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Chapter Text

Prologue

Home, at last. But, the hardest was yet to come. The Red Keep had just come into view as Rhaegar rode atop his horse amongst his men. Enclosed by the rolling wooded hills, the Prince led a grand party. Surrounding him, he could see the banners of Stark, Lannister, Martell, Tyrell, Arryn, Tully, Targaryen, and Baratheon. This Baratheon banner was not of Rhaegar’s rival, Robert Baratheon, but instead of his brother, Stannis Baratheon. Robert was locked up, currently being held by the loyal House Darry at Castle Darry.

It had been quite a shock for the Pretender King when all his allies had turned on him. They all knew of the horrors the war was causing Westeros, but each still needed their own convincing. Eddard Stark was turned against Robert once Rhaegar told him the truth about Lyanna. And once he turned, the Houses Tully and Arryn followed.

Stannis had not needed much convincing to turn against his brother; their relationship had always been strained and Rhaegar’s proposal was good enough to convince him.

As these 8 great houses joined together and rode down the Kingsroad, the time to enact Rhaegar’s plan was drawing near. The woods around the city had concealed their approach thus far, but Rhaegar knew that the closer they reached to King’s Landing, the sooner Varys’ little birds would be singing tales of their arrival. Rhaegar had ensured that his father, King Aerys, and the Master of Whispers, Varys, were both under the assumption that all of their enemies, not only Robert, were in chains.

Rhaegar ordered the banners of the other houses to be stored in the wagons, and for the other great lords to be brought to their positions. They were to be brought into the city shackled by chains, and they would have to hope none of the King’s guards or advisors considered why the men marching them were carrying two weapons.

As the party proceeded through the Dragon Gate, the smallfolk lined the streets, shouting cheers and crying out with joy. They screamed Rhaegar’s name and cheered for the men who had seen the war to an end and brought victory to the Targaryens. For the lords in chains, rotten fruits were the welcoming gift. Little did they know, the most important part of the war was yet to come. Nerves roamed free throughout Rhaegar, more than before any battle or tourney. This was different; he was coming to imprison his father. His sword rested upon his hip, and for this encounter he had a bow slung across his back, with a full quiver.

The winding streets leading them to the Red Keep seemed longer than normal, perhaps because of the daunting task ahead. It had been a hard decision for Rhaegar, but his duty to the realm surpassed his loyalty to his father. The long, cobbled road from the Dragon Gate to the Red Keep felt longer to Rhaegar than it had on any of his previous journeys down path that resembled an arena. The buildings of King’s Landing enclosed them, and the smallfolk played the part of spectators. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours as Rhaegar rode to his father’s doom.

A great creak echoed through the halls as the doors to Aerys’ Throne Room was opened. The King sat high upon the Iron Throne, with his Lord Hand, Rossart, stood next to him wearing a devilish smile. Aerys was dressed in a deep, royal red from head to toe, and his Hand was similarly clad, but a more scarlet red was fitted to the alchemist. Both stared down the Great Hall, watching Rhaegar lead his party, split by chains, to the feet of the King.

The heads of the greatest houses, ranging from Stark to Tyrell, some in chains, some free, all were gathered in the Throne Room. It was surely the greatest gathering of lords since before Aegon had conquered Westeros, with half of them were in chains, and with Aerys believing he was set to decide their fates. But despite this joyous news, a grimace rippled through King Aerys’ wrinkling face, Rossart held a smug expression, yet the most telling sign to Rhaegar was the guards, positioned by every door, resting their hands upon the pommels of their swords.

Rhaegar adjusted his right hand to his sword’s own pommel, a signal for the guards walking the imprisoned lords forward. Hopefully, Eddard Stark, Jon Arryn, Stannis Baratheon, and Hoster Tully were now all freed from their chains, ready to be handed a sword and fight. As Rossart leaned over to whisper in Aerys’ ear, Rhaegar decided that their hope of a peaceful transition would not be long lived. Rhaegar grabbed his bow and trained it on one of the guards at the exit, hoping the other archers would do the same. Ser Jamie Lannister stood by the King’s side. This standoff needed only another stick to light the flame.

“BURN THEM ALL!” Rhaegar was not sure if it was his father or Rossart who yelled it, or perhaps both, but their words soon turned into cries and battle shouts as arrows were loosed at the guards who could serve as the alchemist’s messenger. Rossart now held a dagger, rushing towards Rhaegar with the same ferocity of a rabid dog. Rhaegar’s bow was still loosing arrows at the far guards, but it was a quick adjustment before an arrow sprouted from Rossart’s chest. As his body fell, opening Rhaegar’s sight of the Throne, he saw his father slumped against the side of the Throne, one of the Throne’s blades itself now impaled in him. Yet the blade that killed him was the sword, dripping blood, of Jamie Lannister. King Aerys Targayen, Second of his Name, now lay dead on his throne, rivulets of blood seeping from his clothing, his death coming at the hands of his own Kingsguard.

His era was one of insanity and madness, and the realm could only hope his successor would bring the opposite. Rhaegar stood with his eyes trained on his deceased father, frozen by shock, before someone addressed him by his new title, causing him to jolt back to reality. Rhaegar turned his head to see all the men in the room looking at him expectantly. It was the hope of all that their new king would be able to return Westeros to greatness and save it from the legacy of the Mad King.

Appendix-

(297 A.C.)

Royal Family

King RHAEGAR TARGARYEN, 38

• his wife, Queen ELIA MARTELL, 40
• his wife, Queen LYANNA STARK, 31
• his concubine, Lady MYLENDA CELTIGAR, 27
• his daughter with Elia, Princess RHAENYS TARGARYEN, 17
• his son with Elia, Crown Prince AEGON TARGARYEN, 15
• his son with Lyanna, Prince JON TARGARYEN, 14
• his daughter with Lyanna, Princess VISENYA TARGARYEN, 13
• his daughter with Mylenda, VAERA CELTIGAR, 12
• his son with Mylenda, BAELOR CELTIGAR, 12
• his daughter with Mylenda, RHAENYRA TARGARYEN, 11
• his mother, RHAELLA TARGARYEN, 52
• his brother, VISERYS TARGARYEN, 21
• his sister, Princess DAENERYS TARGARYEN, 13

Kingsguard

SER GEROLD HIGHTOWER, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard

• PRINCE LEWYN MARTELL
• Ser BARRISTAN SELMY
• Ser OSWELL WHENT
• Ser ARTHUR DAYNE, the Sword of the Morning
• Ser JONOTHOR DARRY
• Ser JAIME LANNISTER

King’s Landing Council/Court

• ARDRIAN CELTIGAR, Hand of the King
• MACE TYRELL, Master of Coin
• VARYS, Master of Whispers
• MONFORD VELARYON, Master of Ships
• STANNIS BARTHEON, Master of Laws
• Grand Maester PYCELLE
• RENNIFER LONGWATERS, Chief Gaoler

Dragonstone

• Master MORTON of Derlyn, 33
• Ser BENETHON SCALES of Windwyrm, 31

Lords of the Dragonstone Sea

Lord MONFORD VELARYON, Master of Ships, Lord of Driftmark, 29

• his wife, Lady LIANNA VELARYON, 29
• his bastard brother, AURANE WATERS, 19
• his son, MONTERYS VELARYON, 12
• his daughter, DAENA VELARYON, 10
• his son, JACAERYS VELARYON, 9

Lord ARDRIAN CELTIGAR, Hand of the King, Lord of Claw Isle, 54

• his son, Ser Maric Celtigar, 29
• his daughter, Concubine Mylenda Celtigar, 27
• his daughter, Malora Celtigar, 21
• his son, Ser Harrold Celtigar, 20

The Vale

Lord Paramount JON ARRYN, 78

• his wife, Lady LYSA ARRYN, 30
• his son, ROBERT ARRYN, 5
• PETYR “Littlefinger” BAELISH, Lord of Midlor Point

The North

Lord Paramount EDDARD STARK, 34

• his wife, Lady CATELYN TULLY, 32
• his son, ROBB STARK, 14
• his daughter, SANSA STARK, 12
• his daughter, ARYA STARK, 10
• his son, BRANDON STARK, 7
• his son, RICKON STARK, 4
• his daughter, LYANNA STARK, 2
• his brother, BENJEN STARK, 30
• Benjen’s wife, DACEY MORMONT, 24
• Benjen’s son, JEOR STARK, 6
• Benjen’s daughter, LYARRA STARK, 5
• Benjen’s son, RICKARD STARK, 4
• his ward, THEON GREYJOY, 18

The Westerlands

Lord Paramount TYWIN LANNISTER, 55

• his son, TYRION LANNISTER, 24
• Tyrion’s wife, LYNESSE HIGHTOWER, 25
• Tyrion’s son, GERION LANNISTER, 2

The Reach

Lord Paramount MACE TYRELL, 41

• his wife, Lady ALERIE TYRELL, 37
• his son, WILLAS TYRELL, 20
• his son, GARLAN TYRELL, 19
• his son, LORAS TYRELL, 15
• his son, MARGAERY TYRELL, 14

Dorne

Prince DORAN MARTELL, 49

• his daughter, ARIANNE MARTELL, 20
• his son, QUENTYN MARTELL, 16
• his son, TRYSTANE MARTELL, 10
• his brother, Prince OBERYN MARTELL, 39

The Stormlands

Lord Paramount STANNIS BARATHEON, 33, Master of Laws

• his wife, SELYSE FLORENT, 30
• his daughter, SHIREEN BARATHEON, 8

The Iron Isles

Lord Paramount BALON GREYJOY, 40

• his wife, Lady ALANNYS HARLAW, 45
• his daughter, ASHA GREYJOY, 21
• his brother, EURON GREYJOY, 39
• his brother, VICTARION GREYJOY, 36
• his brother, AERON GREYJOY, 27

The Trident

Lord Paramount EDMURE TULLY, 24

• his wife, Lady CERSEI LANNISTER, 31
• his son, JOFFREY TULLY, 12
• his daughter, MYRCELLA TULLY, 8
• his son, TOMMEN TULLY, 7

ESSOS

Pentos

Magister ILLYRIO MOPATIS, 54

• his son, Pynto Mopatis, 22
• his daughter, BREA MOPATIS, 18
• his son, LUCERRE MOPATIS, 6
• his son, LOTHO MOPATIS, 4

Lys

Magister TREGAR II ORMOLLEN, 47

• his son, SYRIO ORMOLLEN, 23
• his son, MELLARIO ORMOLLEN, 20
• his son, PARQUELLO ORMOLLEN, 16

(In Silkhead)

Master BYAN ROGARE, 44

• his wife, SERRA ROGARE, 44
• his son, GYLENO ROGARE, 19
• his son, MELLARIO ROGARE, 16
• his son, TYBARO ROGARE, 13

Myr

Magister TERRO II TRELLOS

Tyrosh

Archon SYRIO III ZOKAN, 44

• his son, GYLORO ZOKAN, 37
• his daughter, TYSHA ZOKAN, 21
• his son, MALLAQUO ZOKAN, 17

Braavos

Sealord FERREGO II, 42

Lorath

Archon GYLENO NAYLAN, 61

Norvos

High Priest EZZELYNO, 59

Qohor

Magister GROLEO TOGGOT, 55

• his son, MOREO TOGGOT, 24

Volantis

Triarch MALAQUO MAEGYR, 62

• entire Maegyr household

Elyria

Lord QAVO ILVAR, 56

• his wife, Lady PARQUELLA ILVAR, 56
• his wife and niece, Lady NYESSA ILVAR, 37
• his daughter, TRIANNA ILVAR, 23
• his nephew and heir, DAEGAR ILVAR, 34

Tolos

Lord METHYSO AZANTONE, 25

• his son, ALIOS AZANTONE, 5
• his son, BELICHO AZANTONE, 3
• his daughter, ALIA AZANTONE, 0
• his brother, ALIOS AZANTONE, 22
• his sister, RHAELLE AZANTONE, 20
• his sister, QAVA AZANTONE, 18

Mantarys

Lord DONIPHOS ZOBRIDAR, 45

• his wife, Lady RHAELLE ZOBRIDAR, 45
• his daughter, ALEARYS ZOBRIDAR, 27
• his son, VAEKAR ZOBRIDAR, 24
• his daughter, RHAELINOR ZOBRIDAR, 22

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Rhaegar Targaryen

“Your grace, I implore you, grant me the compensation from this man, for he has clearly wronged me.”

For Rhaegar, this was yet another factor that made him hate his kingship. His mind drifted to his children while the second simply dressed present directed another beg towards Rhaegar. The argument in the background was drowned out by the thoughts of his children sweeping his mind. In the coming weeks, they were all set to return from their year-long stays with some of the great lords of the realm. Jon and Visenya had stayed the last year with their uncle, Eddard Stark, in Winterfell. Letters they had written to him had described their time in the North, including a procession through all the castles to meet all he great lords of the North. On the other side of the realm, Rhaenys and Aegon had spent a year with their relatives in Dorne, learning about the great houses of Dorne in a similar procession. However, Rhaegar was aware of reports that they learned about more than just the Dornish houses during their stay. The pairing themselves had also recently written to Rhaegar to inform him that Princess Arianne Martell, the heiress to Dorne, would be returning with them.

This knowledge brought him back to his predicament about the future marriages of his children. Rhaegar was yet to decide if he would allow Rhaenys and Aegon to marry, or even another pairing between his children, such has Rhaenys and Jon with Aegon and Visenya because of their differing parents. Viserys and Daenerys would both marry outside the family. The issue at the heart of his decision was the madness in the family. It was becoming a serious threat to the family yet again, with his father Aerys before him and currently his brother Viserys. Rhaegar was considering the potential need to dilute the bloodline for another generation. Even more than just marrying Elia and Lyanna’s children to each other, it was a strong possibility now that he might marry all of his children across the realm.

He had already received and conceived several offers, including Aegon and Sansa Stark, Jon and Arianne Martell, Rhaenys and Willas Tyrell, Visenya and Joffrey Tully, among many others. He was still yet to consider what to do with his daughter Rhaenyra, as well as his children that bore the Celtigar name, Baelor and Vaera. Although he had not given it much thought, he likely would betroth them to each other, and marry Rhaenyra to one of the Velaryon children. Although the Targaryen’s needed to dilute their bloodline, Rhaegar believed the Velaryons and Celtigars needed a purification. These houses were descendants of the Valyrian Freehold, and they must, to an extent, uphold the traditions and appearances that their ancestors embodied when they ruled the world.

“Your Grace?”

Rhaegar was shaken from his storm of thought by Lord Varys. The peasants stood awaiting a decision, but before Rhaegar could pass his judgement, Varys whispered in his ear. Both men were good men, but one had made an honest mistake, and refused to surrender his pride and admit that he was wrong. This was the rare circumstance, usually once a moon, where Varys counseled providing compensation for both from the royal treasury.

And to not make this seem a common practice, Rhaegar instructed both peasants to follow Varys out of the Throne Room where he would discuss the solution to their issues. There was still a line of men and women that likely reached to the Sunset Sea, but Rhaegar grew weary and dismissed his court. Every courtier knelt as King Rhaegar Targaryen rose from the Iron Throne and exited towards his chambers.

