calm expression before turning on his feet and looking at the knight. "The wedding is at midday. I should like to rest a bit before the ceremony." When he entered his own bedchamber, Ghost was lying on the bed. His fur looked so white against the dark red blanket that it hurt to look at him for too long. "I'm so stupid, Ghost," he murmured, throwing his body on the bed. "After all the time I've spent here, I should've accepted it. I should've accepted that I'd always been Jaehaerys. Even when I lived with Father..." He chuckled, oddly amused with himself. "I still call him Father in my head. That's pathetic." It was only when Ghost licked Jon's right cheek with his rough tongue that he realized he was crying. "He lied to me all my life," he whispered, burying his face in the direwolf's fur. "And the worst part is... I... I can't even... He's not the Ned Stark who raised me. He's not the one who took me to Winterfell. Lady Catelyn has never believed that her husband had been unfaithful to her once. So, I can't even go to him, maybe shout and scream at him... That's the worst part." Jon heard the sound of soft footsteps walking closer and closer to his door. "Can I come in, sweetling?" the woman asked. Jon couldn't help smiling; his mother was the best part of this odd new life. "Yes, of course," he answered, hastily trying to eliminate the evidence of his crying. She walked in, and Jon was amazed all over again by the resemblance between the two of them. Her long hair was the exact shade of brown as Jon's, and she had the long Stark face too. Her eyes, however, were grey. Arya's eyes, Lord Rickard's eyes, Ned Stark's eyes. She smiled at him fondly, the way Lady Catelyn smiled at Robb whenever she looked at him. It was a mother's smile. Jon felt as if his heart was beating loudly enough to be heard by her. "How did you like the breakfast?" "It was... odd." Jon didn't like to imagine his own life when he was king. Would it be full of this kind of frivolities? "It's traditional, I think. Myranda and her family were having their own separate breakfast. I was glad; I didn't have to endure more of Lysa Tully's company than absolutely necessary," she said, smirking. "Mother, I ... I wanted to tell you something." He looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fingers. Suddenly she was sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching out to embrace him. "Your father told me." "What?" Jon was confused. "He told me about the betrothal. I'll be inviting the girl to court, so you can meet her, but I promise you won't have to wed her if you don't want to." "I'm afraid I won't be able to wed Lady Myrcella anyway." Jon pulled back the layers that covered his wrist, and when the two little dragons became visible, the queen gasped sharply.
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All singers were half-mad.
Thoughts of Theon, A Dance with Dragons, Chapter 51
Rhaegar The prayers and the vows were finished, and Viserys had just wrapped his red-headed girl in the red dragon cloak when Lyanna leaned closer to him in the Great Sept and whispered, "You shall need to speak with Jae and Daenerys as soon as it is convenient." "After the day's done, mayhap." "Before the feast," she countered. "'Tis of great importance." Her lips barely moved for she attempted to conceal their conversation. "What's troubling them?" He was getting worried now. If Jae had something to tell him, he could've done after the queen's breakfast. What was this problem that had so suddenly revealed itself, and could neither be delayed nor subdued for a few hours? "Be quiet," she said, then pressed her lips together as a sign of disapproval. You started it, he wanted to say, but didn't. Lya was an expert in making him act childishly. He noticed Jon staring at him, a deep frown carved into his face. Rhaegar held his gaze for a few seconds till his Hand inclined his head and started looking at his boots. Jaehaerys There was a dusty old room in Maegor's holdfast Jon had found last year. It wasn't very spacious, but it was enough for a few hours of sword practice when he didn't want to be watched by everyone in the courtyard. He'd bribed a stable boy to sneak a straw man in the room before they'd left for Winterfell, but in between his lessons with Pycelle, the time he spent playing with Edrick and Bran, and the time he spent reading, he hadn't found a chance to hit it since his return. He'd come here directly from the Sept, picked up a tourney blade and destroyed the straw soldier. "I should like to see you fight." Jon could hear the man's smirk in the smug tone of his voice. He turned around, dropping the blunted blade, and scowled when he saw the Lion of Lannister standing in the doorway. "How did you find me, Lannister?" "It wasn't very difficult." He paused, looking around the room with disdain. "You cursed at some point, and then threw something at the wall." Ser Jaime walked over and picked up the shield; it was old. He cleaned some of the dust off the wooden thing, and observed the sigil painted on it. "Duncan," he informed Jon. "Ser Duncan the Tall?" Jon inquired. The golden haired knight merely nodded before putting the shield away. "His Grace has sent me after you," he said. His annoyed expression suggested that he considered the job more suited to a page boy than a man of his own rank. Ser Jaime followed him quietly through the holdfast, making Jon feel quite awkward. I'll never get used to having guards follow me everywhere. I'm a man grown, he thought. I am going to talk to the king about the Mark. Yet, Jon had never felt more like a child; he wanted someone to tell him what he was supposed to do. The Mark on his wrist weighed heavy on his mind. He remembered the pretty silver-haired girl whom he'd met at a breakfast a year ago. My father's sister. Ser Jaime never entered the room, instead stood outside the door. The king was wearing the clothes he wore at the Sept, while Jon had changed into a simple brown tunic and a pair of old black breeches. "Your Grace," said Jon, bowing stiffly. "Come here, son." He beckoned him closer. Jon obeyed. "I'm told we need to talk." "I'm Marked," he blurted out. The king blinked. "My wrist was tingling and tickling and itching all morning, and..." He didn't know how to continue. "Is this a jape?" his father asked quite seriously. "No." He pulled back his sleeve, like he'd done for his lady mother earlier in the day. My lady mother... I always wondered whether my mother was a whore or a fisherman's wife or a gently bred lady. "By the gods," the king whispered. "This changes everything." He ran his long elegant fingers over the little dragons, lingering his touch on the black one. The black dragon... Is that me? Was it supposed to remind one of Balerion, the greatest of the Targaryen dragons or the Blackfyre rebellions? Which one was the king thinking of? "Is it Daenerys?" Rhaegar asked. "I can't think of anyone else," he continued, not waiting for Jon's response. Jon swallowed. The girl he'd met a year ago, breakfasting with the queen and little Edrick. He couldn't remember ever talking to her. The king didn't wait for Jon's confirmation, he calmly bade a page boy to summon the Princess Daenerys. She arrived shortly, and Jon tried not to look at her. Somehow, he'd never seen much of her, though they lived in the same castle. We'll be living the rest of our lives together. Might be that's a blessing... She would know more about the court and the Crownlands than I. "Your Grace." She curtsied, her hair running down her bare shoulders like a silver-gold waterfall. "Let me see your wrist," Rhaegar demanded immediately. Daenerys blushed, but nevertheless bared her wrist to reveal the same dragons on Jon's skin. They all remained silent for a few minutes as the king seemed to be deep in thought. He always looks thoughtful, Jon reflected, even when he's having a bit of ham. "Sit, both of you. 'Tis an unusual situation. I hadn't planned to see Jaehaerys wed his sister or aunt as our ancestors had done for hundreds of years. And there were many rumors throughout the years that Dany was to wed Viserys or Jae which were obviously false gossip, but as the septons are fond of saying, no man can put asunder what the gods have joined together." King Rhaegar finished his small speech with a soft sigh. "So we're to be weded?" Jon asked. "Of course you are. All the different gods different men worship from Beyond-the-Wall to Sothoryos have chosen you for each other. It is death to ignore the Marks," he answered sternly. "When will we marry?" Daenerys asked calmly. "In a few months. Viserys will be taking his bride to Summerhall on the morrow. I shall have to inform the High Septon, no doubt he'll be thrilled and quote a few lines from the Seven Pointed Star as well." His father rolled his eyes. Jon moved a bit in his seat as he realized that Princess Daenerys was watching him. Girls usually didn't pay much attention to a bastard, and he'd avoided the entirely since waking up in the Red Keep. "Dragonstone will need to be prepared," said the king. "You'll take a ship to the island after you're wedded."