The route to Maegor’s Holdfast was not long, but this journey felt an eternity after his long day in court. Rhaegar’s boredom of the days spent on the throne had increased tenfold since he had become king. He wished for nothing more than to simply play his harp, spend time in the relaxing Godswood at King’s Landing or the soothing beaches of Dragonstone, spar with Ser Arthur Dayne, or wallow the days away in bed with his three lovers.

Elia Martell was married for duty, yet Rhaegar had grown to love her over time. This was the same with Mylenda Celtigar, whom Rhaegar had taken as concubine following the war. The need to bring the Celtigars back towards their Valyrian roots had driven Rhaegar to make this decision. But Lyanna, she was his true love. He fell in love with her at the Tourney of Harrenhal and never looked back. She may be considered the second amongst his queens, but she was first in his heart. Whenever he looked upon her, or spoke with her, he found a joy which he elsewise seldom experienced.

Rhaegar also held some pleasure through the friendship between his wives and concubine. Unlike Aegon the Conqueror of years past, the women in his life did not reside in separate chambers and force Rhaegar to choose which among them he most appreciated. They instead enjoyed the company of each other near as much as they did Rhaegar’s, and he would often find them together in bed when he returned from his day at court. There was no such difference this day, as Rhaegar passed Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the man guarding his room, to enter his bedchamber through his solar and find the women and covers strewn across the great oaken canopied bed that held the center position in his bedchambers.

The nearest women to him was Elia, his fine Dornish Queen, lay asleep with only her bottom half covered. His eyes gazed her smooth olive skin and traced his shape to her perfect rounded breasts, before letting his gaze reach her resting face. In the middle of the bed lay his perfect Northern beauty, her thin frame lay fully exposed above the covers. Her pale Northern skin still had not darkened from her years in King’s Landing, and she also retained the beauty instilled in her face, still as beautiful as when Rhaegar had met her near 15 years ago. On the far end of the bed lay his beloved concubine, Lady Mylenda Celtigar, a woman who held the beauty of the Valyrians of ages past. Her full tits lay above the cover, and even asleep her face showed the beauty that would allow her to seduce any man. Although Rhaegar did love her, she was third in his heard, but her children were loved by Rhaegar as much as his sons and daughters by his two true wives.

Lord Ardrian Celtigar had been confused when Rhaegar proposed that he take Mylenda as his concubine, but once Rhaegar had offered Lord Ardrian Celtigar the position of Hand and explained that the first son and daughter of Mylenda would be named Celtigars, the deal became hard to refuse. Rhaegar’s desire for Mylenda to bear his children was not made know to Ardrian as it would likely leave a bad taste in his mouth; Rhaegar simply felt that the Celtigars had become too Westerosi, and they needed to return to their Valyrian roots. After Robert’s Rebellion, Rhaegar desired to have again the complete backing of Houses Velaryon and Celtigar, the two other Valyrian houses in Westeros. It had not been known to Ardrian at the time of Rhaegar’s initial proposal, but he intended for his son with Mylenda to become next in line for Claw Isle, passing Ardrian’s eldest son, Ser Maric, in the line of succession. When Rhaegar informed his Hand of this decision, it was accepted with no hesitation or questioning. Rhaegar and Ardrian were yet to decide how Maric would be informed that he was no longer needed in the succession. Rhaegar’s guilt was eased through Maric’s character however: the man had likely sired a bastard on every woman on Claw Isle, wed or unwed. It was rumored that he may have even once held a relationship with his younger sister, Malora Celtigar, a practice which had grown out of fashion on Claw Isle.

Rhaegar silently undressed, removing his dreary clothes that had tired with him across his long day of sitting the Throne. Remaining as silent as a mouse, he slid into bed between Elia and Lyanna, wishing for nothing more than to sleep before he must meet with his small council over dinner. He thought he had completed his task successfully, but movement to his left told him that Elia had stirred. Rhaegar quickly brought a finger to her lips, but it did not stop her from leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips. Rhaegar gave in and allowed her lips to absorb with his. As he brought a hand to her breast, he could feel one hand of hers sliding towards his hardening cock.

Elia was easily most skilled in bed of his three lovers, and her abilities in bed proved the tales of Dorne’s women true. Mylenda possessed the best body; both her ass and breasts were amongst the best in the realm. Nearly nothing was more pleasing to Rhaegar than burying his cock inside her and slapping or squeezing her ass and tits. Lyanna possessed neither the skills of Elia nor the shape of Mylenda, but when Rhaegar made love to her it was the most passionate of any of his wives, and he most often spilled his seed inside her.

But it was Elia that was now stroking his hardness with her hand and fighting with his tongue as their mouths clashed. Rhaegar’s hand on her breast gave a final squeeze before sliding down her smooth body to her ass, which he began to squeeze all the same. It was not long before Rhaegar rolled onto his side and slid his other hand underneath Elia to grab her other cheek. He briefly removed one hand to rub her clit and position his cock, before returning it to her smooth ass. He slowly began to slide his hardness into her, his mouth capturing a moan before it could leave her own. Once she had fully sheathed his cock, he began to slowly thrust in and out. He moved one hand back to her breast, tantalizingly squeezing her tits and pinching her nipple.

This slow pace was not enough for Rhaegar, so he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her as he quietly slid out of the bed. He held her close with his cock still inside and carried her to his solar. Rhaegar found a table and brushed away the scrolls that lay amess atop it and placed her back down on the table. Rhaegar paused to swiftly close the door to his solar, hopefully hiding the sounds from the other women. He returned to Elia, filling her with his length, and began thrusting at a quick pace. Rhaegar watched her small breasts bounce back and forth, he saw the ripple in her legs from the impact, and he could hear the clapping noise from his legs and balls colliding with her. Still trying to be quiet, her moans did not echo through the room, but the faint moans were still able to be heard by Rhaegar. His rapid pace did not stop, his cock pushing as far as it could go into Elia. Rhaegar’s soft groans matched Elia’s moans, as he spilled his seed deep inside her. She had not finished yet, and intuitively Rhaegar brought his mouth down to her clit to pleasure her that way, and help her come.

The sun was set when Rhaegar awoke from his nap, and as he looked to his left and right he could see both Elia and Lyanna, naked as their first nameday, with their arms draped across his torso, and Lyanna’s head upon his chest. He could not resist running his hand through her flowing dark brown hair, nor could he resist stroking Elia’s black mane. Rhaegar rolled Lyanna on top of himself so he could reach out to Mylenda, squeezing her breasts and gently stroking the silver blonde hair that laid messy beneath her head. Lyanna was beginning to wake, so Rhaegar swiftly placed a kiss upon her lips and rolled her back to his side.

“Don’t think you can get away without giving me the same treatment you gave Elia earlier, my love,” Lyanna whispered to him, extending a hand to begin stroking his cock.

“Surely you didn’t think we couldn’t hear you?” Mylenda questioned him with a smirk.

“Later, my loves,” Rhaegar said, although Lyanna continued to stroke his hardening cock, “I, and the three of you as well, must sup with the Small Council tonight.” He received a nodded affirmation from his loves before crawling out of bed and beginning to dress himself.

 It was a savory venison that adorned the plate, with a collection of darkened mushrooms, browned onions, and a steaming potato surrounding it like a victorious army encircles the remainders of its enemy. The fine Arbor wine glistened inside the gem-incrusted golden goblet. But Rhaegar and his council were not there to enjoy the delicious dish, they were here to discuss the affairs of the realm. He looked around at his council, Hand of the King Ardrian Celtigar, father of his lover Mylenda, Lord Paramount of the Reach and Master of Coin Mace Tyrell, Rhaegar’s Master of Whispers Lord Varys, the Master of Ships Monford Velaryon, Master of Laws Stannis Baratheon, and Grand Maester Pycelle. Also at the table sat his Queens and Mylenda. Rhaegar scanned the room, proudly thinking of how well he has surrounded himself with men he trusts with his life, with the exception of Pycelle.

After the group finished their meal, Ardrian Celtigar requested permission to start listing the matters that concerned the council on this evening. Rhaegar quickly granted it, and hence he began.

“My King, the reconstruction of Summerhall has officially began. The building plans have been completed and our army of builders have started their preparations at the ruined castle,” Ardrian paused for a nod from Rhaegar before proceeding, “The Night’s Watch again asks for more men.”

“Empty the cells and put them on a ship to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Lord Monford, see to it this voyage proceeds smoothly,” Rhaegar commanded, “Continue, Lord Ardrian.”

“My liege, I am sure you are aware that with the upcoming Heir’s Tourney, your children will be the subject of countless marriage offers. I have a small list here, if I may,” Ardrian paused before receiving Rhaegar’s affirmation, “The offers for Aegon include: Arianne Martell, Margaery Tyrell, Sansa Stark, Myrcella Tully, Mylenda Rykker, Marsella Waynwood, Ysilla Royce, Roslin Frey, Sarya Mallister, Lyra Mormont, Branda Umber, Alys Karstark, Desmera Redwyne, Alyse Dayne, Brienne of Tarth, and Elinor Massey. Most of those offers remain for Jon, as well as more offers including: Serenei Sunglass, Arwyn Frey, Rylene Grafton, Eddara Tallhart, and Arya Stark. For your daughter Rhaenys, well, it is safe to say the name of every unmarried heir in the realm has been put forth. I do not doubt even some betrothed heirs would suddenly become available if approached with Rhaenys as the offering. All these lords would not discriminate between Rhaenys, Visenya, or Rhaenyra.”

His speech was met with a sigh from Rhaegar, “It will be a long few weeks ahead. Lord Monford, what marriages do you plan to make with your children?”

“Your Grace, I had planned on allowing them to decide for themselves, or even marrying them to each other. Have you made a decision regarding your children bearing the Celtigar name?” The Lord of Driftmark answered pointedly.

“Baelor and Vaera will likely wed each other, although I am not adverse to a betrothal between them and your children,” Rhaegar replied.

“Your Grace, if I may,” Mace Tyrell seized the silence. Rhaegar nodded permission.

“I worry for the coffers of the realm and the impact the Heir’s Tourney will bring. Our money does not run low, but it does not thrive either. I fear the winner’s purses and the food and accommodations that come with the feasts will have an undesirable effect on the treasury. We could impose a tax on all entering King’s Landing…” Mace Tyrell offered.

“No. I do not wish to turn away any smallfolk from the city during the Tourney. Instead, we shall tax all vendors, shops, and brothels, for they shall see an increased profit during the Tourney, and this additional tax should not place much burden on them,” Rhaegar decreed. Mace bowed his head in agreement.

“Now, if that is all that needs my attention, I am sure my wives have some questions about what room for luxury our treasury will allow regarding the upcoming feasts,” Rhaegar concluded.

Prince Jon Targaryen

Home, at last. But the joy did not come without a heavy heart. Jon loved his year spent in the North; he also held a similar love for his uncle Ned and his cousins that he had grown so fond of and had created sibling-like bonds with. Jon glanced to his side to look at his younger sister Visenya, whom had journeyed with him to the North. Although they approached the gates of King’s Landing, Jon could not help himself from remembering some of his favorite memories from Winterfell: sparring with Robb, running through the Wolfswood and bathing in hidden lakes with Visenya and Arya, teaching Bran archery, and wrestling with Rickon. Despite his thorough enjoyment of his time in the North,  Jon was looking forward to returning to his family, seeing Aegon, Rhaenys, and Rhaenyra, but most importantly Daenerys. Jon and Dany held a special relationship since they were young. Although she was his aunt they felt as close as siblings, and perhaps closer than that as well.

They had kissed innocently long before he had left for the North, but shortly before Jon had left for the North they shared a passionate kiss, and they slept, naked as their first nameday, in one of Dragonstone’s caves.

A loud cheering rose over the Dragon Gate, resulting from a guard on the walls shouting, “Lyanna’s Prince and Princess have returned!” The cheering only grew louder as the gate opened and their party rode through, entering the streets of King’s Landing. Jon looked over at Visenya and could tell she had the same thoughts. She glanced back at him, and in sync they took off down the cobbled road. Their horses tore through the streets, racing as they had so often done in Winterfell. The buildings and civilians of King’s Landing were a blur as Jon and his sister rapidly advanced through the streets.

It was not long before they reached Maegor’s Holdfast. It was barely past the break of dawn, leaving it likely that Rhaegar would still be asleep in his bedchamber or musing kingly decisions in his solar. Jon received looks of recognition which proceeded hurried bows, for he could only assume he had changed since he was last in King’s Landing. Jon was a man now, tall and muscular, a far cry from the boy that left the capital. Visenya was different as well; her silver hair flowed longer, and both her breasts and ass had begun to develop. Although Jon’s heart was with Daenerys, he could still appreciate the beauty of his younger sister.

They quickly made their path through the halls and towards their own chambers. Jon and Visenya’s rooms bordered one another inside the Royal Wing; across from them lay Daenerys’ bedchamber, and on either side of her sat Viserys and Rhaenys’. Jon’s room was also bordered by Aegon’s, but even before the Targaryen children had left for their visits to each corner of the realm it was almost always empty; Aegon spent most nights with Rhaenys. Past Visenya’s bedchamber lay the shared chamber of the Celtigar children, and across from theirs lay Rhaenyra’s chambers. To reach their father’s chambers, they would have to climb the staircase at the end of the hallway and climb to the top of one of the many towers in Maegor’s Holdfast.

Jon’s bedchamber looked as if it was freshly constructed. Everything was neat and orderly; not a single item sat out of place. This changed within seconds as Jon quickly removed the Northern garbs from his body. Both him and Visenya had decided it necessary to change into clothes better suited to King’s Landing before they visited their father. The clothes they wore throughout their time in the North were some of the finest in the realm, but they would be a burden in the sweltering heat of King’s Landing. The red tunic that now adorned Jon’s body was perfectly suited to King’s Landing.

Jon left his chambers to find the door to Visenya’s still shut. He entered to find her half-dressed; breeches adorned her bottom, but simple smallclothes were all that barred Jon from seeing her tits. Yet even with the smallclothes not much was hidden.

“You gonna go talk to Father wearing that?” Jon asked with a smirk, amused. Visenya tossed an annoyed glance back towards him.

“Could I take a simple tunic from your chamber? The maidservants did not include any in my wardrobe,” Visenya complained.

“Sure, come grab which one you fancy.” Jon led Visenya back to his chambers where she picked out a tunic of a similar color to Jon’s.

“I wonder what Father will say when he sees us,” Jon spoke solemnly. Visenya just shrugged. Jon was aware that she likely missed the North already. He did not doubt she was already awaiting an opportunity to return. He knew that their mother would be overjoyed to see them, but he did not hold the same opinions of his father. Although Rhaegar would undoubtedly have happiness at seeing his children after over a year, their return would bring him more problems and stresses than when the children were scattered between the two ends of the realm. Jon knew his father would love nothing more than to keep his children away so he would not have to decide upon the countless marriage proposals he must have received. Jon simply wished to marry Daenerys, although he knew his fantasy would surely come to an end by the completion of the Heir’s Tourney.

“Senya, will you enter the archery contest in the Heir’s Tourney?” Jon queried.

“In a tournament celebrating our brother’s return? Who would I be to take all the glory and attention from his certain win in the joust?” Visenya sarcastically responded, “That’s like asking if we’re Targaryens. Of course I am, stupid.” Jon simply laughed.