Rhaegar
The day after the wedding dawned bright. The sun burned gold and orange, and warmed his skin. The sparrows were chirping just outside his windows, and the banners in the yard danced in the breeze like a flock of colorful birds from the Summer Isles. "Oh, have you seen my boy, good ser?" he sang softly as he read the letters he had drafted last night. "His hair is chestnut brown.He promised he'd come back to m-" He stopped abruptly. This isn't something you should sing on a fine morning such as this, Rhaegar scolded himself. King he was, yet he scolded himself more than anyone. I shouldn't sing of a mother searching for her dead son... My brown-haired son isn't dead. Unbidden, an image of Aegon running through the gardens rushed through his mind. His first son had been a lively boy, always chasing his older sister's cat around, and filling the Red Keep with laughter. Aegon was too young, he thought miserably. He'd seen six name days when he died. He remembered Jae's dream the night before. He'd ran to the king's chamber, his face covered in tears. Rhaegar liked to think it wasn't because of his mother only, that Jae had wanted him, too. "I can't find him, Mama," he'd sobbed. Jae's bright purple eyes had looked so much like Rhaella's that looking at him was painful. "It's alright. Mama's here, sweetling," Lyanna had answered. "Who is it that you can't find?" "I'm playing with Egg... He's hiding and I'm... I'm supposed to be looking for him, but..." At this point he'd started crying again. Jaehaerys always cried quietly; tears rushed down his cheeks like an endless stream, but he rarely made a sound. "It's alright, son," Rhaegar had repeated his wife's words. "It was just a dream, a stupid dream." He'd known it wasn't. The plague was cruel, and it didn't care if its victims were princes or peasants. It'd reduced the population of King's Landing into a third of its original number by the time a remedy was found. It'd taken the lives of many a lord and lady, and caused endless streams of tears in all the kingdoms. It started with one complaining of feeling dizzy and tired or slightly sore, but in a few hours a fever would sink its teeth into the patients, and it would burn out the life in them. Aegon had started showing the symptoms earlier that morning, and Jae's dream was as good as a death sentence. "I look everywhere, but it's no good. I can't find him," he'd kept saying as Rhaegar held him close to his chest. The maesters wouldn't have let anyone near Aegon, but Jae had been there, distressed and troubled, so he'd held him tight as if he were the only string connecting him to the world.
I can't remember embracing him that tightly since then. Not even when he'd almost drowned.
They'd been worried about Jae as well. One of their playmates, a little cousin of Lord Rowan's had died of the plague a few days before Aegon, and he'd spent all his time with the two boys. "Aegon was just a little boy, and his death was horrible, but I'm not crying because of that," Lyanna had told him. "I'm crying because I'm afraid for my own son. Oh, what if he... Oh, Rhaegar, promise me he won't die!" And I promised he won't, and he didn't.
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"The gods mock the prayers of kings and cowherds alike."
Robert Baratheon to Ned Stark, A Game of Thrones, Eddard II
Lyanna
"It's done," her husband said. "I would've wished for a more beneficial match, but alas the gods mock the prayers of kings and cowherds alike." She had never considered that Jae would someday wed Aerys' daughter for she'd made Rhaegar promise her that he wouldn't. Yet, it was done, and the disappointed expression upon the handsome face of King Rhaegar The First was almost worth it. He'd fancied himself very clever indeed; arranging a match with the Tyrells and another with the daughter of lions and stags would bind all the kingdoms together nicely. Perhaps he meant to give Daenerys to Old Hoster's heir or a Dornish princeling to set the seal on his brilliant plans. Who doesn't like to see their spouse fail now and again? she thought, fighting hard to suppress a giggle. She felt bad of course that her son's Marked wrist amused her so much, but she couldn't help feeling a bit relieved as well. Lady Cersei was a beauty, and they said her daughter was pretty too, and though the girl might've proved to be a very capable queen when the time came Lyanna knew how these southerners worked.
There are enough Lannisters to fill the Red Keep, even the Crownlands... The household knights would have golden hair. The servants would be green-eyed spies... The Small Council would be full of them; Tywin the Hand, Kevan the Master of Laws, Jaime the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard- but no, Jaime would be back at their Rock busy fathering even more golden-haired twats if only the almighty Tywin would have his way!
In comparison, Dany didn't seem so bad. Of course Lady Myrcella's father was Ned's oldest friend and had fancied Lyanna when she was a maid, while Dany's father was dead, thank all the gods. The Maesters never complained when asked about her educational improvement, and the Faith loved her very much. That was probably her fault, she admitted. Lya had neglected the girl greatly, focusing on her own children and the Red Keep's ledgers instead. So Rhaegar's little sister was raised by those heartless southron wenches that had the audacity to consider themselves fit for raising and teaching children. "... the boy's name day," Jon Connington was saying.
Daenerys
"How did he react?" "I don't know," Dany replied, playing with a bit of red thread. "Was he wearing the Stark face?" Her niece looked up from her embroidery to show her a smirk. "Don't call it that!" she rebuked. Courtesy was a lady's armor. "Margaery Tyrell knows how to blush whenever she wants, and she knows how to act the enticing woman and when to appear as a meek, naive maiden." Rhaenys put away her work and stood up. "She's a mummer. Lyanna can't do any of that; the most she can do is keeping her face expressionless. I thought that was only her, but then she brought her brother back with her. He wears the Stark face as well; a face that gives nothing away." The dark haired princess stood next to the window. After a few moments of silence she hesitantly said, "Rhaenys... I know you don't like her, but... I mean your uncles are always complaining, talking about the Dornish laws of succession, and... Well, I just wanted to ask..." She turned around, leaning back against the wall and looked into her eyes. "My uncles didn't want me to be father's heir when Aegon was still alive, even though I was older. In any event, I don't want the throne. Jae's my little brother, and I do love him. Do not ever doubt that, Dany. It's her mother that I don't like. She... I don't even know how to describe it! She resents Father, I suppose, even though Father loves her." What? Dany knew Rhaegar was fond of his northern wife. She saw how he looked at her, but she never thought it was love. Rhaegar loved his children and Ser Arthur and Lord Connington. He called his queen My love and My dearest, but never really paid much attention to her. "She was a child when she was forced to marry him," Rhaenys said with an odd look in her eyes. "She wasn't forced," Dany protested. "She was." Now, Rhaenys seemed crestfallen. "That's a woman's lot in life. Lyanna was your age when she came here. She first met him three days before their wedding. Right now, mine own father is negotiating with the Fat Flower. Even though I gave my consent regarding the betrothal, I wouldn't ever consider wedding Willas if he wasn't the only option. My father wanted an alliance with the Reach, and he was planning another betrothal for Jae, so I had to like him. His Grace loves me well, but he's still a king and would've ordered me to do my duty if I refused Willas." "Trust me, he wouldn't." "What do you mean, sweet girl?" Rhaenys always knew when she was hiding something. "When the Tyrells came, Rhaegar summoned me. Told me if you didn't want Lord Willas, he wouldn't force you, but he wanted marriage alliances." Dany hated him for it... a bit. It was difficult, hating Rhaegar. He was always kind and careful and patient, but he never tried to make Viserys apologize to her whenever he hurt Dany, he hadn't complained when Queen Lyanna left her upbringing to a bunch of septas. He wouldn't force his own darling daughter into wedding a man she didn't want, but he didn't feel that strongly when it came to Dany. "You mean he said that you'd have to wed him?" Rhaenys looked guilty, still Dany could hear a bit of happiness in her voice. She recovered quickly and continued,"Well that's not possible, now; you're Jae's wife. He'll be fifteen in a sennight, we could make him a few pieces of clothing. What do you think?" Rhaenys was her best friend, she reminded herself. Arya They would leave King's Landing the next morning; Grandfather had sent a raven. Arya couldn't be more happy about it. In Winterfell, she was allowed to practice with wooden swords, in the king's court she had to wear silk and satin and keep herself clean. Sansa's feelings were quite the opposite, as they always were. Her sister wanted to stay. She liked the pretty ladies who would try to befriend her, she liked the singers and their songs, and she liked the handsome Loras Tyrell. Arya supposed Loras wasn't so bad; he was a good swordsman, and Jae liked him. Arya missed wearing breeches and riding astride. Jae was the only thing that was good about this stinky city, but he wasn't with them all the time. "He's the Crown Prince," Mother had explained. "He's learning how to rule." Jae always knew where to find her. He knew she hated sewing, and she wasn't good at it, but he didn't care. He hadn't been angry about that stupid fight near the river. He wasn't scandalized when she told the king and a dozen great lords and ladies about her adventures with Mycah, the butcher's boy who was her friend. He'd taken her to see the dragon skulls when the Throne Room had been empty, and he'd laughed when Arya walked into Vhagar's mouth. Someone knocked at the door. When Arya opened it, ready to shout and scream if it was Bran or Sansa, his cousin was standing there as if Arya's thoughts had somehow summoned him. "Mother is having tea with Lady Catelyn and Sansa," he said instead of a greeting. "What have you done that Lady Catelyn decided to not bring you?" "Nothing." Jae snorted. "I was all packed and everything, but mother says I have to do it all over. My things weren't properly folded, she says." Arya was going to say more, but the boy moved forward, and she saw the pile of rags he was holding. "What are those?" she asked distractedly. "I have something for you to take with you, and it has to be packed very carefully," he said. "A present?" she asked eagerly. "You could call it that. Close the door." "Nymeria, here. Guard." She left the wolf outside the door to warn them of intruders. Jae pulled off the rags he'd wrapped the present in. "A sword," she said in a small, hushed breath. "This is no toy. Be careful with it. The edges are sharp enough to shave with," he told Arya warningly. "Girls don't shave." A shadow of a smile had passed over his face. "Maybe they should. Have you ever seen your septa's legs?" She giggled, turning the sword over in her hands. "It's so skinny." She could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. "So are you," he answered.
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What has love to do with marriage? A prince should know better.
— Gerris Drinkwater to Quentyn Martell, ADwD, Chapter 68, The Dragontamer -
Daenerys
"This'll be prettier than anything you've ever worn, princess," the seamstress promised. "Ivory silk... Myrish lace," she continued, but this time talking to herself. "Will it be ready in time?" Dany asked. "Of course, I have set all my other works aside for this. Many ladies will be cross with me, but Her Grace insisted." The woman was measuring her hips with a length of knotted string. They'd started working on her new wardrobe after the ravens had been sent to all corners of the realm to inform them of the gods' will. Her brother had ordered a feast in honor of Jae and Dany, and the High Septon had spoken about how the Marks boded well for the future of both the Faith and the Crown. Dany, Rhaenys and all their ladies had been sewing nonstop for the past moon; big wooden chests made of cedar wood and ironwood were being filled with handkerchiefs and ribbons and silk smallclothes. Ten new gowns had been ordered in the colors of House Targaryen, and fifteen more gowns in colors more becoming of Dany's fair skin. Dragonstone's steward had started to ready the castle for them; Dragonstone had belonged to Jae since he was six name days old, but except for the occasional visits of Rhaegar, the castle had been empty since her own birth. Rhaenys was also supposed to get married soon. Willas Tyrell had returned to Highgarden after congratulating Dany. Rhaenys received letters from him every sennight, and seemed to enjoy reading them. "We'll be arranging an alarming number of weddings this year," the queen had said. It's true, she thought. It wasn't even six moons ago that Viserys had taken the Arryn girl to wife, and left for Summerhall. In a few days, Jae and her would board a ship and sail for Dragonstone, then they'd barely have time to settle before they'd have to travel to Highgarden for Rhaenys's wedding. "Please hold out your arm." Somehow, the wedding dress itself