They quickly made their ascent of the spiral staircase that led to Rhaegar’s chambers. Jon glanced out one of the many windows that adorned the staircase. It displayed a view of the narrow sea, with waves crashing on the shore. It brought a pleasant feeling to Jon, for he had not seen this beautiful scene for over a year. On this morning, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Kingsguard who mentored Jon before he went to the North, stood guard outside the King’s royal chambers.

“Prince Jon!” The Sword of the Morning exclaimed. Both rushed forward to embrace. Ser Arthur continued, “Find me in the yard later, I must see how your swordsmanship has grown since we last met,” he then turned to Visenya, “And you, my little princess. I hope you did not lose your love for swords in the cold North.”

“If anything, it has grown! Allow me to spar you after you finish with Jon,” Visenya responded.

“I will, my princess, have no doubt,” Ser Arthur concluded, proceeding to open the door to Rhaegar’s solar.

Jon and Visenya found their father sat at his desk in the corner of his solar, reading the Lives of Four Kings, a famous book written by Grand Maestar Kaeth detailing the reigns of Kings Daeron I, Baelor I, Aegon IV, and Daeron II. The book was but one amongst many great works possessed by the King.

“Father.”

Rhaegar raised his head and smiled warmly, “Jon, my son. You are a welcome sight back in King’s Landing. You’ve grown into a proper man now.”

“Yes Father, I have. I am delighted to have returned home.”

“Visenya! My daughter, you look stunning,” Rhaegar looked her up and down, noticing her clothing, “I hope we haven’t lost you to the ways of the North.”

“Father, I love the North and its people, but I will always be a Targaryen.”

“That is good to hear. Lyanna!” Rhaegar called out, “You may want to come see this.”

It was but a moment before the door from the King’s bedchamber opened to bring Lyanna to the solar. For a moment she stood in shock, processing what she had seen, before she rushed towards her children. She spread her arms wide to enclose both her children in an embrace.

“Mother!” The children exclaimed in unison. They stood there for nigh on a minute, all three enjoying being in each other’s company once again.

“My children, both of you have grown into a lovely young man and woman.”

“Mother!” Jon and Visenya said in unison once more, before Jon proceeded, “That is all anyone has told us today, for our sake, speak about something else.”

Lyanna sighed before continuing, “I hope you enjoyed your time in the North. How are my brothers and their children?”

“Good. They look forward to seeing you when they journey here for the Heir’s Tourney. I think you will like Arya. Everyone says that she is you born again.”

“And you, Jon? What do you say of her?”

“She is my cousin but I feel as close with her as I would a sister. And I would consider Robb a brother as well.”

Before Lyanna could respond, Visenya interjected, “Robb and Arya are the two I also was closest to. When they boys were off sparring, I would teach Arya the basics of swordplay.”

“It is good to hear you have made such close relations with your Stark cousins. That should serve you well in the future.”

Another voice came sliding through the door, “Jon, Visenya, it is good to see you both again.”

Jon looked past his mother to see Elia Martell sliding through the door, wearing a sandy gold dress with a plunging neckline that reached to just above her navel. Two thin straps barely covered her breasts and reached over her shoulders before forming what Jon could only assume would be an intricate pattern on her back.

Following her came Mylenda Celtigar. Although Elia looked glamorous, Mylenda still looked like she had just risen, wearing a short chemise that had likely not lasted long on her the night before. And it was to no surprise, as Jon had to avert his eyes from the revealing sight displayed by his father’s concubine.

“Mothers, it is good to see you again,” Jon stated, before Visenya echoed his sentiment. The group of 5 continued their conversation for a while longer before Jon stated an excuse and left his father’s solar. It was time for him to find Daenerys.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen

Antlerhall was the last castle on the short, unnamed river east of the Dornish Marches. It had been quite a somber arrival for the party, for they had learned that the old Lord of the castle, Harlan Wagstaff, had been killed by a wild boar during a hunt. The boar was to be the meal at the feast that was to be held during Aegon’s visit, but Aegon had received another gift instead. Harlan Wagstaff had not left any heirs, sending his house to extinction. Aegon had been granted control of the castle, and he was to be tasked with finding a lord to rule the castle and the land surrounding it. Until then, Aegon had assigned the master of the castle, Horton, to rule in his stead.

This task that awaited Aegon was on the front of his mind when he awoke. Although he had been prepared for ruling since he was a babe, it still seemed a daunting task to choose a man to elevate to a lordship. The burden was slightly lifted from him by the two stunning women laid asleep in bed beside him.

Shortly after Aegon arrived in Dorne, despite having only seen thirteen namedays, he was the giddy recipient of sexual advances from his sister Rhaenys. Even before they had first left for Dorne, the siblings did sleep together, and had chanced looking upon each other nude. But it was Arianne Martell, a young woman labeled a seductress by many despite her age. Arianne, a cousin of Elia’s children, had made fast friends with Rhaenys, and soon she had goaded her into advancing things with Aegon. It had taken less than a moon in Dorne before Aegon took Rhaenys’ maidenhead, and by the end of their second moon in Dorne Rhaenys had invited Arianne to their bed. Aegon knew that Arianne kept other lovers; her skills likely hold half the men of Dorne under her finger.

But this olive-skinned, curvaceous Dornishwoman lay in bed to his side. Arianne lay with half her body draped over Aegon, faced down so her left tit pressed into Aegon’s chest. Her arm was drawn across his body, with her hand resting on Rhaenys’ back. His beloved, his elder by two years, laid in the same position as Arianne, her right tit also pressing into Aegon’s chest. He loved her with all his being, and he, for many moons, planned to request to his father that he may be allowed to marry her, and that he is not forced to marry some other Westerosi noblewoman, such as Margaery Tyrell. Although Rhaenys was his true love, there was still a special place in his heart for Arianne.

Aegon’s eyes attempted to reach higher than his head would allow, wishing to gaze upon the rest of his lovers’ curvaceous bodies. The three lay above the covers, occupying the great bed that had once been occupied by the old lord of Antlerhall. Aegon did not think his awakening caused much noise, but the women resting on either side of him began to stir. Rhaenys was the first to act, reaching her head forward to clash her lips with his. Their tongues had not warred for long before Aegon could feel Arianne stroking his length.

Aegon invited Rhaenys further up his body, taking her full, rounded tits in his mouth, sucking and leaving soft bites. Arianne removed her hand from his cock, but it was not long until it was replaced by her mouth. Her mouth slid up and down his length, taking nearly his full cock in her mouth. The slow pace she maintained gradually quickened until she was sucking his cock at a maddening pace, earning a soft growl from Aegon.  Aegon removed his mouth from his sister’s tits, with the marks his teeth left clearly visible.

“Ride me, cousin,” Aegon whispered. In an instant, Arianne positioned herself above his hardness, slowly sliding herself down onto it. She rolled her hips at a slow, maddening pace.

Rhaenys positioned herself above Aegon’s face, her pussy sat perfectly above Aegon’s mouth. He knew that she wanted him to taste her, and he was more than willing to oblige. Aegon released his tongue and began to lick her cunt, sliding it between her folds in every direction. If he brought his head up, he was able to slightly penetrate her cunt.

Above him, Rhaenys leaned forward to taste Arianne’s lips, their tongues clashing like the fiercest armies Westeros had ever seen. Aegon reached out both hands to find Arianne’s ass, squeezing it before slapping it as hard as he could from his position, telling her to pick up the pace. Arianne complied immediately, bouncing up and down on Aegon’s cock as fast as her body allowed. It was a testament to her skill that her mouth remained locked with Rhaenys’ as she rode faster, and faster; the clapping from her ass colliding with Aegon’s body was so loud he was afraid his father might hear them from King’s Landing.

Rhaenys broke her kiss with Arianne, and spoke, “You’ve had your turn, now let me fuck my brother.” Arianne only gave a smirk in return. She, tantalizingly slow, raised herself off Aegon’s cock, giving her cousin the position she so desired.

Rhaenys slowly moved forward from her spot above Aegon’s face towards his hard cock, but before she reached it, he gave a strong smack and said, “I have spent enough time being ridden.” Aegon gently shoved her over onto her back, before rising from the bed and pulling her to the edge. He spread her legs and placed them over his shoulders and began to slide his cock back and forth above her cunt.

“I want you in me, Aegon!” Rhaenys commanded.

“Have patience, sister.” Aegon continued slide his cock over her cunt, teasing and torturing her into moans of agony. He eventually began to slide his cock into her, at first only penetrating her with his tip, but it was not long before he gave into his own urges, pushing himself deeper inside of her. At first, his thrusts were slow, savoring his cock sheathed in her cunt.

Aegon’s thrusts became quicker and deeper, before eventually giving in and fucking her as hard and as fast as he could. Their skin collided, making a clapping noise louder than Arianne could create on her own. Rhaenys’ tits bounced up and down, a beautiful sight for Aegon to stare at as he fucked his sister.

Arianne had assumed the position Rhaenys had taken earlier, but instead occupying Rhaenys’ mouth with her cunt. Rhaenys began to dig her heels into Aegon’s shoulders and grab tightly to Arianne’s ass with her hands as she could feel her climax coming. She released a loud moan as she could feel her climax streaking through her body.

Aegon slowly withdrew from her and found his way back onto the bed. Arianne was yet to climax, and Aegon would not allow himself to finish before she did. She found her way back to the position they occupied earlier and began riding him again at the same pace she had earlier. Rhaenys lay on her side, forcing her face into Arianne’s cunt, a welcoming third party. Without Rhaenys on top of Aegon, he could now see the marvelous sight of Arianne’s perfect tits bouncing around her chest. Both Aegon’s cock and Rhaenys’ mouth proved to be too much for Arianne, as she let out a deafening moan; her pleasure could surely be heard throughout the castle.

Although both of Aegon’s lovers reached their climax, he had not yet spilled his seed. Arianne and Rhaenys moved to their hands and knees, ready to be taken from behind by Aegon. He entered Rhaenys first, thrusting as hard as he ever had. With one hand, he held her ass, kneading it while the collision of their skin echoed through the room. His other hand did not remain still; it kneaded Arianne’s ass, giving it the occasional smack.

Soon, Aegon removed his cock from Rhaenys and inserted it into Arianne, quickly getting his thrusts up to his fastest pace. He fucked her harder than she had been fucked by any man, and Arianne’s moans and screams were evidence enough to prove it. The clapping of his balls and thighs against her ass coupled with her moans were likely loud enough to wake the whole castle from its slumber.

Despite her tremendous skill, Aegon’s relentless thrusts eventually forced her onto her forearms, exhausted, as Aegon continued to fuck her with everlasting energy. Aegon continued to fuck her until she fell to the bed with a final scream reaching her climax once more. Aegon was also nearing his peak.

He slid his cock out of Arianne and moved it to Rhaenys once more, before giving his last burst of energy to thrust into her roughly and wildly. Aegon growled as he finally coated her walls with his seed. He slowly withdrew his cock from his sister and fell back onto the bed.

His cock was a painted mess of his seed and his lover’s juices, and neither took long to return their mouths to his cock, cleaning up what remained of their lovemaking session.

“I wonder what father would think, if he knew,” Rhaenys thought aloud.

“He has three women for himself, why should he care if I’m bedding two of the most beautiful women in Westeros?” Aegon shot back.

“Your father cares too much about the politics,” Arianne drawled, “Fuck a baby into your sister and he will have no choice but to marry you to each other.”

“It’s too early I fear. We should wait until the events of the Heir’s Tourney unfold before we do anything rash,” Aegon declared.

“The Heir’s Tourney! Oh, I can’t wait,” Arianne announced, “Not only can I put the powerful men in King’s Landing under my influence, but I could fuck any man from any of the countless noble houses attending the tourney. Stannis Baratheon seems a fine choice.”

“He’s married, Ari,” Rhaenys retorted.

“That makes it all the more fun. Perhaps the Stark boy would be a good conquest. What would you say of your uncle Viserys?”

“Avoid him,” the Targaryens said in unison, before breaking into small laughter.

“If you wish to test another Targaryen, perhaps our brother Jon would be to your liking, that is, if you can pry him away from Daenerys,” Rhaenys stated.

“Or perhaps I’ll have them both,” Arianne replied with a wink.

“You mustn’t forget about us during the tourney either, Ari,” Aegon declared.

“How could I ever forget my Prince and Princess? Especially the Prince whom I want to fuck a bastard into my belly.”

“We’ve discussed this, it would not be proper.”

“Bollocks to your proper. One day you will be king, and it will not matter. And even if my child by you may be a bastard, they will still rule Dorne after me,” Arianne declared, “If I brought any maidservant girl in here you would fuck her breathless and leave your seed dripping from her cunt, and by the end of the year there could be a bastard birthed from her belly. But for the maidservant you would not know or care. Fuck, I’d be surprised if Tyene has not given you a bastard with the amount of times you spilled your seed in her sweet pussy at the Water Gardens? But not me. Is it because I am a Princess of Dorne?”

“Ari, I…” Aegon thought for a moment before continuing, “If you wish to have a bastard by me then I will have no choice but to grant it, my love.” Arianne smiled, the joy seeping from her face.

“Ari, I’ve always been curious. If you birthed a daughter, would you ever fuck a man with her?” Rhaenys queried.

“Depends on the man. Thinking about it, I’d hope to share her with you one day, Egg. You Targaryens are fond of incest, are you not?” Arianne declared. Aegon could not tell if the words she spoke were a jest.

Prince Jon Targaryen

Jon descended the spiral staircase leading away from his father’s room. He continued down the brick hallway until he reached Daenerys’ chambers, knocking politely on the wooden door. Jon heard footsteps walking briskly to the door, the unlatching of the lock, and the door slowly creaking open.

“Jon!” Daenerys exclaimed.

“Dany,” Jon replied softly. They stood there for a moment before Daenerys backed away, allowing Jon space to enter her chambers. Once the door closed, she jumped into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. This position held for minutes on end, before Jon carried her over to the bed and laid her down, quickly following her onto the bed.

There, both laid on their side, they stared into each other’s eyes, each relishing the presence of the other. Jon’s mind was overwhelmed with countless thoughts of Daenerys, but all were broken by her beauty. Her sweet silver locks, her voracious violet eyes, and her fine face all fell under his gaze. Although Jon knew his eyes should not wander to her stunning shape, he received no complaints from his aunt when they escaped to that forbidden path.

His eyes eventually raised again to her eyes. Jon’s face moved in tandem with her own, before finally meeting with a tender kiss. This kiss sent his mind on a journey back several years to the first kiss they shared on Dragonstone. They had been young then, and the collision between their lips had been simple, unlike the relations Jon had seen between his cousin Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, and some Northern girls in Winter Town. The young Targaryens often enjoyed a night on the beaches of Dragonstone, but the special one for Jon and Daenerys had begun with a disturbance. An ominous thunderstorm brewed over the island, and when the rain began pouring down, Jon and Daenerys were separated from the others. The pair had found their shelter in one of the caves on Dragonstone.

The cave surrounded them with stone and dragonglass, sand and these curious drawings of ancient figures. A small pile of wood laid at the entrance of the cave, something that would become crucial to them. Jon and Daenerys ventured deep into the cave, hoping to find a ground of stone rather than sand. It felt like an hour to their weary legs before they found a stone floor at the back of the cave, but still struggled with the darkness. Jon remedied this with the found wood turning into flame through his craftiness. Jon, to this day, still considered the look of awe, respect, and love he received from Daenerys his most cherished memory.

Their damp clothes had become a burden and the pair discarded them, leaving only their smallclothes. For a short time an awkwardness brewed between the pair akin to the thunderstorm barraging the island above. Despite Daenerys’ age, her body had already begun to develop, and Jon forced himself to avert his eyes. It would have been a weird scene for anyone to walk into; two Targaryens, yet to reach an age of maturity, sat around a small fire in their small clothes. The silence was broken by Daenerys, leading the pair into some small talk. At this point, Jon had not realized that his feelings, although they were fledgling, were returned by Daenerys. As their conversation continued, the gap between them narrowed, and Jon soon felt heat from her body as well as the modest fire.

Jon’s face turned towards Daenerys to find hers already pointed at his. Their faces melted together, meshing in an inexperienced kiss. Before long Dany began to discard her smallclothes, claiming the fire had done little about their dampness. Jon discarded his as well. Both simply stared at each other’s nakedness, innocent as to what they truly were viewing. They had grown weary, but they were not about to sleep on the cold stone. Together they arranged their outfits and smallclothes on the ground as best they good. Then, as one, they laid down and entwined themselves, hoping that their body heat would keep them warm. Jon remembered his manhood growing hard and pressing into Daenerys’ stomach, causing her to lean away from him. She reached down and touched it, asking Jon why it was like that. Jon informed her that it had never grown hard like that before. He pressed another kiss upon her lips before they drifted off to sleep.

They broke their kiss and sat up with a start as they heard the door open. Jon soon found himself and Daenerys under the pointed gaze of sparkling violet eyes which shone as bright as they always did despite spending two years in the harsh North.

“You thought you could find our aunt and keep her from me?” Visenya jested, “I have missed you, Dany.”

“As I have missed you, Senya,” Daenerys glowed, “I hope we have not lost you to the North, sweet niece.”

Visenya looked around before responding, “I have missed this very much, you know. The Red Keep, our family,” she sighed, “but I cannot claim I will not miss the North and my Stark family. I eagerly await their visit to King’s Landing for the Heir’s Tourney.”

“And Jon?” Daenerys looked over with slight worry, “Is your heart in the North as well?”

“My feelings for the North are the same as Senya’s,” Jon replied gruffly, “but King’s Landing is my home.”

Visenya took a seat next to Daenerys on her bed, and the three remained in silence. Jon relished the presence of his niece and sister; he could sense the quiet happiness that had fallen over the room as it so often did when these three were in each other’s company.

“I look forward to Aegon and Rhaenys’ return,” Jon broke the silence, “I hope he has grown into a better fighter since we departed. It grew tiring faking losses so he would not be embarrassed before the court,” Jon stated with a wry smile.

Daenerys let out a small laugh before replying, “If you can even get him out to the training yard you might find out. I’ve heard he’s become fond of another type of sparring.”

Genuine shock was the reaction from Jon; he could see his reaction mirrored on Visenya’s face as well.

“I guess rumors like that aren’t deemed important enough in the North,” Daenerys winked and laughed at her family. Daenerys looked like she was going to say more, but she stopped herself before the words left her mouth.

A knock on the door ended any potential probing questions from Jon and his sister. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, entered the chambers, and there was only one person he would be there for.

“Jon, I wish to see how your sparring has improved during your time in the North.”

“Surely you would get a better assessment after I am rested? I have been on the road for longer than I can remember,” Jon half-jested, knowing the answer the dark-haired man would give.

“A battle never waits for your rest. A warrior who can fight no matter the situation will always rise above the rest.”

Jon nodded his affirmation that he would soon join Ser Arthur in the training yard. After Jon stated heartfelt pleasantries to his aunt and sister, he slowly rose to his feet to exit the room. As he walked away from the conversation he felt at peace in, Jon allowed himself once last glance back at Daenerys’ full face, charming violet eyes, and her sweet lips. A happy smile graced his lips as he exited her chambers.

Jon stood two sword lengths away from the Sword of the Morning, who was wielding a practice sword instead of his legendary great sword Dawn. Despite knowing most of the moves that Arthur was capable of, Jon still wished to practice properly. He would let the more experienced knight take the lead in their duel, studying his style.

Arthur’s first strike was a looping slash to Jon’s right, which he easily deflected. He did not strike back at Arthur quick enough and was forced to duck under a cut to his left. This time, a quick strike was the answer from Jon, but his opponent had flicked his sword into a reverse grip, blocking the high strike from Jon.

This first sequence appeared to be over, as Jon and Arthur were stood in their starting stance. Jon initiated the next sequence, attempting a feint to the right followed by a slash to the left, but his movements were too slow, and Jon was forced to jump back to narrowly avoid a slash from Arthur. Jon’s opponent was now on the front foot, and Jon was stuck in a defensive stance. Block, after block, after block, before a double block and a sidestep was enough to remove him from the predicament.

Their duel lasted longer than any they had shared before Jon left for the North; Jon hoped he had impressed Ser Arthur. Jon’s stamina was draining, and he knew something special would have to happen for him to win the duel. A rather straight slash from Ser Arthur provided Jon his opportunity to use a trick he had been taught by Theon. Jon tossed his sword from his right to left, leaned back, and quickly slashed at Arthur’s side with his left hand, landing the blow.

Jon was visibly exhausted, and in comparison, Arthur looked like he had barely broken a sweat. Together they walked to the water.

“You’ve improved, more than I’d have hoped. It seems you’ve discovered some tricks as well,” Arthur paused to allow a soft chuckle from Jon. “You could’ve executed it better. Quite lazy as it was, I’d say.”

“It worked,” Jon rebuked him.

“Yes, but if I’m fighting with my second sword you’ve lost. It was good, but if your footwork is better then that may become a useful weapon against the proper opponent.”

Jon simply nodded affirmation before dumping a bucket of water over his head.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Visenya Targaryen

“I hope your feelings for your Stark cousins have not eclipsed yours for us as your feelings for the North have eclipsed King’s Landing,” Visenya’s aunt and closest friend, Daenerys Targaryen, stated.

“Never!” Visenya replied with disgust plaguing her face, “I do love them though, they are like a second family to me.”

“Tell me, Senya, how are they? The Starks. We should be seeing them soon at the Tourney,” Daenerys lowered her voice and continued with a wink, “and I hear one of us could be marrying Robb Stark?”

“Like I stated they are akin to a second family. Arya was my best friend in the North. I assume you know the stories about my mother when she was young,” Visenya paused, allowing Daenerys to nod before continuing, “and she is said to be my mother born again. She likes archery and sparring, like myself, and I would often help her escape her sewing classes to come to the yard and practice with me. Bran is a little brother to me. As is Rickon, and our mother’s namesake a little sister. Sansa would be at home in the King’s Landing court; she is a proper lady. Although our interests could not differ more, we still were friends. Robb, when he was not with Theon, was a close friend. I assume he sees me like a sister and I imagine it would be difficult for him to marry me. Although I view him similarly and marrying him would be nothing different than the traditions our family has practiced, I prefer others. For you, however…” Visenya used a wink to complete her thought.

“Is he fair to look upon?” Daenerys questioned.

“He is built strong. The times when we would watch the boys swim, either in the Wolfswood or the Godswood, his chiseled body was very much on display. Robb has charming blue eyes and a well-shaped face. His thick hair favors his Tully half over his Stark half. Robb’s mind is sharp, and his nature is a Tully mirror of his father. He is not dull though; there is some of the Northern wildness in him,” Visenya responded.

“Has he slept with a woman yet?” Daenerys queried, who seemed quite bored with the discussion.

“No, but he has kissed several. However, if you were asking about Theon that answer would be the opposite.”

“And Jon?”

“No one. He would be with Theon and Robb and other girls, but he always assured me he never engaged with the girls,” Visenya assured her, “You know that’s not in his nature.”

“I know. I’d just not seen him for two years so I had a little worry he had changed. Either of the Stark girls could be married to him or Aegon, I’ve heard.” Daenerys stated.

“I doubt Sansa or Arya would marry Jon. Aegon, however… Sansa is a traditional Westerosi noblewoman, of course she’d dream of marrying the future king. Arya currently plans to live single for the rest of life, although I’m sure that will change,” Visenya informed her. Daenerys nodded her head in understanding.

Visenya changed the topic, “How was life on Dragonstone and here in King’s Landing?”

“It was nice, lonely sometimes because I was largely by myself. Viserys… he…” Daenerys hesitated and took a deep breath before continuing, “he is Viserys. You know his nature. Baelor, Vaera, and Rhaenyra are all nearly two years younger than me, and they enjoy the company of each other akin to us and Jon. And there us only so much time I can bear to spend with my mother and with your parents.”

“Dany, if Viserys has done anything to wrong you, you need only tell me, or any of us, and we will do our best to stop him. Is he here?”

“No. He and my mother are on Dragonstone. They plan to arrive before the tourney,” Daenerys informed her.

“And the three little ones?”

“They’re not so little now, Senya, but yes. They arrived from Claw Isle during the last moon.”

“I should go see them then,” Visenya hugged Daenerys, “It’s so good to see you again Dany.”

“And you as well, Senya. I will see you at the feast tonight.”

Visenya rose from the bed and made her way out of Daenerys’ chambers. She traversed through the hallway made of brick walls and walked across the marble floors towards the chambers of Baelor, Vaera, and Rhaenyra. Baelor’s were the first she checked, then Vaera’s, then Rhaenyra’s, but none contained her three siblings.

A long and thorough search of Maegor’s Holdfast and the Red Keep ensued. The Queen’s Ballroom, the Maidenvault, and the Small Council Chamber all were empty, save for a servant here and there. It was not until Visenya entered the Godswood that she heard voices bouncing around the trees. These voices were easily identified as Baelor, Vaera, and Rhaenyra.

Visenya called out their names, and a response came from Baelor, “Come find us!”

Visenya simply sighed and continued her path into the Godswood. Baelor was stood behind an elm tree near the sturdy great oak that was the heart of the Godswood. Rhaenyra was hidden in the smokeberry vines that smothered the thick great oak, and Vaera was hidden behind a black cottonwood that stood tall, dwarfing the elm, to the other side of the great oak.

“You three aren’t very good at hiding,” Visenya noted.

“If we were actually trying you would never find us,” Baelor rebuked her. His sentiments were echoed by the two daughters of Mylenda Celtigar. Visenya simply laughed.

“It is good to see you again, little ones,” Visenya warmly said.

“You’re not much older than us, Senya,” Vaera released the remark this time.

“I do not wish to debate this with you three as our first conversation after being reunited after two years.” The unhostile standoff quickly came to an end as all three rushed forward to meet Visenya with a hug.

“It is good to see you again, big sister,” one of them murmured. Visenya attempted to mutter a response, but she was not sure if the words left her mouth.

Once they took a step back Visenya assessed her younger siblings. Baelor took after his father, tall and slightly slim. He had long silver hair, deep violet eyes, and fingers matching the elegance that describes his father’s own. Baelor was a true Valyrian. His twin sister, Vaera, was no great beauty, although her face would be considered fair to most men in the kingdoms. Her face was emboldened by her deep violet eyes that matched her brother, and it was lathered in the traditional Valyrian features. The twins bore the Celtigar name, but their sister younger by a year was named a Targaryen. Rhaenyra, although she had not yet reached 12, had a beauty that all could see. The elder female Targaryen children would be named amongst the most beautiful in the world, but Rhaenyra already seemed as if she would surpass their beauty. She possessed soft violet eyes, a perfect nose, flush lips, and slender cheeks. Slender also applied to her frame, but based on her siblings there was potential for her body to grow.

“Senya?” Visenya was snapped out of her thoughts by an innocent query from Rhaenyra.

“Yes, sweet sister?” Visenya responded.

“Can we walk together? I wish to speak to you about… something,” Rhaenyra questioned. Visenya nodded her head and led her youngest sibling away from the twins. From the look on her face, Visenya could tell something was amiss.

“What’s wrong, Rhaenyra?” Visenya asked as she saw tears forming in her little sister’s sweet violet eyes.

She sniffed before responding, “Baelor… he…” she struggled to continue.

“What about Baelor?” Visenya’s voice was soft.

“I… I saw him and Vaera kissing.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s inevitable,” Visenya replied.

Rhaenyra sniffed again before her reply came, “I don’t understand. I like him, and I thought he liked me.”

Visenya pat her sister on the head before speaking a truth Rhaenyra would have to face, “Rhaenyra, listen to me, and understand this. Since they were born, it was planned for them to marry. Baelor will rule Claw Isle after his grandfather dies, and Vaera will sit by his side. And their children will rule Claw Isle after them for generations to come. Before you complain about it being unfair, these things will always happen. Perhaps one day he will return your feelings, and you may have him, even if only for a night. But, Rhaenyra, you may also learn that these feelings you possess are fleeting and you will find someone that you love truly.” After seeing the look upon Rhaenyra’s face, Visenya feared she may have said too much too fast, and perhaps too early as well.

“But… I like him. Only him,” Rhaenyra’s reply was simple.

Visenya sighed, “You are one of the greatest beauties of Westeros, and you are a Targaryen. If Father allows you to choose, then you will have a selection of every unmarried young man in Westeros. Stark, Tyrell, Martell, Tully, and every other great house in Westeros, all would willingly marry their heirs to you.”

“But I want him.”

Another sigh escaped Visenya’s mouth, “You’ve come to me with this problem, and I’ve advised you as best I can. If you wish for a different option, then perhaps you can ask Rhaenys when she returns.” Their conversation reached an end as they arrived at the door to Rhaenyra’s chambers.

“I love you, Senya.”

“I love you too, little sister. See you tonight at the feast.”

Recalling Ser Arthur’s earlier statement to her, Visenya decided to make her way to the training yard. She assumed that Ser Arthur and Jon would likely be done sparring, and the legendary knight had promised her a session.

She arrived to the sight of her brother dumping a bucket of water over his head. His wet tunic was stuck to his body, revealing his chiseled shape.

“Ser Arthur? I believe you promised me a spar.”

“Yes, my princess. Before we spar, I would like to see your archery skills.”

Visenya bowed her head and followed her mentor to the archery range. Grabbing a bow and a handful of arrows, she found her station, positioned at the center of the three targets. The two outside targets sat a short distance closer than the center target. Visenya’s first arrow struck near the middle of the center target. Her second struck the second target with a near perfect aim. Her arrow aimed at the right target hit its mark. Visenya’s second attempt at the middle target succeeded. She shifted her feet and her fifth arrow struck the left target, creating a cross at the base of the two arrows. Her sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth arrows all struck their mark, with her final attempt at the center target middling her two previous arrows.

“I don’t think we’re going to be seeing much of the archery range in the future,” Ser Arthur jested, turning, and walking back to take a practice sword off the rack. Visenya keenly followed him. As she grabbed her own sword, Visenya noticed, out of the corner of the eye, Jon sat in the stands, waiting to watch her spar rather than heading back to his chambers to bathe.

Visenya started off by taking charge of the duel. She stole steps forward when she could, slashing at Ser Arthur’s right and attempting swift cuts at his body on his left side. Every strike from Visenya was matched by the Sword of the Morning. Despite being forced onto the backfoot, Ser Arthur’s blocks and foot movement were still calculated with the precision that would be expected from him.