wasn't even close to being finished. Dany blushed when the woman measured her chest. Her bosom wasn't really noticable yet; Rhaenys's bosom was lovely, and Queen Lyanna's gowns always exposed the top of her round firm breasts. She knew she was beautiful; the word had been used to describe her since her earliest memories, but since her flowering she'd started feeling like a beautiful woman instead of the king's pretty little sister. "I'm finished," the woman finally announced. "If I may be excused I'll have your gown ready for the final fitting in two days." "You may," she replied curtly. After she'd left, Daenerys picked up her quill and some parchment and started to look over the ledgers as the queen had instructed. She'd started taking more lessons on managing a household since her flowering, but she didn't look forward to actually having one to manage. She was hoping for a competent steward. The scratching of the quill filled the room as soon as Dany started working. A cool breeze wandered into her chambers, making the curtains dance. Dany stopped writing to touch the little dragons on her skin. Which one am I? Neither of the two creatures looked feminine or masculine. We may never know. The night before her wedding she dreamt of dragons and darkness. The day, however, dawned bright. The serving girls filled her tub with scalding hot water and scrubbed her till her skin started to protest. Rhaenys rushed into her room like a storm of ribbons and aromas. She brushed Dany's hair untill it shined like spun silver-gold, then curled it so it fell down her back in waves. She had brought a dozen bottles of perfume, and Dany chose a sweet scent. Her niece rolled her eyes at the choice, but nevertheless dabbed some on her elegant finger and touched her behind her ears and chin. Her gown was ivory samite and cloth-of-silver, with red three headed dragons scattered around the tight bodice; one would see them as little red spots if one stood more than a few feet away from her. Her forearms were naked; the silvery satin sleeves only covered her arm from shoulder to elbow. "You look magnificent; Jae's not likely to ever take his eyes off you once he's seen you like this!" Rhaenys said, excitedly circling her to examine the gown from every possible angle. "Jewelry!" When the golden earrings crusted with amethysts hung from Dany's ears and a similar necklace was donned, the queen arrived. "You look very nice indeed." Lyanna nodded appreciatively. Dany giggled nervously. "Thank you." Her mother by law ignored that. "The cloak." Her maiden's cloak was red garnet and rubies on rich black velvet. The women fastened it about her neck with a delicate ruby encrusted chain. "Are you ready?" Rhaenys asked, caressing the back of her hand softly like a sister would. I can call her sister, Dany realized. Afterward, she couldn't even remember leaving the room or crossing the yard to sit in the litter. She liked Jae; she knew he'd be a kind husband to her; she was certain she could grow to love him, but for some unknown reason her hands trembled. She could hear the smallfolk shouting and cheering on her way to the Great Sept, but she couldn't remember much else. Two knights of the Kingsguard rode beside the litter. Her brother was waiting for her on the steps, looking regal. My father is dead. Rhaegar's going to give my hand to my husband. "Your Grace," she said to him. "Are you quite alright?" he asked; the look of worry was genuinely etched in his face. "Do I look sick?" "No, sweetling." Rhaegar smiled, offering his arm which she took. "You look lovely." He led her to the marriage altar, where the Septon was waiting between the Mother and Father. Jae stood next to him, resplendent in red and black. She could see the wedding guests; Lord Connington, Tyrion Lannister and a few Westerland lordlings, Lord Velaryon and his wife, Jae's grandfather Lord Rickard Stark and many others. Edrick stood next to his mother and sister, completely clean and looking extremely uncomfortable in his formal clothes. He winked at her. Dany faced her husband. The High Septon checked their wrists; this was part of every wedding ceremony in order to make sure the spouses weren't Marked to someone else, but it was actually the first time in many long years that there were Marks to check. Dany did all she was supposed to do. There were prayers and vows and singing, and a hundred tall red candles burning. He was blushing furiously as he leaned forward and kissed her lips chastely. "With this kiss I pledge my love," she said, "and take you for my lord and husband." "With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife," Jae replied. The High Septon raised his crystal high, so the rainbow light fell down upon them. "Here in the sight of gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Jaehaerys of House Targaryen and Daenerys of House Targaryen to be man and wife," he said. "One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them." Jaehaerys The day passed impossibly quickly. Jon said his wedding vows loudly and clearly as he'd been instructed, so all the lords and ladies great and small could hear. All throughout the splendor, he was somehow both aware and unaware of Daenerys's presence right next to him. She felt close enough that Jon could almost taste her perfume, and so far away at the same time that reaching out and touching her hand seemed impossible. At the feast, Jon tried to eat, but suddenly all his favorite foods looked disgusting. Jon picked up the goblet to drink a bit of sweet summer wine instead. He listened whenever someone rise to make a toast, and he vaguely remembered uttering a few sentences as the guests came to congratulate the newly wedded couple. When the musicians began to play, Rhaegar had to remind him that the newly wedded couple were supposed to lead the dance. "My lady?" Jon asked. His bride nodded and took his hand. He focused all his attention on the steps of the dance and smiled at Daenerys whenever the dance brought her into his arms. "I believe we're supposed to talk when dancing, my lord," she said after a while. "What would you like me to say?" Jon asked frankly. We should talk, I'm her husband, and I hardly know her. "I don't know... Do you think we could go fishing when we get to Dragonstone?" "I can't imagine why not. I believe we can do almost anything since we'll have nothing to do. We'll have a regent for another year." "You'll have a regent," she answered. "I'll just be your wife." "Would you like to be more than that?" But the music spun them apart before she could answer. Right, changing partners... Jon found himself opposite a plump middle-aged lady he didn't know, then the black haired beauty Lady Merryweather, and then one of Loras's cousins. After a while the music died, and he finally left the dance floor, and sat back on his chair. "Every wedding needs a bedding!" one of Lord Tyrion's guards shouted. Seems like the Imp's retainers share his appetite for women. "Yes, let's bed them," someone else agreed loudly. Jon noticed that most of the men in the hall were half-drunk if not fully. He knew after the feast it'd be time for the bedding. Men would carry the bride to her husband's bed, undressing her on the way and making rude jokes. The women would do the man the same honors. They'd leave only after the couple were naked on their bed, but even then they'd stay outside the bridal chamber, shouting suggestions through the door. "Let's get the clothes off her, and see what she's got to give!" Jon saw Princess Daenerys from across the hall, still standing next to her last dancing partner, looking mortified. Some men had started grabbing at her already, one of them was holding a piece of her gown that he'd apparently just torn off. "There'll be no bedding ceremony!" Jon suddenly shouted. The girl who was approaching him stopped. The men around Daenerys quit touching her, turning around to face Jon to protest. "Of course not," the king approved. "Ser Dickon, will you please escort the princess out of the hall?"