Visenya’s rapid barrage of strikes often won her duels in the North, but her current opponent possessed greater skill than anyone she had ever faced. Ser Arthur hopped away from Visenya’s latest swing, allowing him to counter. His strike was at her hand, disarming her, and granting him a victory.

“Well fought, princess. You have become a formidable fighter, although an excellent opponent will likely find a gap in your defense.”

Visenya nodded, always valuing the legendary swordsman’s advice. Following the actions of her brother, she found a bucket to pour over her head to hopefully wash away the sweat. Visenya was thankful the court was not watching the day’s sparring, for the soaked shirt pressed against her body showed the shape of her full breasts; all eyes would have stared at her emboldened shape.

Rhaenys Targaryen

“I hereby name Andrion, of Antlerhall, the new lord of this castle. He shall rule from this chair, and his word shall govern Antlerhall and its demesne. He shall collect its taxes, command its men, and cull its crops,” Aegon paused for applause from the crowd, “Although this man does not come from noble descent, his mind is as sharp and his heart as just as any nobleman I have come to know. He may choose his own house name, sigil, and words in the coming days.”

Aegon stood and beckoned the newly named Lord Andrion to the chair. Rhaenys’ prince and lover stepped aside, allowing the new lord to take his place in the high seat in the hall. As he took his seat, the small court once again broke into applause for their new ruler.

Rhaenys greatly admired her brother for the way he commanded the hall, and the authority he had possessed when he named the new lord. After the title was bestowed upon Andrion, the Targaryens and their party had left the castle. Their next destination was Bronzegate, where they would stay a night before advancing down the Kingsroad.

The days passed, and from the windows of the wheelhouse Rhaenys watched the mountains collapse into the Earth, before rising once again after they passed Felwood. Felwood, as its name suggested, laid inside the Kingswood, and the thick forest delayed their journey much to the dislike of her brother. Although they considered accepting the offer of hospitality from the lord of House Fell, the castle adorned with banners depicting five trees and a curved moon on a black background soon fell into the distance. If the traveling party wasted more time on the roads, they risked missing the start of the Heir’s Tourney. It would not be much of an Heir’s Tourney if there was no heir at the ceremonies.

Arianne had opposed the decision to pass Felwood, for she felt that it was a missed opportunity to guarantee the loyalty of a lord. Rhaenys knew that her disappointment soon passed. Nearly the instant they reentered the wheelhouse following their meeting with the lord of House Fell, she was disrobed by Aegon and Rhaenys, and the three continued the sex that had been constant throughout their journey from Antlerhall.

Rhaenys and Arianne had only left the wheelhouse for the meeting, but Aegon was obliged to participate in a small hunt on one day. Those hours had been spent discussing the men that would be at the court in King’s Landing, as well as what the future might hold.

The night before they arrived in Bronzegate, Arianne queried Rhaenys after Aegon had spilled his seed inside her, “Have your younger siblings developed habits similar to yours and Aegon’s?”

“I would doubt it. Jon and Daenerys both hold feelings for each other, but I can’t see either initiating the next step. Before we all went on our journeys to different ends of the kingdom, I remember Visenya confessing to me that she possessed feelings for Jon. I believe her feelings were unrequited at the time, but that could have changed during their time in the North.”

“It appears they need a bit of goading,” Arianne half-jested.

“I’d fuck Dany and Senya,” Aegon muttered, but neither woman heeded his words.

“Not from you, Ari. I know my siblings, and they would take kindest to advice from me rather than a stranger they’ve never known,” Rhaenys warned.

“You did not mention your youngest siblings?”

“I am not sure if they had even reached 10 name days by the time we left,” Rhaenys replied, “But I do know Baelor and Vaera will be married. And you know the tales that have been told of Rhaenyra’s beauty.”

“She should be yours as well then, to continue the beauty through your heirs,” Arianne suggested.

Rhaenys and Aegon laughed in unison before Aegon replied in an annoyed tone, “Father doesn’t even want me to marry Rhaenys, I doubt he, or the faith would allow me to marry Rhaenyra as well.”

“When you are the king, you’ll be able to make the decision yourself,” Arianne retorted.

Another laugh followed from the Targaryen siblings, before Rhaenys replied, “Father is eight-and-thirty, I doubt Aegon will be king for a long time. The reconstruction of Summerhall will be complete before Aegon becomes king.”

Arianne sighed, “I grow bored of this talk. A long day at Bronzegate filled with pleasantries and a feast awaits us tomorrow, and I need a thorough fucking before being forced to sit through that.” She glanced down at Aegon’s hardening cock and glanced up at Rhaenys. Both girls smirked and began a battle to get his manhood in their mouth.

Rhaenys awoke to a bulge pressing into her belly, and a sleeping Aegon beneath her. Arianne was still laid asleep next to them, with her perky tits pointed in the air. Rhaenys lifted her head slightly to peer out a window, and groggily stared at the castle of Bronzegate. It was sat upon the peak of a hill, and their party would have to travel a road with many bends and turns to reach the entrance. Above the entrance hung three blue banners, each with three gold circles on it. From a distance the details could not be determined, but Rhaenys knew from her lessons they were brass buckles, and these banners belonged to House Buckler.

Rhaenys’ head dropped to her brother, his eyes still closed and in deep sleep. The hard cock bulging into her had begun to make her wet. Her better judgement advised her they did not have time to make love and be prepared to make their arrival at Bronzegate, but her body betrayed her brain. Rhaenys slowly lifted her hips and positioned her brother’s cock beneath it. She then slowly lowered herself back down onto his cock, slowly letting him penetrate her cunt, causing her to release a soft moan.

Rhaenys did not wish to startle her brother, and her only movement was the constant slow roll of her hips. Arianne’s eyes were the first to open from the remaining sleepers, and her reaction to the sight happening next to her was a small chuckle before closing her eyes seeking more sleep. Rhaenys paused her rolling hips, allowing herself to fully sink onto Aegon’s cock, forcing her to release another moan. This break allowed her hips some rest, and it gave Rhaenys the chance to reach to the side and slide her fingers into Arianne’s cunt. Her eyes opened once again, and Rhaenys found them trained on her own.

“I remember when you first came to Dorne, an innocent girl who had not yet lost her maidenhood. Now that innocent girl is riding her brother’s cock every time she sees it hard,” Arianne informed Rhaenys.

This time it was Rhaenys who chuckled before stating with a smirk, “I think we should wake him up now.” Arianne rolled on her side and planted her lips on Aegon’s and she stretched an arm across his chest. Rhaenys began bouncing on his cock, riding him as hard as he could. The sound from her ass colliding with his legs echoed through the wheelhouse.

To Rhaenys it certainly seemed an effective way to wake her brother, as his eyes were open and admiring her bouncing its and rippling body. He gently removed his lips from Arianne’s but showed her his affection by squeezing her perfect breasts.

She thought he might reprimand her for they had decided the previous night they would not make love in the morning, but he only sighed and murmured, “I am the luckiest man in the world,” but following some thought he amended his claim, “Father is. Rhae, you are my Lyanna, Ari, you are my Elia, but I am not lucky enough to have a Mylenda yet.”

“And who will be your Mylenda?” Arianne questioned, “Sansa Stark? Margaery Tyrell? Perhaps Asha Greyjoy? Another of your sisters? Or might you look to Essos? The Maegyrs are close descendants of the Valyrians, and I’ve heard their women are quite stunning.”

“It will happen naturally Ari,” Rhaenys responded for her brother, “Akin to how his love developed for us.” Her reply ended with a scream of joy, for she had finished and found her satisfaction. Aegon was yet to spill his seed inside her, outlasting her for the first time in what had felt like years.

Rhaenys dismounted Aegon, allowing Arianne the opportunity to ride him and have her fun. But when Aegon was close to finishing, Arianne allowed Rhaenys to return to her original spot. Rhaenys began riding her brother again, but by the third collision of her ass on his legs she could already feel his warm seed coating her walls. For Rhaenys, that was the best feeling in the world. She also moaned deep with pleasure as she slowly lifted herself off his cock. Rhaenys could feel some of his seed seeping out of her cunt, but without a word Arianne was in position to lick it up.

Rhaenys looked out the window once more, and what she saw caused a panicked reaction. They had nearly reached the main gate of Bronzegate, but the trio was sweating and smelled of sex.

Rhaenys watched her brother call out to the captain of his guards. When the man opened the door to their wheelhouse, his eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene before him; a nude prince and his sister sat with the nude Princess of Dorne.

“Inform Lord Ralph Buckler and all waiting in the courtyard that the Prince and Princesses do not feel presentable following their journey. Clear all from the courtyard to allow us to walk to our chambers with no one to interfere,” Aegon commanded. The captain of the guards bowed his head in affirmation, shock still clear on his face.

Arianne laughed and assured her companions, “He’ll be understanding and fully loyal, if he was not already, by tonight, have no doubt.” Rhaenys and Aegon just laughed.

Rhaenys hastily slipped on the nearest dress she could find. She watched Aegon slip on a tunic and some breeches, and the siblings had to convince Arianne that it was improper to walk through the courtyard nude, even though there were no viewers. The risk certainly would have provided a great thrill, but the positions held by all three rendered the risk too great to take. It was still obvious to Rhaenys that Arianne wanted a thrill, as she slid into a Dornish dress with a plunging neckline that reached near to her stomach. The Dornish princess also tucked the dress around her right breast, baring it in a Qartheen style. All three had not dressed in smallclothes; the outline of Rhaenys’ nipples was clearly visible through the dress, the breast that Arianne had not bared was covered in so little clothing that one could imagine it fully, and Aegon’s bulge was visible through his breeches.

Rhaenys looked around the wheelhouse at the three lovers, knowing that they should savor this time, where they could fool around and act how they wished. They would soon be back in King’s Landing, where nothing but exceptional behavior was expected from princes and princesses.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Daenerys Targaryen

There was a feast that night in King’s Landing, celebrating the return of Jon and Visenya. It was also one of the last nights the Targaryen family would enjoy to themselves, as the great houses of the realm would begin arriving for the Heir’s Tourney. Aegon and Rhaenys were also expected to arrive in the coming days.

The feast was held in the Small Hall, within the Tower of the Hand. The Great Hall was currently being prepared for the extravagant feasts that would be held during the Tourney. The attendance for this lesser feast would be the Targaryen family, the Small Council, and some of the lesser courtiers that permanently resided in King’s Landing.

Sat at the center of the main table was her brother, King Rhaegar Targaryen. The chair he sat upon was not overly luxurious and decorated; its main difference from the other chairs was the size and broadened shape of the seat. To his left sat his wife, Queen Elia Martell. Beside Elia sat Rhaegar’s concubine Mylenda Celtigar. The two Celtigar twins, Baelor and Vaera, resided in the chairs to her left, and Rhaenyra completed that end of the table. The first on her brother’s right was his other wife, Lyanna Stark. Jon and Visenya occupied the two seats to their mother’s right. Seated next to Visenya was Daenerys. And much to Daenerys’ disappointment, her brother Viserys occupied the place next to her, the final on their side of the main table. She would consider herself blessed if she did not enter any conversation with him that night. Small pleasantries and the court of King’s Landing walking to the main table to welcome Jon and Visenya occupied the first portion of the feast. It was rather dull. Jon and Visenya were busy with their welcomes, and Daenerys held no interest in conversation with Viserys. A small respite came when the primary course is served.

Everyone blocked their appetites as Rhaegar rose to address the feast, “It has brought great warmth to me on this day to welcome home my two Northern Targaryens, Prince Jon and Princess Visenya. Although many of you may be awaiting the Heir’s Tourney and the spectacle it brings, I, for one, am glad to have this small feast with just my family and court. Now for a toast! To Jon and Visenya!”

“Jon and Visenya!” the attendance of the feast echoed.

Daenerys’ attention shifted to the savory venison that now rested upon her plate. Delectable juices dripped from the succulent selection that had been presented, pooling around plump meat, creating a moat between it and the other pieces that adorned the plate. An extravagant selection of fruits and vegetable decorated the edges; in King’s Landing these often tasted as good as the centerpiece.

The dish provided Daenerys with a distraction from the tension that stood between her and her brother. Several japes and jests were shared between herself and Visenya, with Jon proving a more brooding figure at the feast. She attempted to eat her plate at a pace that would make an aurochs appear swift. Daenerys’ efforts succeeded, for she was still enjoying her dish when Jon and Visenya were prompted to tell tales from their time in the North. Fortunately for Daenerys, this allowed her to shift her attention from the venison to the tales, without spending any time in a tense silence.

Great tales of the Wolfswood, battles with wildlings south of the Wall, and some bawdy stories of Theon in Winter Town.

After allowing them to share some of their experiences, Rhaegar stood and declared, “Tonight, I give the first dance to my son and daughter.” An embarrassed expression arose on Jon’s face as he stood from the chair, with his emotion being matched by his younger sister. Jealousy was the plague to Daenerys’ expression as her gaze followed them around the table to the center of the Small Hall. For the first time that night, Daenerys chanced a glance at her brother, Viserys.

“Don’t like that, do you?” he asked with a slightly aggressive intent. Daenerys’ response spoke for her, as she turned her face and trained her eyes back on the dancing pair. The first song soon came to an end, and as Daenerys rose to find her way to Jon and ask for a dance, her wrist was grabbed by Viserys; he insisted that she share her first dance with him.

Disgust was painted on Daenerys’ face throughout the duration of the song. She quickly escaped his grasp for the welcoming clutches of Daenerys.

“Has that bastard acted like this the duration of our time away?” A small feeling of warmth spread through Daenerys; it pleased her to know that Jon noticed and studied her during a feast held in his honor.

“He… I shall speak with you later, Jon. Forget about him for now, let us enjoy this dance,” Daenerys replied. A feeling of content grasped Daenerys during their slow dance. Following the song’s end, and a woman of the court requesting Jon’s next dance, Daenerys excused herself claiming she wished to use the privy, but the true reason was that there was no other man she wished to even consider sharing a dance with.

Her journey to and from the privy was filled with thoughts of nearly every emotion.

Upon her return, her eyes searched the hall, first for Jon, then Visenya. Her gaze landed to the sight of neither. Her much elder half-sister, Lyanna, noticed the concerned shape that molded her face.

“If you are searching for my children, I believe they have gone to the training yard, to spar,” Lyanna informed her.

“Thank you, good-sister. If anyone should inquire after me, inform them that is where I have gone,” Daenerys replied with her thanks and a request.

It was a hot summer night with a light breeze gracing the air. Daenerys was descending the last staircase required on the path to the training yard when she could begin to hear the swords clanging in the distance. At the sight of the noise, she found Jon and Visenya locked in an intense battle. From her little knowledge of battle, it appeared that Jon was skillfully attacking and dominating Visenya. But, Daenerys also saw Visenya deftly deflecting every strike from Jon, not allowing his sword to reach her body.

Against any opponent Jon would have likely finished the battle. But against Visenya, Daenerys could she her niece had a perfect understanding of Jon, and each move he would make. Once again, jealousy crept upon her face. A pause in the spar ensued after a swift counter from Visenya struck Jon.

“Am I interrupting?” Daenerys queried.

“Never,” Jon said with a wry smile.

“A feast in your honor and you both left to spar? I understand if this was to happen any other feast, but one held for you? Don’t you think your absence will be noticed?”

“It looks like it already has, Dany,” her nephew replied, the wry smile still painted upon his lips.

“It is because of that reason, Dany, that we are out here. The feast in our honor,” Visenya clarified, “most nights in the North, be it after a feast or not, me, Jon, and Arya would find a place to spar. We thought it was fitting that we would spar tonight.”

“You speak of Arya most times you mention the North,” Daenerys declared.

“The three of us were near inseparable,” Visenya explained.

“Do you think I would be friends with her?” Daenerys questioned.

Jon and Visenya laughed before Visenya replied, “No. Her only interest is with swords and adventure that does not suit highborn ladies. Perhaps Sansa, but she acts too perfect.”

Both had a wistful look upon their face, causing Daenerys to question what memories they were rediscovering.

Visenya answered first, “There was one night, in the Wolfswood. We had escaped the guards and had found one of the sparkling, hidden pools to swim in. Soon after, it began raining, and we were alone. The sun was already setting. The three of us gathered our clothes and found an empty cave, likely an abandoned wolf or bear den. There, we spent the night until guards finally found us in the morning.”

“And Jon?” Daenerys inquired.

“The sword I gave her, Needle. I had the blacksmith craft it in secret, and I gave it to her the day before we left,” Jon did not have a way with words, but the emotion in his voice helped tell his story.

“Then you both must be awaiting the Starks’ arrival in King’s Landing for the Tourney,” Daenerys replied, with a touch of bitterness seeping into her voice.

“Of course! We had planned one more bout, and I think I speak for the both of us when I say we would love for you to stay and watch,” Visenya offered. Jon affirmed her statement, as Daenerys found a seat to view their last battle for the night.

This spar ended with a victory for Jon, after a hard-fought encounter.

Following that, the trio began to make their way back to Maegor’s Holdfast, and their chambers. Their walk consisted of many jests and complaints, but Daenerys did not miss the glances Visenya would throw at Jon. To her relief, Jon never returned them with an expression matching Visenya’s.

As they reached their chambers, Daenerys inquired, “Jon? May I speak to you quickly?”

“Of course, Dany,” Jon replied, “I’ll see you on the morrow, Senya.” Jon opened the door to his chambers and led Daenerys through to his bedchamber. Daenerys followed him and sat on his bed, indicating that he should join her. He did, only after removing his sweaty top.

“What’s the matter?” Jon immediately noticed something was playing on her mind.

Before she could respond, he questioned again, “Is it Viserys?” She nodded her answer.

“If he has done anything to you, I swear…” Jon left his thought unfinished.

“There is nothing that would require you to provoke him. Now that you are here and we are back in King’s Landing with Rhaegar there is nothing that he could now do,” Daenerys assured him and shivered before continuing, “But on Dragonstone, he… he would come to my chambers at night and force me to remove my clothes. He would kiss me, caress and pinch my breasts, squeeze and slap my ass,” Daenerys began crying.

She was the recipient of a comforting hug from Jon, who bid her to relax and finish her story.

“Viserys would kiss me… down there; he would bite my breasts. Also, he,” Daenerys sniffed, “most often he would put his cock in my mouth and make me swallow his seed, although other times he would spill on my breasts. He ran his cock along my folds and my ass, telling me ‘One day, once I am married to you, I will be able to have you fully, and whenever I wish.’ He always wore a devilish grin when he said that. And I never told Rhaegar, because…”

“I know. He will not be attempting anything while I am here,” Jon replied, “And I do not see myself leaving this place without you,” Jon assured her.

“I am still scared he will try; he could sneak through the hidden passageways at night to come to my bedchamber. And I fear he would do worse if he learned that you knew,” Daenerys replied.

“Then sleep in my chambers, with me. He could not do anything with you here, protected by my arms,” Jon invited. Daenerys eagerly accepted his proposal with a long, deep kiss.

Daenerys remained still as she watched Jon continue to undress, his nude form walking around his chambers until it finally disappeared under his covers. She rose and began to undress herself. Daenerys slipped out of her dress, standing in only her smallclothes. She paused for a second, hesitating, unsure whether she would remove those as well. Daenerys eventually decided that she would, because it was Jon that she was to lay next to.

Her smallclothes dropped to the floor, and she made her way to the bed to rest beside Jon. He lifted the covers for her as best as he could, allowing her to slide into his bed. Jon’s arms reached out and enclosed her in a warm embrace, and she moved her form tight upon his. It did not matter to her that his hardness pressed into her belly, nor her breasts into his chest. Their lips melted into a calming kiss, leading Daenerys into sleep.

Rhaenys Targaryen

They were finally back home in King’s Landing. Unlike their arrival at previous castles and cities, Rhaenys, Aegon, and Arianne were riding atop horses at the front of their party. Although Rhaenys had greatly enjoyed her time in Dorne, she had looked forward to her return to the city of her birth and seeing her family. Rhaenys hoped that they had not learned of what was happening between her, Arianne, and her brother. She would have to take care to not publicly display affection for Aegon. Even in private they would have to be careful, for the walls of the Red Keep had eyes and ears.

Her mind was torn away from her thoughts when Aegon reached out a hand to take her own.

In response, she slapped it away, whispering, “Not here. We cannot risk anything.”

“And risk father thinking we do not care for each other and let him freely marry us off?” Aegon shot back.

“We shall solve that problem when it arises. Until then, let us act the perfect Prince and Princess.”

Arianne snorted, “Let the whole of King’s Landing know you are fucking each other. It would leave no choice but for your father to see you married.”

“Although I am sure Aegon would be fine shirking responsibility,” Rhaenys shot her brother a glare, “It would not be proper.”

Silence fell upon the group as they made their way towards the Dragon Gate. The gate was already opened, and they could already hear the crowds cheering from inside the gates.

“You ready?” Rhaenys asked Aegon with a smirk.

“Here we go,” he replied with feigned ignorance. She knew he loved the attention.

The flush crowds filled the streets of King’s Landing from the Dragon Gate and extended through to the Great Hall. Inside the Throne Room were the nobler spectators, sat upon increasing benches enclosing the path to the base of the Iron Throne. King Rhaegar Targaryen was atop the Throne, dressed in a red and black doublet. The crown upon his head was not the same that adorned his father’s; he had melted it after he took the Throne. His new crown had some similarities to Aegon the Conqueror’s in appearance; it was a golden band, as opposed to the Valyrian steel circlet that Aegon I wore, set with square-cut rubies.

In unison, Rhaenys and Aegon dismounted their horses and walked to the base of the Throne. There, they knelt and bowed their heads before their King.

“Rise, my children,” Rhaegar stated, “Come join me by my side.” He beckoned his children forward to stand with the rest of the Royal Family beside the Throne.

Rhaenys and Aegon went to opposite sides of the Throne, with Aegon taking his place directly beside the Throne, and Rhaenys standing between her mother and Jon.

After that unnecessary display was finished, Arianne descended from her horse and strode to the base of the Iron Throne. She matched Rhaenys and Aegon’s earlier actions by kneeling and bowing her head before the King.

“Rise, Princess Arianne of Dorne.” She rose to her feet.

“Your Grace, I am here on behalf of Dorne, to represent our great kingdom at the Heir’s Tourney.”

“Welcome, Arianne. You shall enjoy every hospitality King’s Landing has to offer during your stay. You shall be shown your chambers after court is dismissed,” Rhaegar informed her.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Arianne responded with another bow.

Eventually, the court was adjourned, and Rhaenys could finally greet her family. In turn, she hugged Jon, her mother, Lyanna, Mylenda, her youngest siblings, Daenerys, then lastly Visenya, who whispered in her ear.

“I know you have just returned, but may I steal you away for a quick talk?”

Rhaenys sighed before replying, “You know I could never deny you, little sister. Where shall we go?”

Visenya led her back to her chambers, offering a seat in her solar. She possessed a quaint solar, unlike the grand one of their father, but it was the same size of Aegon’s and her own. As with any solar, there were many shelves filled with books, but the content of Visenya’s differed greatly from her own. Visenya possessed collections detailing Valyrian steel swords and tales of the greatest battles in history. Rhaenys’ solar held tales of great dramas and histories of their family.

“What troubles you, Senya?”

“Jon… and Dany. Last night, they both slept in Jon’s chambers,” Visenya told her.

“And you do not like this?” Rhaenys replied.

“No, because I… Jon…”

Visenya did not know how to finish her thought, so Rhaenys completed it for her, “You love him.”

“Yes.”

“And you worry he only cares for Dany, and not you?” Visenya nodded her confirmation.

“You spent a year together in the North, the two of you. Jon would be a fool if he did not care for you in that way. And I do not think Daenerys would be greatly opposed to you joining as a third. Aegon and I warmly welcomed Arianne to our bed.”

Visenya sighed, “Rhae, I don’t have the confidence to say or attempt anything. You would, but I don’t.”

Rhaenys hugged Visenya, whispering, “I’ll try as best I can to help you, Senya.”

She departed from her little sister’s chambers and crossed the brick hallway to her aunt’s. Rhaenys entered to find Daenerys sliding out of the dress she wore at the ceremony earlier, likely to wear more comfortable clothes for the remainder of the day before the feast.

“Dany!” Rhaenys made her presence know.

“Rhae!” Daenerys replied warmly, starting to dress in some breeches, “You ran away with Visenya so quick after your arrival I did not have time to properly welcome you.”

“Yes, and I can only apologize for that. She had something urgent she wanted to discuss with me.”

“I believe I can guess what the conversation was about. Before you ask, no, I don’t wish to consult about it now. For you, however, how are Aegon and Arianne?” Daenerys asked with a wink.

Rhaenys blushed a deep red and replied, “Are the tales of us that well known?”

“I would not say they are considered truth by the masses, but the reports of the Prince and Princess becoming fast friends with the Princess of Dorne was enough for me to make my assumptions,” Daenerys informed her.

“Enough talk of me. Have there been any changes to your love life?”

“I…” Daenerys hesitated, giving room for Rhaenys to jump in.

“Don’t tell me Viserys has done anything,” Daenerys’ response was only a nod, allowing Rhaenys to continue, “I hope he has not taken your maidenhead?”

“No. And he will not, Jon has allowed me to-”

Rhaenys cut her off, “Yes. I know about last night. I pray your experiences with Viserys will not make you less willing with Jon.”

“I don’t think they will. I think I have nearly reached the point of eagerness to advance things with Jon, because I want to know the feeling of being with someone I truly love. I don’t wish to rush it though; I think we are waiting for the moment that feels right.”

“That holds virtue, Dany. If you wish to learn how it should be with him, you would never be denied entry to Aegon’s bedchamber to see him with me and Arianne,” Rhaenys invited.

“That would not be-”

Rhaenys cut her off, firmly insisting, “You are family, and family has nothing to hide from one another. If it would give you any aid in perfecting things with Jon, our knowledge is a book laid open to you.”

“I appreciate your offer, Rhae. I look forward to seeing you at the feast; hopefully, we can speak about your time in Dorne.”

“And I look forward to hearing your tales of King’s Landing and our family. See you tonight, Dany,” Rhaenys replied, rising and exiting Daenerys’ chambers.

After she left, she saw both Jon and Visenya hurriedly rushing out of their chambers.

“What’s happening?” Rhaenys asked, questioning their frantic nature.

“The Starks have arrived!” Visenya exclaimed. Rhaenys rolled her eyes and followed them on their way to the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Aegon Targaryen

The following day brought the first day of the joust. As he was the Crown Prince, and he was competing in the joust, he had been granted a grand tent, complete with a bed and tub that would not be amiss in his normal chambers. In one corner stood three armor stands, each complete with different sets of the finest Targaryen armor. Near the center of the space lay a velvet couch, upon which sat his two nude lovers. Outside and guarding the entrance to his tent was his younger brother, and squire, Baelor Celtigar.

Aegon sauntered over to the red velvet couch, his clothes pooled behind him, and gently forced his way to sit between Rhaenys and Arianne. His hardened cock already began to receive attention from Arianne.

“You rode well this morning, brother,” Rhaenys told him.

Aegon shook off her compliment, “No one knew the name of the knight I fought before the bout, and no one knows his name now.”

“The whole of King’s Landing saw you knock him from his horse in one passing,” Rhaenys retorted. Aegon responded with a kiss. Their lips clashed, and his tongue begged for entry. Her mouth did not deny his request. Their mouths locked in a passionate kiss.

Arianne removed her hand from his cock and replaced it with her mouth, sliding it up and down his length. Aegon placed one of his hands on one of Rhaenys’ full, rounded tits, stroking it and gently squeezing it. His other hand reached over to attempt to grab Arianne’s ass. It was still seated, but once Arianne felt Aegon’s hand on her back, she repositioned herself onto her knees, all while keeping Aegon’s cock in her mouth. He truly relished having both women, two of the finest in the Seven Kingdoms, as his lovers. After the near year Aegon spent with the pair, he could no longer imagine a life without them. His thoughts continued as Rhaenys and Arianne switched roles; Rhaenys’ full lips now encircled his manhood and Arianne’s lips were locked with his own.

Aegon broke from his kiss with Arianne to beg, “Ride me, Rhae.” His sister complied, lifting her head from his cock, and slowly positioning her wet folds above his length. With a guiding hand from Aegon, she slowly descended onto his hard cock, releasing a moan in pleasure. She continued to slowly lift herself up and down, torturing her brother whom she knew wanted to be ridden swiftly. Rhaenys then began to roll her hips, making sure her ass slapped against him.

Aegon, playfully frustrated, pushed Arianne away, breaking their kiss. He lifted Rhaenys back up straight, gritting his teeth and slapping her breasts. After a couple hard slaps, he could tell his message was received, and he then moved both hands to her ass, forcefully squeezing and slapping her cheeks with as much strength as he could causing her to moan and cry out in pleasure.

Following several slaps, Aegon positioned his hands upon her hips, helping her to bounce up and down. She rode him at an incredible pace; their skin clapping sounded throughout the tent. Rhaenys’ perfect breasts danced around on her chest. He released a low growl, and Rhaenys’ moans were soon captured by Arianne’s mouth.

Aegon’s eyes followed Rhaenys’ hand reach down to Arianne’s cunt, and begin to please her with her fingers. Muffled moans began to come from Arianne, her sounds now the ones captured by Rhaenys’ lips. The olive-skinned Dornishwoman returned the Targaryen Princess’ favor, adding her fingers to Aegon’s cock in pleasuring her folds.

Aegon was at his happiest; nothing gave him greater joy than his throbbing manhood inside his sweet sister, with his stunning Dornish lover pleasing them both. He loved jousting and sparring, he loved great feasts, he loved when the smallfolk cheered his name, but nothing could compare to his two lovers.

Although Aegon was sure Rhaenys would ride him for all of time, she did not have infinite stamina. Her pace slowed, and she eventually slid her wet cunt off him. Arianne was eager to fill the void she left, but Aegon now wished to take charge. On her knees, she attempted to walk across the velvet couch to reach him. Aegon himself had begun to rise, and met her advance with a soft slap across her breasts.

“I want you from behind,” Aegon ordered.

“Feisty today, aren’t we?” Arianne jested, but, without complained, she turned around and positioned herself for Aegon to take her from behind. He grabbed her ass with both hands, firmly squeezing her cheeks. Aegon wished he possessed the patience to slide his cock across her ass and torture his lover, but he instead inserted his hardened manhood into her dripping folds and begun to thrust at a steady pace.