Daenerys
She began taking her clothes off as soon as she entered. She unbuilt the delicate hairstyle and took off her necklace and earrings. But the gown was complicated, with laces at the back and heavy embroidery on the front; her hands fumbled with the laces to no avail. "My lady." Dany stopped. "I can't get of my gown," she said. "Would you... I mean..." "Of course," he answered from behind her. Calloused fingers brushed her hands; she could feel them tugging at the laces. Soon, the dress sagged under the weight of all the cloth that had been used to make it. Jae let it fall to the floor. She was only in her shift and smallclothes. "Take off the shift as well," Dany whispered, as if sharing a secret. "As my lady commands." He sounded almost amused. Daenerys took off her smallclothes herself, then she was naked, standing in the middle of the silk and cloth-of-silver puddle around her feet. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. For a long long moment, he was the only real thing in the world, the handsome boy in dark clothes and his soft lips. They lay on the bed next to each other. In a rare moment of courage, she guided Jae's hand to explore her upper body. His hands brushed over her nipples. "You're still clothed," she said, feeling like she had to say something. "I guess it's your turn to undress me now." His eyes twinkled. Dany took off his belt, and Jae kicked off his thigh-high boots. Then he lifted his arms, and Dany took off his tunic, when it came down to the breeches, Dany blushed and looked away. They lay back down, this time Jae was on top of her. He held himself up with his elbows, careful not to crush Dany. "What should we do now?" Jae asked. "Kiss me." And he did. This time the kiss was ferocious, like he was trying to prove a point. Their teeth clashed a few times, but Dany didn't care. She felt hot all over, and her thighs tightened when Jae's hardened member brushed them. She was breathing him in, his warmth pressing her down to the bed. Her fingers rooted in his hair, pulling at it whenever Jae's teeth grazed her lips. He'd started moaning whenever she did that, and Dany wondered if Ser Dickon was still outside, and if the knight could hear what she could do to the prince. His tongue slid against hers, and it tasted like spiced Dornish red. She'd always thought that would feel disgusting, but it didn't. It was a piece of him that pushed against her, like he was daring her to do the same. Her thighs were open, she suddenly realized, and Jae was rutting against her. She gasped loudly when the tip of his penis almost slipped inside. "I'm sorry, gods, I'm so so sorry," Jae apologized frantically, leaping off her. She chuckled. "We're supposed to do it, aren't we?" All the kissing made her feel brave and ready to take on the world, and she still felt warm down there. "Come back," she demanded. He did so eagerly, looking excited as he replaced himself in between her legs. He leant forward and kissed her again. One of his hands caressed her waist, then the side of one breast, then down against the inside of a thigh. When they pulled apart, Dany heard breathless moans and groans, and realized she was the one making those sounds. Jae's hand positioned his member, and he pushed forward experimentally. Dany bit her lips hard, and drew blood. The stretch was impossible. It hurt, it burned, and it was hard to breathe when she was so uncomfortably hot. It seemed like all the pleasant kissing and excitement hadn't actually happened. Jae was holding his breath, now completely still after the first two thrusts. "Are you alright?" he asked hoarsely. "I don't even know!" Dany buried her face in his neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't know it could hurt this much." He looked truly apologetic. You know nothing, she wanted to say, but didn't. It wasn't his fault; they had to consummate the wedding; it was duty. "It's alright. It doesn't hurt as much now." But it doesn't feel good anymore. After a bit of hesitation Jae thrusted into her, and it was obvious how he was trying not to go too fast or too hard or too deep. Dany didn't let the tears slip. The septas had explained the wedding night vaguely, but they did mention that it could be painful or uncomfortable. She wanted to scream in rage; it was obvious he was enjoying himself. He finished quickly at least, and rolled off of her. His chest heaved up and down. Dany fell asleep next to him; the exhaustion finally triumphed.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The wolfswood is full of danger.
- Maester Luwin to Bran Stark
Barristan After that terrible storm that destroyed more than half the Targaryen fleet, the king had mostly ignored the need to replace them, or rather he had never felt the need. As the flame of Queen Rhaella's life was burning out in child bed, a storm had destroyed all the Targaryen ships that were anchored at Dragonstone, so only the ten ships that were at King's Landing survived; along with a few merchant galleys that weren't worth much. However, the Velaryons, House Targaryen's most loyal supporters as they called themselves, hadn't lost that many ships to the storm, and they'd owned more ships in the first place. Lord Monford and his lord father before him, had always been ready to offer the king their own ships whenever needed. Paxter Redwyne owned quite an alarming number of ships as well, and it was often debated whether the Redwyne fleet was bigger or the Velaryon. Of course, Ser Barristan Selmy wouldn't have thought of any of these things if the Crown Prince weren't mentioning them to Rhaegar right before the Small Council meeting. Barristan wasn't much interested in politics. The boy has cunning, he reflected. Though the fact that Jaehaerys was so wary of Velaryons or Redwynes having strength at sea reminded him of the Mad King a bit. The fact that the prince looked nothing like his unlamented grandsire, however, did much to ease the old knight's mind. He doesn't have the typical Targaryen look, but what little he did inherit comes from Rhaella rather than her brother-husband. The king and Jae had talked about it before the meeting, and when it was over, Rhaegar asked the Lord of Griffin's Roost to stay so Jae could share his suggestion. "You're proposing we build more ships?" Connington didn't like Lyanna Stark and by extension wasn't fond of her son either. He asked the question in a mocking tone, as if he was indulging the prince simply because he was his prince. Rhaegar glared at his Hand. "Yes. Why should the king be dependent on his lords to provide him with ships? Why shouldn't he have them himself?" Jaehaerys spoke firmly, but Barristan could sense that he wasn't as confident as he wanted to look. Perhaps he was anxious his father wouldn't approve. "Because the king has a lord admiral and master of ships, and it's basically his job," The Hand spoke slowly as if he was explaining to a simpleton. There was no reason for him to be so disrespectful; Barristan was confused. Then it dawned on him. He thinks Jaehaerys wants them in order to boost his own power. "I obviously didn't say what I meant as well as I ought to have, my lord. I'm saying we should increase the size of the royal fleet so we don't have to rely on the traditional sea powers to protect the crown's interests." This time Jae was very visibly annoyed by Connington. "You want more ships for Dragonstone," the Lord Hand answered almost accusingly. "The Targaryen fleet has always belonged to Dragonstone," Rhaegar cut in before his son could answer. "And its size is pathetic now. I'm surprised nobody had ever thought to remind me of the issue." Connington's face reddened in anger. "Your Grace, we have always tried to focus on more important matters, and you have been busy with those "hospitals" of yours lately-" "Enough, my lord," the king interrupted. "We will discuss the fleet more thoroughly later." Connington looked disgruntled as he begged his leave. Barristan continued his earlier thoughts. Jae didn't need to boost his power. The Dornish had finally stopped trying to place Rhaenys ahead of him in the line of succession. Even if Princess Rhaenys later challenged her little brother's rule, which was unlikely, Jaehaerys would have the support of the North through his mother, and with the North came the Riverlands... Maybe the Vale and the Stormlands as well. And he's married now; he'll have an heir or two before the year's done, then the Targaryen line will depend on him. Bran His pup still didn't have a name. It was so big now, running next to Bran's first real horse as he slipped further into the wolfswood. Robb was right behind him. "Don't go too far, Bran!" he shouted. Robb's direwolf was not with him; the others were all back in Winterfell. Bran chuckled. "I'm just trotting around. I've been here before. Just on my pony." "We're stopping to skin the game," said Theon. "What game? We're not hunting." Bran wanted to ride further. He wanted to ride as fast as Arya could, and he knew his wolf wanted to roam freely, too. Somehow he always knew his wolf's moods, just as the wolf knew Bran's. "I shot a young deer full of arrows, Bran," Greyjoy answered. "But you didn't stay with us. You rode out to one of the streams." "It may take a while." Robb was excited, too. He'd never skinned a deer before, or anything really. Mother usually didn't let him hunt. "Don't go too far, and come back here to meet us again soon," he commanded. "Come on, Dancer," Bran urged the horse. Dancer was very fast, but his nameless direwolf was stronger; he ran ahead of them. Soon, Bran couldn't hear the older boys anymore. He remembered Jae and Robb had raced each other the day they found the direwolf pups, and he couldn't join because he was riding a pony. I have a proper mount now... He urged the horse to ride faster, but stopped when he saw his direwolf had caught a little squirrel. "Let it go," said Bran. The wolf looked at him with intelligent eyes. "Come on, faster." I'm riding atop the wind. The smell of the trees, the feel of the soft forest floor under the horse's hooves, and the branches brushing his sides, they all felt nice. Almost as nice as climbing the highest tower... "The boy's all alone," a stranger spoke up behind him, and before he could scream for help, somebody was pulling him down. Bran hit the ground with a dull sound, and then he saw a few other people emerge from behind the trees. "There's a wolf," one of them said. She was so ragged and dirty that Bran only found out she was a woman when he heard her high feminine voice. The direwolf growled and ripped off the arm of the man closest to him. It happened so quickly. The man's blood sprayed on the leaves on the ground, but when he wanted to cry out in pain another man covered his mouth. The man who'd pulled him down placed a dagger at his throat. "Is that your wolf?" he asked softly. "Yes." They're wildlings. Some of the lords were reporting about wildling attacks recently, Bran knew. "Well, tell him to stop. We have a few good archers with us, and they'd never miss a creature as big as him." "He won't attack anymore," he assured the wildling. The nameless direwolf knew Bran was in danger, and it was standing as still as the stone direwolves in the crypts. There were four men and two women. The wildlings were wearing sheep skin cloaks and smelled awful. "You be quiet, too, little lord. We don't want to hurt you. We just want to take you somewhere," one of the women said. "You can't steal me," Bran answered, trying to look older and more intimidating. "I'm Brandon Stark of Winterfell, and if you take me, my father will have all your heads on spikes!" "We don't care who you are, or who your father is. We don't care if you lived in a castle or a hut. So you keep your mouth shut, and tell that damned wolf to act like a lamb, else I'll cut your throat."
Rickard
"What if something hurt him?" Edrick asked. "Nothing in these woods could hurt a direwolf," Rickard answered. "He's not fully grown, but still nothing could hurt him." He led his destrier slowly through the trees. The Kingswood looked like a pretty little garden compared to the wolfswood. "Unless he's stupid enough to attack a bear," he added. "I don't think there are bears here." Jaehaerys was wearing rough spun breaches and tunic, but the sleeveless jerkin was made of fine leather. "Maybe a pack of wolves could hurt him... if they all attacked at the same time," he said, looking a bit worried now. "Why couldn't we keep it in Maegor's in the first place?" Jae looked annoyed. "Because of Father obviously." "A direwolf is a wild animal," Rickard told them. It wouldn't do if they went around accusing their father of being unfair for every king had his pride. Especially not now that he'd agreed to have Ghost in the Red Keep. A small wooden building near the kennels was cleared out and ready for the direwolf. Though Rickard had advised his son by law that the dogs at Winterfell didn't like the wolves, and Rhaegar had promised another kennel would be built soon, away from the dogs and the stables. "Fascinating creatures," Tyrion Lannister commented. Rickard had been surprised when he found the Imp had asked for permission to accompany them on their short journey. He'd showed up, walking with Jae, trying to keep up with the tall boy's long steps. "I read about them a bit, and your lord grandfather is quite right. Your direwolf isn't likely to be hurt." Lord Tyrion was a knowledgeable person, Rickard wouldn't deny, but he was still a drunken whoremonger, and he'd prefer if the little lion had stayed at the Red Keep. "Ghost!" Jaehaerys shouted. "How was I supposed to train him when I could only see him once a fortnight?" he complained when the wolf didn't answer his call. But then one of the few men they'd brought, spotted the pure white animal. It was coming towards them, moving lazily. Rickard couldn't imagine just how enormous he would be once he was done growing. "Oh," said the Imp. His mismatched eyes looked at Ghost with interest. "Hello Ghost!" Edrick ran up to the animal, hugging him. Rickard felt bad that there wasn't a sixth direwolf that day. For all his silver hair and lilac eyes, Edrick was as much a Stark as Robb or Jae. "We need to start back," Lannister said. "Will he follow?" Jae nodded. "Come on, get back on your pony," he told his little brother, helping him up and mussing his hair when he was seated. The little boy giggled. The ride back was uneventful except for when the wolf would get closer to the horses than they were comfortable with. Rickard remembered before he left Winterfell to attend Jae's wedding, all the horses there were used to the wolves' presence. When Rickard was finally back in his chambers, a page boy came to inform him that he was invited to a private dinner with the Queen. Lyanna "I won't be surprised if I find another little Stark in Cat's arms when I get back," her father said. She chuckled. "I never thought Ned had it in him." "That's a bit inappropriate, isn't it, my love?" Rhaegar asked. She glowered at him. Rhaegar had marched into her chambers just after her father. "Yes, he was so shy at the wedding; I thought he wouldn't ever dare even talk to Catelyn," Lyanna continued, ignoring her husband. Rhaegar smiled at her over the rim of the goblet he was holding. He'd perfected the art of irritating Lyanna years ago, although she would admit that she was rather irritable most times. Soon the servants came to take away the first course, a thick soup made with pumpkins that was one of Rhaegar's favorites. She was a bit angry she'd ordered his favorite soup when he came in to interrupt her time with her father. They finished the main course mostly in silence except for the occasional questions about whether the guest preferred Dornish wine or Arbor gold, or if the meal was too peppery for his liking. Then her father cleared his throat and asked, "I'd like to know if Your Grace was privy to the betrothal one of your Kingsguard discussed with me today."
What betrothal? Oh, for all the gods... I already told him Robb was to be married to a northern girl!
After the Marks killed Rhaegar's idea to betroth Myrcella Baratheon to Jae in its crib, he'd asked Lyanna if perhaps a match could be arranged to join House Baratheon to House Stark through the betrothal and eventual marriage of Robb and Lady Myrcella. He had pointed out the fact that Robert remembered his boyhood at the Eyrie very fondly and still considered Ned his closest friend. "No, my father's lords bannermen would never have it. None of them were very pleased with the idea of the Stark heir marrying a southron lady. Now Father is determined that all of Ned's children should be married in the North," Lyanna had answered. "It's not what you think." Rhaegar picked up a piece of cake, then put it back in his plate again. "Arthur actually suggested that Lady Arya could benefit greatly from living in Dorne. You see, we'd just found out that the lady was allowed to practice swordsmanship, and that's not very acceptable even in the North." Lyanna glared at her father this time. He wouldn't ever let me near the sparring yard. She couldn't help feeling bitter when she remembered all the times Lord Richard had reminded her that she was a lady. "Yes, Arya is very fond of unladylike activities; she takes after her aunt, many people say." Rickard smiled. "But I was hoping she'd tire and the sword would lose the appeal if she was allowed to actually engage in such activities, alas it hasn't happened yet." "Wait, wait," she jumped into the silence. "What betrothal?" "Ser Arthur suggested a match between Lady Arya and his nephew Edric Dayne, the Lord of Starfall," Rhaegar clarified. "They're close in age." "Oh, I remember him." The boy lord was about Arya's age, and he was so very pretty. Sort of like what Rhaegar must have looked like when he was a boy. "I must talk to her parents about it," Rickard said, "but I'm not opposed to the idea. I think Arya herself would rejoice at the thought of living in Dorne and wearing a sword on her belt, though she wouldn't be happy to marry at all." Later that night when tumbled into bed together, Lyanna said, "It's usually the women that delight in arranging marriages, you know." "You're just angry I thought of it first," he answered, grinning.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Rickard The old lord had always thought of himself as a very reliable, sensible man, yet when he stared at the parchment, reading the letter once more, he wished this was all some sort of hallucination.