The slapping of his body against hers was accompanied by the occasional slap from Aegon across Arianne’s ass. Each spank caused a squeal from Arianne and Aegon could not tell if it was from pain or pleasure. He assumed it was both, for he continued his slaps as he fucked her from behind. Aegon was thrusting at as great a pace he could, and his efforts were rewarded by seeing Arianne’s ass bounce forward and back every time his body connected with her.

It was a joyous sight, made even better by seeing Rhaenys positioned with her legs spread by Arianne’s mouth, and with Arianne’s tongue pleasing her folds. Aegon wished to go another round with Rhaenys, but his hopes of that ended when he saw stars and spilled his seed inside Arianne. A loud moan of pleasure escaped his mouth as he finished inside her. He slowly withdrew his cock, dripping with seed, from her. A dream of the future flashed before his eyes at the sight of his seed dripping from her cunt, a dream of a King with two wives and ten lovely children.

Neither of his lovers had yet gotten their release, and Aegon was determined to see them pleased before he would have to return to the lists. He gave the lord’s kiss to Rhaenys, his tongue lapping the juices from the river that was her folds. Aegon’s tongue battled with her cunt until she moaned his name in pleasure from her release.

He was turning his attention to Arianne when he heard footsteps coming to a halt behind him. Aegon sharply twisted his body and his stunning violet eyes found a set matching his own. These eyes were widened, however, and Aegon could clearly see wide. This scene of Aegon, Arianne, and Rhaenys was unlikely to be what his little brother, Baelor Celtigar, was expecting to discover when he entered the Crown Prince’s tent. Baelor was standing guard outside Aegon’s tent and was meant to come in to warn him if someone wished to visit with him, or to prepare Aegon for his next tilt.

Fortunately for Aegon, this occasion appeared to be the latter, “Aegon, the battles in the joust today have passed quicker than one would assume. Only twelve more tilts remain before you are scheduled to fight.”

“At this rate the final should be held today,” Aegon jested, “Do you think I have time for a bath before my bout?” A loud cheer, presumably from the crowd attending the joust, briefly halted their conversation.

“It appears not,” Baelor advised, “That would be eleven tilts remaining now. I have a pail filled to the brim with water outside, I can bring it in and you can scrub yourself down with some rags.”

“That sounds fine, Baelor,” Aegon replied and turned himself back to his lovers, “I am afraid Rhaenys alone will have to give you release, Arianne.”

“I’m sure your little brother would be willing,” Arianne jested. Aegon was confident her statement was in jest, but he had learned from his time with the Dornishwoman that she could intend anything he assumed to be a jest.

Baelor carried in the bucket, with the occasional slosh of water over the edge and onto the ground. He poured the water into the tub and grabbed a cloth off the rack. He handed it to Aegon then went to position himself by the armor stands. He was halfway to his post before the trouble came.

“Baelor? It is rude not to greet your sister, is it not?” Rhaenys queried.

Baelor stammered, “I… I didn’t… I thought you would prefer if I pretended like I had not seen anything.”

“It is quite alright. We are family, are we not?” Rhaenys pointed out, and Baelor nodded his response, “Come, then. Have a seat between myself and Arianne.”

“Rhaenys…” Aegon warned. He received a glare in response from Rhaenys.

He was about to open his mouth again before Rhaenys cut him off, “You cannot deny that if you had any prior knowledge our,” Rhaenys thought for a moment, “intimacy would have had a much faster and smoother start.”

“Look where we are now,” Aegon shot back.

“Ignore our brother,” Rhaenys now directed her words to Baelor. Aegon shook his head and muttered curses under his breath as Baelor found a seat between his sister and Arianne.

“Tell me, Baelor, have you decided yet between Vaera and Rhaenyra?”

“Vaera is my twin, I cannot betray that.”

“You do not deny that you like Rhaenyra,” Rhaenys pointed out.

“You can always take them both,” Arianne chimed in, “And if you do not make clear your decision they could instead have each other and leave you out.”

Rhaenys laughed at her Dornish lover and questioned Baelor, “How far have you gone with Vaera?”

“A kiss, nothing more.”

“Do not rush it with her, and do not force her to do anything she is not ready for,” Rhaenys advised, “Your next step is like to be the lord’s kiss. Arianne has not yet had her release…”

“We can show him. But first, allow me this,” Arianne stated as she climbed on top of Baelor, pushing her tits in his face. At a slow pace, he began to roll her hips above his breeches. From where he was washing himself down, Aegon could see the bulge rising in Baelor’s breeches. He considered interrupting, but just sighed and decided to let Arianne have her way.

Aegon soon began to dress himself and turned around to call Baelor over to help with his armor. Fortunately, Baelor was no longer subject to his lovers’ attention, as he was only watching Rhaenys give the lord’s kiss to Arianne. Immediately following his beckon, Baelor hurried over to him to begin fitting him with his armor. Baelor was a skilled squire and could dress Aegon with his armor in under twenty minutes, a feat that would be considered impressive by most standards. Aegon appreciated his ability, for it gave him more time with Rhaenys and Arianne between bouts.

Aegon was stood beside his horse at his end of the field, waiting for the tilt before his to find its victor. Across the field, he could see his opponent, Ser Courtenay Greenhill, mounting his horse. Aegon preferred to spend little time in his saddle before a joust, and only climbed atop his destrier in the final moments between the end of the previous tilt and the start of his bout.

From the horse’s left side, Baelor first handed Aegon his shield, which he took with his left arm. Second, Aegon received his lance, which was to be a powerful extension of his right arm. The Crown Prince looked to the stands before he would make his first passing. Only Vaera, Rhaenyra, and Ser Jonothor Darry occupied the royal box on this day, but the remainder of the stands were nearly filled with smallfolk and lesser nobles alike.

The horn sounded for each rider to begin their charge. As his horse rode ahead, Aegon dug his heels into the stirrups. He instantly could tell Ser Courtenay’s horse was not as fast as his own, and their collision came nearer to Ser Courtenay’s side than Aegon’s, well past the midpoint of the barrier.

Aegon struck with his lance, a clean strike square to the center of his opponent’s breastplate. Ser Courtenay’s lance bounced off Aegon’s shield, barely making an impact. Aegon’s strike knocked Ser Courtenay Greenhill back; although he fought to stay on the horse, the knight fell off his saddle onto the ground below. The crowd erupted with great cheers of Aegon’s name following their Crown Prince’s victory.

Jon Targaryen

The Great Hall was alive with chatter, the clinging of glasses, and countless nobility for the feast. This night was the first in which all the major houses of Westeros were present. And it was not only the great houses, but there was also an infinite number of lords and lesser lords occupying seats at the oaken tables set across the Great Hall. The royal table was even more crowded than the previous feast, for Jon’s older siblings, Aegon and Rhaenys, were now present. Another consequence of their presence, along with the feast not being in his honor, meant that he was sat farther away from the center, his father’s seat.

Aegon was positioned in the prime chair of honor to Rhaegar’s right. The remaining Targaryen children, Rhaenys, Daenerys, Jon, Visenya, Rhaenyra, filled out his side. To the King’s left were his wives, concubine, Viserys, Baelor, and Vaera.

Jon never truly enjoyed feasts; they were too crowded with people he did not care for. They dragged on too long and they were filled with pointless activities. There were some small joys he took from them, including the many conversations with his family.

“Are you prepared for the archery tomorrow, Senya?” Jon queried.

With a nervous smile, Visenya replied, “I’m not sure. Everyone always tells me of my skill, but a great number of unknowns enter the archery, and many of them have one. If their talents have not been seen, then how could Ser Rodrik, who never leaves Winterfell, confidently claim that I am above them?”

“You’ll be more than fine,” Jon laughed off her worries, “The competitors you will face are not used to the pressure of the crowd, and as a princess, it shouldn’t bother you,” Jon finished with a grin.

“I pray you are right,” Visenya paused for a moment before asking, “I do not recall, will you fight in the melee?”

“Ye-” Jon was cut off before the first word could leave his mouth.

“If he knew what was good for him, he would’ve steered clear of the event. But this foolish boy, who never dreams of glory, still wishes to enter,” Daenerys said as she glared at Jon.

“There are better odds of a dragon hatching than there are of me dying in a melee, if that’s what you’re so concerned about,” Jon argued.

“Still, I don’t want you taking that chance. You know that you can best every man taking part, so why is there so great a need for you to enter?”

“Good practice for me. And also, who knows what the future holds? I pray I never will have to fight in a real battle, but some slightly similar experience could do no harm,” Jon explained.

“There is no need for worry, Dany,” Visenya interjected, “Jon is easily the best fighter in the field.” Daenerys only sighed in response.

 Countless songs, tricks, and miniature plays were performed before a piquant selection of peppered boar was served as the main course. It was accompanied by a small pool of thick gravy and surrounded by a slim forest of green beans. Mushrooms, green peppers, and carrots all added color to the shining gold plate on which the food was served. The exterior rim of the golden tray was covered with designs telling tales of House Targaryen’s greatness. The displayed scenes ranged from Aegon the Conqueror to Baelor the Blessed. A delightful Dornish red, honoring Aegon and Rhaenys’ heritage, accompanied the fine meat.

Following the meal, the attention shifted to Aegon and Rhaenys, who had been granted the first dance of the night. The dance they performed allotted for maximal distance between the pair; Jon thought it likely this was a ploy to attempt to discredit some of the rumors flying. Jon knew these rumors were true; it was fairly obvious to the whole family. But despite that, the display of a platonic pairing was acted to perfection by his older brother and sister. As their dance completed, Jon felt a tap on his shoulder.

When he turned to his side, Jon became the recipient of a request from his silver-haired aunt, “May I have your first dance of the evening?”

“Of course, my princess,” Jon replied with a wink. The dance they shared was a slow one.

A soft whisper suggestively graced his ear, “Since the feast is for Aegon and Rhaenys, no one would notice if we disappeared.”

“You know that I would love nothing more. But I am still a prince, and it would be untoward of me,” Jon replied with a similar tone.

“Fine,” Daenerys feigned anger, “Find when the opportunity comes, and then we can find a quieter spot.”

Jon’s first dance came with Arya Stark, his cousin and a very good friend. By her own admission, she was a rather clumsy dancer,    and claimed she never enjoyed it. They discussed many topics, from Arya’s disdain of King’s Landing to Arya questioning Jon on ways to sneak an entry into the archery tournament as a mystery knight. Jon informed her that mystery knights had only been known to enter the joust, and not archery.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” Jon said with a laugh as the song ended.

“Your presence, and nothing but it,” Arya replied with a smirk, “Hopefully my mother will truly believe I like this. Mayhap she’ll believe Septa Mordane’s lessons are taking hold and I won’t be pestered as much.”

Jon did not have a chance to reply before he was met with his next partner, Daena Velaryon. She came with questions of Aegon and Rhaenys, of himself, and of his Celtigar siblings. Daena asked advice of him, as well as questions on if the Targaryens would visit Driftmark.

Jon’s responses were usually short, as the next question came fast, and the only full response he gave was, “You are of Valyrian blood. Always keep that in your mind.”

Jon’s next dance came with Tyrion Lannister’s wife, Lynesse Hightower. House Hightower was known for having similar features to House Targaryen, and Lynesse proved it. The dance was polite and courteous, nothing more. Following that was a dance with the stunning Margaery Tyrell, who had just finished a second dance with Aegon. Jon knew that he was likely her second option; the Tyrells would attempt to betroth them if Margaery could not marry Aegon. Jon then danced with both Rhaenyra and Vaera, as well as his mother, Lyanna.

After the conclusion of his dance with Lyanna, Jon was approached by Arianne Martell.

“Has anything happened yet, between yourself and Daenerys?” Arianne questioned him.

Her response was received with a confused face, so she elaborated, “Rhaenys spoke to Aegon and I.”

“I understand. We have not slept together, or anything of that sort.”

“Of course. Should you ever need help, I am more than willing to expand my horizons past the first two Targaryens I have been with,” Arianne offered, while giving Jon a swift glimpse of her rounded Dornish tits.

“I don’t…” Jon trailed off at the look given by Arianne.

“Yes, I love Aegon and Rhaenys, but do not think that gives us limits. In Dorne, some of the Sand Snakes would often join us in bed. Last night a maidservant saw us, and she did not leave until Aegon had filled her with his seed. Rhaenys is the only one of us three who does not stray; I often use the weapon between my legs to earn favors, or gain trust. Since our arrival in King’s Landing, I have already gained some ‘influence’ over Stannis Baratheon,” Arianne explained.

Jon did not have time to respond before the song’s conclusion, and for his next dance, he found himself returned to Daenerys. This dance was slow, but the floor was bustling with movement as many guests found their way to their drinks or another plate of food. Some could be seen joining larger conversation, and others leaving to the privy. 

“This looks like our chance,” Daenerys said. Jon nodded in agreement, took her by the hand, and began to lead her to the escape in the back corner behind the Iron Throne. The pair passed through many hallways and staircases before finally reaching Maegor’s Holdfast. As Jon walked past Viserys’ chambers, he could not help but notice the door was ajar, and there were noises of pleasure coming from inside.

Jon silently pried open the door, hoping to see a glimpse of who Viserys was with. Luckily, the door to his uncle’s bedchamber had also been left open. Through it, Jon viewed a lady’s rear bouncing atop Viserys. He recognized her voice from earlier in the night, and the blonde locks flowing down her back identified her as Lynesse Hightower. He silently retraced his steps and followed Daenerys into her chambers.

Jon answered the curious look on his aunt’s face, “Lynesse Hightower.”

“That is like to cause conflict,” Daenerys pointedly replied.

“I will be sure to inform Tyrion, in the instance I speak to him,” Jon declared.

“Let their relationship run its natural course,” Daenerys advised.

“Why? He should his wife has not been faithful.”

“I do not wish to argue,” Daenerys responded softly, before sealing the discussion with a kiss. Jon led his aunt to her bed and pulled her down onto it with him. They laid side by side with their heads flat upon the sheets. Daenerys’ hand rested in Jon, and he could feel her strewn hair brushing against his cheek. The stillness was broken by Daenerys sitting up and attempting to drag Jon’s breeches down.

“I want you,” she whispered. Jon complied with her wishes, pulling off his breeches and his doubled, and swiftly ridding himself of his smallclothes. His hands quickly found their way to Daenerys, removing her dress by way of her shoulders. When she tore off her smallclothes, Jon froze for an instant to admire her breasts, before letting them fall to her cunt. Her body amazed him every time he looked upon it.

Daenerys gently shoved him onto his back. Jon received a peck on his lips before his aunt turned her attention to his hardening cock. She took it fully in her mouth, letting her full lips slide along his length. Not wanting her to feel no great pleasure, Jon carefully lifted her bottom half and placed it above him, letting her cunt rest upon his mouth.

Jon’s tongue furiously began attacking her folds, flicking it around her entrance. In some moments he would lift his hands to her ass and press body upon him more, allowing his tongue to penetrate her cunt. When Jon’s tongue required a respite, his hands instead would cup Daenerys’ perfect breasts, squeezing them and rolling his fingers across her nipples.

After an eternity of joy, Daenerys lifted her mouth from his cock, and attempted to turn her body. Jon could easily tell what she wished for next.