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I am writing to inform you of an occurrence of great import. I am afraid I will have to confess that my son Brandon is missing.
Ned had written with an steady hand; his letters had come out as neat and tidy as ever, yet Rickard could feel the anxiety exuding from the words.
I have led search parties into the wolfswood, for that is where he was last seen.
How? Rickard asked an ink blotch on the parchment. How could a grandson of his go missing while hunting on Stark lands? How could he get lost so close to Winterfell? Of course this could not be Bran's doing; he was fond enough of hearing about adventures when Old Nan told him stories, but Rickard doubted he would ride away from home in the hope of experiencing an adventure himself. Where has the legendary loyalty of northeners gone? he thought. Could this be some ploy of one bannerman or other? He couldn't think of a reason any of his lords would kidnap Ned's son and hold him hostage; there hadn't been any recent feuds over territories, at least not in the last decade. He liked to think House Stark was more powerful than it had been in a hundred years. The queen was a daughter of the north, and the heir to the Seven Kingdoms was half a direwolf. Could one of his lords think they could get away with this? That Lord Rickard Stark would sit by and let his name be humiliated? No, it doesn't make sense. The Manderlys were very content. Lord Bolton wouldn't risk such a thing at such a time. The Karstarks and Starks were of one blood. The mountain clans were extremely loyal. It couldn't be their doing, unless Rickard was completely ignorant of what they could possibly hope to gain. No, being in the south has affected my wits. We northmen aren't like that. The answer came to him like the first ray of sunshine on a summer's day, clear and sudden and simple. Wildlings... He sighed. The Umbers reported more wildling raids, and the last remaining villages near the Wall had become completely deserted in the last few years. The Night's Watch was weaker than ever before. It wouldn't be he first time those savages stole a highborn person. They don't care about high birth anyway, Rickard reflected. "I told them I was a lord's son," Benjen had told the children once. "What does that have to do with you? they asked me." His youngest was the First Ranger, and he'd encountered wildlings very often.
I shall not abide by such crimes. They will severely punished. First, I must sail back North immediately. Ned is more than capable in leading search parties, nevertheless I shall go back and search for Bran myself. I will pull down the icy caves in which those savages live if I find my suspicions to be true.
The Lord of Winterfell called for a servant, telling him to request a private audience with the king on his behalf.
Jaehaerys
"Your Grace?" Jon asked, unsure of the reason why he was in Rhaegar's private library. The library was a medium-sized chamber in the deserted end of Maegor's holdfast. The holdfast used to house many members of the royal family, but these past decades it had been half-vacant. He looked about the room, full of tall wooden shelves crammed with books and old scrolls. A long table in the middle of the room was nearly invisible under all the parchment and scrolls. The air smelled like old dry paper. Rhaegar the First of His Name was hunched over this table, unfolding a piece of parchment very carefully. "Jae." He looked up, looking almost surprised to see Jon as if he hadn't summoned him here. "You're leaving today." "You summoned me. Is there a problem with the preparations?" Jon asked. "Oh," his father answered, standing up. His hand searched for something on the table, then latched on to an old leatherbound book. "Come here, take a look." Jon walked over to him and took the book. The leather was so old and soft and warm beneath his fingers. "What's this?" "It's an old ledger. The dates indicate that it's from the days of King Maegor and then Jaehaerys the First." Jon opened the book. "Sixteen jars of fish oil and... Twenty-three barrels of pickled cod?" Rhaegar chuckled. "This used to belong to a steward of Dragonstone. He managed the household on this little book. One can learn so many things from old ledgers like that. You can tell how many knights were in the household guard, how many feasts, how much wasted gold... It can tell you how they lived." "They lived as we do," Jon answered. "Though it seems to me they were much more fond of pickled cod." Rhaegar smiled. His smiles were strange; his teeth hardly ever made an appearance, and the smile never reached his sad eyes. "It doesn't matter; I didn't bring you here so we could discuss household management. Let us go back to mine own chambers." They were walking through the castle-within-a-castle when Rhaegar decided to remind him that, "You are my son, the Prince of Dragonstone. I do hope you will be diligent in performing your duty." "My duty?" Jon suddenly remembered the time when Lord Eddard summoned him and Robb and Theon to his solar to explain to them how children were made. Theon had known it all already, but Robb had blushed; his face had turned as red as his hair. He had said nothing, staring at his boots thinking about how he would never father a child. He had a feeling this duty was of the same nature. "Your duty to our dynasty." The king didn't say any more. It must be uncomfortable, Jon thought. Talking about your son being with your sister in such a way. "Your Grace," a footman murmured, opening the door for them. Jon repeated the honorific in his head. Is he still my king if I've never knelt to him? he wondered. At least I haven't knelt to him since I woke up in the Red Keep, though I must have had before. Jaehaerys must have had. "I have something for you," Rhaegar said as soon as they entered his chambers. "Perhaps I should've given it to you as a wedding gift, or on your fifteenth name day, alas, it wasn't ready then." The king beckoned him forward, and Jon saw the black scabbard in his hands. A sword... "The ancestral weapons of House Targaryen, the Valyrian steel swords belonging to Aegon and his sister Visenya, were both lost throughout the years," the king started. "It was my intention to leave an extraordinary weapon to my children. I followed the trails of Blackfyre and Dark Sister when I was younger, but alas they weren't found. I even sent men north of the Wall to look for Dark Sister as its last known wielder was Brynden Rivers. However I have long given up on finding either of them." At last Rhaegar pulled the sword from its scabbard. The pommel was red gold crusted with black diamonds. The grip was leather, soft and black, unstained by sweat or blood. The blade itself was nowhere near as long as Ice which was a true greatsword. It wasn't a two-handed sword, or even a hand-and-a-half sword, but it was slightly longer than a common longsword. Jon took it when it was offered. It seemed lighter than any blade he had wielded before. When he truly looked at it, he could see blood red ripples in the dark steel where the metal had been folded back on itself again and again. "This is Valyrian steel," he said wonderingly. Lord Eddard had let him handle Ice often enough; he knew the look, the feel. "Yes," Rhaegar said. "There are few people who know the secrets of reforging it, and I hired one of them." He offered no more explanation. When Jon had been Bran's age, he'd dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details changed every time, but quite often Jon had imagined saving Lord Eddard's life, then he would declare that Jon had proven himself a true Stark, and give him Ice. It was folly, I knew it even then... No bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword... I had no right to Ice. I didn't when I was Ned Stark's bastard, and I don't now that I'm a Targaryen prince. Daemon Blackfyre had wielded his father's sword, Jon suddenly recalled his history lessons. The bastard who had the sword, and then decided to steal the kingdom as well. Perhaps that was the dragon blood in me, when I dreamt of stealing Robb's birthright. "You honor me, Father," he said. "Ser Arthur tells me of your skill." Rhaegar placed his hands on Jon's shoulders. "May it serve you well, and your sons and grandsons after you." Jon looked at the blade again, trying to hide his blush at the mention of sons and grandsons. "Does it have a name?" he asked, just because he wanted to think of something else. The silver-haired man looked at Jon with a question in his gaze. "The Flame of the West," he said after a while. "Honor the steel with deeds." "It's an apt name." Jon tried the sword, and the steel seemed to flow through the air, as if it had a will of its own. " I imagine you'll want to wear that over the shoulder." Rhaegar seemed pleased. "It's a bit too long for the hip, at least until you put on another few inches. Ser Oswell can practice with you." "Ser Oswell?" Rhaegar nodded. "I'm sending him along with you to Dragonstone. Him and Ser Dickon." As he walked out of the king's quarters, Jon sheathed the sword and handed it over to a steward to put next to his other stuff in the ship.
Lyanna
"Be careful, Edrick," the dark princess told her half-brother. Edrick, however, was too much of a boy to heed her warnings, and he ran off ahead of them as fast as his small legs could take him. He stopped running when he crashed into the armour of a knight of the Kingsguard. The knight turned around, and his bright green eyes shone mischievously upon spotting the boy. "Little prince," Ser Jaime murmured. "Jae's leaving!" Edrick answered, shouting as if all the people who'd gathered here needed to be informed of the fact. The salty smell of Blackwater bay overcame the horrifying smell of the city. The new royal couple's belongings had already been loaded. Storm Treader was the name of the ship, and the red three-headed dragon danced on its sails. She scoffed at the name, stepping forward and standing next to her husband. Jae was standing in front of the king, listening to him talk. Daenerys was hugging Rhaenys, and that little blonde haired girl -one of her companions- was giggling. The gods knew why; these southron ladies were often even more idiotic than they looked. "I will do so, Your Grace," Jae told his father, moving on to stand in front of her. Leaning forward, she pecked him on the cheek. "I'm sorry to have to leave you," he said. He didn't have to go yet. He's still not reached his majority. They could've stayed here for another year or more... We were here most times when Rhaegar was Crown Prince. But Rhaegar was king now, and his word was law, and he'd decided that Jae and his little princess would live in Dragonstone. "So am I, Alas... Do you know what my father told me before he left me in my new home? You know, when I was married, and he had to go back North?" "Of course I don't." Jae smiled down at her. "I hadn't been born yet." "Do your duty, he told me. Do rightly by your husband, but never forget who you are, and the great name you bear." She wanted to embrace him but didn't. Jae wasn't a boy anymore, and he wouldn't appreciate being fussed over like a babe in arms. "Are you trying to tell me I should do rightly by Dany?" he asked. "I know you do, sweetling," she whispered. "And you're not like to forget who you are; there's a lot of Targaryen banners and stone dragons in your castle." "I'm a Stark too, you know," Jae whispered back. "I... I realized I didn't have to choose; I'm a direwolf as much as I'm a dragon." His words comforted her. Lyanna had always known any children she bore her husband would never belong to her; it wouldn't matter how much pain she'd suffer to give them life. They'd never take her name, and they'd probably not care much about her homeland, nor would they follow her gods. "I have to leave now," He hesitated for a moment, "Mother." "May the Seven keep you safe," said Rhaegar. As if you give a damn about the Seven. Bran He couldn't believe how easily the wildlings traveled. His father was out there searching for him, he was sure, but Bran and his captors rode through the North as if they were invisible. They seemed to know where to hide, how to hunt and how to cook without making smoke. They had good, well-bred horses, too.Bran thought that perhaps the horses were from Ryswell stables. The wildling were thieves, everyone knew. They didn't talk to Bran much. "Return me to Winterfell, and my lord father will show mercy," Bran told them every day. They talked among themselves a lot, though, and Bran heard some of them complaining. "We ought to be heading' south," one woman always said. "It's a little southron lordling. Hardly the hardest o' battles..." Their voices got lost in the cool wind that hinted at the end of summer. Bran wanted to tell them he wasn't a southerner but a Stark of Winterfell, and Starks were made for the north, for the cold. He missed home; he missed climbing Winterfell's walls and fighting with a wooden sword. He missed his mother most, though he'd hate to admit. At night, when the wildings slept in broken old holdfasts or in the middle of the woods, wolves howled. They are talking to me... Brother to brother. He could almost understand them... not quite not truly but almost... On the sixth day he saw a small legion of Hornwood men. They're looking for me! Unfortunately the wildlings were in a very good position. They can't see us, Bran thought hopelessly. He so desperately wanted to shout out for help, but one of the wildlings held a dirk to his throat, and he could already feel a few drops of blood running down his neck. Summer, the traitor, stayed close by his side all the time, but ignored his commands. Bran had never felt so betrayed. It felt like he'd lost the only friend that was beside him. Jaehaerys It was with sweaty clothes and aching limbs that Jon climbed the steps leading to his bedchamber. At first fighting had been a good distraction from his past life, then the best knights in the realm started complimenting him on his prowess, and he felt prouder than he'd ever been. Now Jon fought because he hoped he could someday defeat these knights of great renown. He had grown up on stories about Ryam Redwyne, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Duncan the tall, and many others. He had always wanted to prove he could be as good as Robb, now he realized there was no one to compete with him. He'd dreamt of leading men to glory, despite knowing that as a bastard it would be very unlikely. Jon had felt like an outsider in Winterfell, and he'd felt like one in the Red Keep as well. Dragonstone, however, was different. It was his, his responsibility, his duty. True, it looked terrifying with all those hideous gargoyles and stone dragons, and Jon wouldn't have chosen it himself, but it was his. The first important responsibility he was given. "Your duty to our dynasty," Rhaegar whispered in his mind, surpassing all the limits of time and distance. Duty... He hadn't specified his meaning, but somehow Jon had understood. King Rhaegar knew he had. By the gods wasn't Daenerys beautiful? He'd grown up on tales of Targaryen women as well as their men. They'd been warriors like Visenya, or benevolent women like Good Queen Alysanne. Daenerys wasn't anything like that, not yet, but she was mesmerizing, and she was his. Why don't I do my duty, then? Aunt and nephew isn't really incest, anyway. And I like her very much. I do. She's more than I could've once hoped for. But at the end of the day, Jon went to sleep alone in his bedchamber. What kind of courage does it take one to visit one's lawful wife at night? He didn't know, but he felt like a coward.