“Dany, are you sure you are ready? We do not have to do this tonight.”

Jon received his response in the form of a finger placed upon his lips. Daenerys took his manhood in one hand, using the other for balance, and gently guided herself down upon it. Jon groaned in pleasure as he felt his cock enter her for the first time. His groan was met with a soft whimper from Daenerys, causing concern for Jon.

“Does that hurt you?” Jon asked with care.

“No, it-” an involuntary moan interrupted Daenerys, “feels great!”

Daenerys, with a slow, steady pace, lifted herself up and down Jon’s length. She was soon aided by his hands upon her hips, relieving her of some of the effort she was giving. They continued at that pace for a time, not wanting to rush their first experience. Jon was mesmerized by the slight swaying of her perfect tits as she rode him.

When Jon could tell she began to tire, he insisted, “Dany, let me take charge.” He pulled her down upon him, pressing her tits to his chest and giving her a deep, passionate kiss. Jon allowed one hand to roam her sweet bottom, even daring to slap it, causing a small yelp from Daenerys.

Jon rolled Daenerys over onto her back and dragged her to the edge of the bed. Now stood, Jon lifted her legs over his shoulders, granting him even greater access to her cunt. With a nod of permission, Jon slowly began to thrust into her. Each thrust went deeper, testing the limits of what Daenerys could withstand. Whenever a loud moan came from Daenerys and Jon felt he had gone too deep, she assured him that she was fine.

Jon’s thrusts eventually began to gain pace, causing the claps of their bodies colliding to echo through the room. He could see his efforts rippling through her body. The moans from Daenerys were as consistent as his thrusts.

Seconds after he started fucking her as hard and fast as he could, Jon saw her whole body shake as she reached her peak, also releasing a great moan of pleasure. Jon was unsure if he should finish inside her, but the choice was made for him as he groaned deeply in unison with his seed firing into her belly. Jon continued with a few final thrusts, before withdrawing himself and jumping onto the bed. His aunt was eager to lean over and lick the remaining seed from his belly.

“I can go again if you wish,” Jon offered.

“There is no need. That was perfect,” Daenerys replied with a loving smile.

Together they slid under the sheets. Jon entwined his legs with hers and pulled her body close. He allowed one hand to rest upon her ass and slid the other underneath her head.

“I love you,” Jon gently whispered.

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Visenya Targaryen

Visenya knew the opinion her brother, Jon Targaryen, held regarding feasts. An expression of great shock then appeared on her face after Jon, willingly, and almost eagerly, rose from his seat and went to the dance floor. The shock abated and was supplanted by jealousy when she realized it was her perfect aunt, Daenerys Targaryen, that he was guiding with his gentle grasp.

To her right she could see Rhaenys returning from performing the first dance of the evening, “What’s that look you have for? It’s a feast, relax and enjoy it,” Rhaenys suggested, before following Visenya’s gaze to Jon dancing with Daenerys, “Ah. I understand now, you are letting the potential fun from this evening disappear because you are focusing on those two dancing.”

“If that’s happening in front of me, there’s no way I can enjoy myself,” Visenya firmly replied.

Rhaenys sighed and stated, “Get down there and dance with him once the opportunity arises.” Visenya mumbled her grievances but surrendered the argument and rose from her chair. Her plan to ask Jon for his next dance was immediately derailed, as she was approached by Garlan Tyrell, requesting a dance. She was forced to ward off an instant look of annoyance to pleasantly accept.

Small courtesies were shared before Garlan inquired, “How would King Rhaegar and Prince Aegon react to a betrothal between my sister, Lady Margaery, and the Crown Prince?”

“I cannot speak for my father, but I do have a better understanding of my brother. If the stories of her beauty are true, then I would not imagine Aegon having any complaints sharing her bed. For marriage, however, I think he has other preferences.”

“Thank you, princess,” Garlan raised her hand to his lips and kissed it as the song ended their dance.

As Visenya turned to find Jon, she was interrupted once more, “Princess Visenya! May I have a dance?” She found the voice to be from Joffrey Tully, and since she did not wish to slight any house, she bitterly excepted.

“Please excuse my dancing ability, princess. I am only here because my mother forces me, says I need to make a good impression,” Joffrey declared.

“There is no need for apology,” Visenya replied, with her eyes following Jon’s dance with Daena Velaryon, hoping she could intercept him next.

“Mother said that I’m going to marry your sister,” Joffrey said with a smug grin. Visenya knew that her father thought the marriage of Cersei Lannister to Edmure Tully would limit her influence, but it appeared to Visenya now that Rhaegar’s plan had failed.

She snapped her eyes back to Joffrey and queried, “Rhaenyra?”

Visenya was already growing to hate the face of the boy who corrected her, “Rhaenys.”

“I see,” Visenya responded curtly. Silence remained between the pair for the remainder of the song. Perhaps Joffrey spoke, but her attention was focused elsewhere.  

The next approach to Visenya was Robb Stark, who she knew could never cause her anger. The red-haired son of Lord Eddard Stark was one of her closest friends, almost like a brother. She had sparred often with Robb during her time in the North, and he had proven to be one of the only Northerners she faced that could defeat her. He was also older than the other Stark children, which meant he was not subject to Septa Mordane’s lessons; the younger Starks were, except for the times Arya could escape them. Visenya and Jon were exempt as they were the royal children, and Catelyn Stark could not force lessons upon them. This allowed a great bond to form between herself, Robb, and Jon.

“How are you enjoying King’s Landing?” Visenya asked.

“I much prefer the North. Sansa likes it, but that is as far as the city has extended it’s reach in our family. Arya despises this place and wishes to return North, as does Bran.”

“As do I,” Visenya claimed, before clarifying in response to Robb’s shocked face, “I wish to return North as well; I miss it greatly. King’s Landing is my home, but Winterfell holds my heart.” Robb nodded his understanding.

“Since I have only danced with boys asking about betrothals, I guess I should request an update from you,” Visenya declared.

“Branda Umber and Alys Karstark are the only two my father has mentioned. Branda is of my age and Alys a year younger, but no decision will be made until we have returned North, at the very least. Enough with that shit though, let’s talk about something less bothersome or I am afraid this dance will have to conclude early,” Robb finished with a wink.

“Tell me then, has little Lyanna said her first word yet?”

“Yeah, a week following your departure. ‘Jon’ was the word she said. It seemed Arya was not the only one of my sisters who missed him.” Hearing that, Visenya discreetly gave Robb a slap.

“Oh, she forgot me then? When I was the one to tell her a story every night?”

Robb laughed before responding, “It was a jest, she said ‘Senya’ as well. It appears the song is set to change, see you around?”

“Of course, cousin.” Before another lordling could request a dance, Visenya returned to her seat for a drink of water. The one glass of wine that her father permitted sat untouched behind the dish she had relieved of its boar earlier in the feast. During her time in the North, ale had come to be her preference. Visenya searched the floor to find her family, and their dance partners. Jon was dancing with their mother, Lyanna Stark. Daenerys was with Robb Stark now, Rhaenys danced in tandem with Tywin Lannister, and Aegon paired himself with Margaery Tyrell. As the song changed Visenya watched Jon drift to Arianne Martell. Her focus on the pair was shifted when she glimpsed Rhaenys walking to join her at the table.

“What are you up here sulking for?” Rhaenys questioned her.

“I’m not sulking,” Visenya retorted.

“Have you danced with Jon yet?” Rhaenys asked, but Visenya knew that her sister already was aware of the answer, “Then my point is made.”

“I noticed you dancing with Tywin Lannister,” Visenya stated and Rhaenys confirmed with a nod, “Was there anything interesting he said?” Rhaenys nodded once more and began to tell the story of each dance she had. Visenya was entranced by her words and failed to notice the changing of the song. She realized her mistake once, from the edge of her vision, Jon and Daenerys could be seen leaving the Great Hall.

“I… I need to go,” Visenya interrupted Rhaenys, reached for her water glass, and began to follow her aunt and brother. She made sure to keep her distance, always allowing Jon and Daenerys to make the next turn, enter the next hallway, or finish climbing the staircase before continuing her pursuit.

Once she reached the wing of Maegor’s Holdfast that possessed the Targaryen family’s chambers, most chambers’ doors were shut, and, as to which once they entered, she would have to guess between Jon and Daenerys’.  First, however, she passed Viserys’ open door and heard the moans of a woman.

Her curiosity piqued, Visenya decided to sneak past the door and glimpse who he was with. The scene Visenya looked upon was her uncle ferociously fucking a stunning blonde woman from behind. She could hear the loud claps each time she watched him thrust into the woman. Visenya was briefly mesmerized by her tits wildly bouncing around her chest, before she raised her eyes to Viserys’ face and found his piercing violet eyes glaring back at her.

“Get out!” Viserys snarled at her.

“I don’t even know who she is,” Visenya retorted, not backing away from this situation she found herself in.

“Come, and see this, then.” Visenya reluctantly followed her uncle’s orders and came through the threshold into his bedchambers. She watched him slap his hand across the woman’s ass, before he pulled his cock out of her and rolled her onto her back. Viserys repositioned himself as well, and after several uncontrolled thrusts, he slowed his pace with a heavy groan. As he slid his cock out of the woman once more, Visenya now could see a white liquid on his manhood and dripping out of the lady.

“I’ve just spilled my seed inside this noblewoman, wife to a great lord. Once I am married to Daenerys, it will be her I finish inside every night and you will have Jon all to yourself. Now, get out,” Viserys aggressively declared.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Visenya replied fiercely, before she obeyed her uncle’s wish and left his chambers. As she walked towards her own chambers, Visenya thought she heard moans akin to the ones she had just witnessed. The troubled Targaryen princess simply sighed and continued to her chambers.

Visenya went to set down the glass of water that she intended to bring from the feast, but realized that, in her hurry, she had accidentally grabbed the previously untouched goblet of wine. Visenya sighed once more before engulfing the Dornish red in just one connection between her lips and the golden goblet. As she undressed, Visenya looked down at her naked body and found her brain caught in a storm of thoughts, ranging from Viserys and the noblewoman to Jon and Daenerys. She was ready for this stress-filled night to finish, so she slipped on a simple, white chemise, and slid under her lavish bedsheets.

The following morning came the archery competition. Jon was the only Targaryen who sat in the archery’s royal box. Although at first she wished Jon had stayed with the rest of the family to watch the final day of the joust, she came to appreciate the gesture.

The first round of the archery began at fifty paces, increasing by ten paces and losing at least half the field every round. Visenya did not strike the bullseye once from fifty paces, a shock as she usually trained at a hundred. Despite this performance, she still advanced through to the second round. From sixty paces through to the end, Visenya struck the bullseye with every arrow. The final round was from a hundred and five paces, and at that distance she defeated Ser Balon Swann and a commoner named Anguy.

At her victory, the smallfolk in attendance cheered her name voraciously. Their cheers were matched by Jon as he found his way from the royal box to her side, joining her as she was set to receive the winner’s purse. Ten thousand gold dragons were the prize, a great amount to the other potential victors, but to Visenya, the honor of winning was what she had desired.

Upon receiving the purse, Visenya declared to the crowd, “Each and every coin I have received for this victory will find its way to the people of King’s Landing, either physically or through food and supplies!” After hearing this declaration, the smallfolk resumed the cheering they had paused to hear the words of the princess.

“Let’s run to the joust now, I hear the final tilt is yet to start,” Jon informed her.

“Come on then, last there has a forfeit,” Visenya responded, a smile of glee still on her face as she began running to the stands behind the joust.

Baelor Celtigar

Feasts were always fun for Baelor, Vaera, and Rhaenyra. Although they were of an age now where they had to perform some royal duties, like dancing with other nobles, the three could still escape the attentive eyes of their parents and have their fun as the feast ended. Baelor loved the Godswood, and even though he knew that all of the Red Keep was safe for him and his family, he still preferred to stay within the walls at night. Vaera and Rhaenyra shared that same belief, hence the reason they instead explored the secret passages in the Red Keep.

Baelor loved nearly every moment he spent with his sisters. Vaera was his twin, his best friend, and something more. Since birth, they had been destined for marriage and Baelor had been named heir to Claw Isle, the seat of House Celtigar. Whenever they asked their parents for an explanation, they were always rebuked and told they would learn the reasons once they were older. Although the pair was curious as to why their futures were shaped untraditionally from birth, they never had reason to complain. Both Baelor and Vaera looked forward to the day they would marry, and the day Baelor would rule Claw Isle.

Rhaenyra Targaryen shared Baelor’s parentage, but was named of a different house. She was only a year younger than him, and for that reason she was close friends with both him and his twin. The three were often inseparable. However, despite their closeness, Rhaenyra never shared the same bond with him that Vaera did. Nothing could come close to the strong tether that connected them. They never argued, possessed each other’s interests, and shared the same chambers.

After feasts, Baelor, Vaera, and Rhaenyra would explore the secret passageways underneath the Red Keep. Although they often adventured through the dark tunnels, Baelor knew they had barely learnt a tenth of the hidden routes. That made it all the more exciting for the three exploring; knowing that each time they entered the tunnels a new hidden chamber or a new path could be found. Oft times doors to fresh tunnels were found in the walls of the known passageways.

Baelor and his sisters loved finding these; they were the hardest to discover and each one opened another world of possibilities. When the stone maze had split into three paths, each of the explorers took one for themselves. As he was ambling on, Baelor heard voices to his left. When he shifted his gaze, he found a small, short tunnel, protruding into what appeared to be someone’s chambers.

Since there were no tunnels in Maegor’s Holdfast, Baelor that this must be in a guest wing, all fully occupied by great lords and their house due to the Heir’s Tourney. Since not all of the guest chambers  were of a lavish size, only the finest ones had space for these tunnels. And for this tourney, only lords of the highest ranking would be staying in them. As Baelor realized the potential importance of hearing this conversation, he lowered himself to his hands and knees and began to crawl through to a better position for eavesdropping.

“The betrothals will happen,” one voice insisted.

“If Rhaegar…” Baelor could not make out the words of the second voice as he seemingly walked away from Baelor’s hidden tunnel.

“Then we shall have our own king,” the first voice bit back.

The second voice responded, but his position left Baelor unable to hear his words.

“Yes,” replied the first voice.

“Would it not be best if we are rid of them all?” the second voice questioned, back in range of Baelor’s hearing.

“No, the smallfolk love their name. And as long as we give him what he wants, he should be easy to control,” the first voice explained. Sensing the conversation was complete, Baelor crawled back to the larger tunnel, hurriedly walking back to an escape. The games with Vaera and Rhaenyra were no longer important; he had to find his father.

“We know where you and your sisters disappear to, but it still worries us,” Rhaegar spoke from his desk in his lavish solar.

“Yes father, we are sorry. But I heard something, through the walls, about you,” Baelor said, intriguing Rhaegar, “Two men were talking about betrothals and you and their own king and keeping the name and the smallfolk loving them.”

“Slower, my son. And start from the beginning,” Rhaegar requested. Baelor complied, explaining to his father everything he had heard and understood in the tunnels.

“Don’t tell your mothers I said this, but you have my full permission to do whatever you want in the tunnels, from this day forth,” Rhaegar said with a wink, before continuing seriously, “Thank you, Baelor. I will speak with Lord Varys about this. Do not worry, we will take care of it.”

“One last thing, Baelor, speak of this to no one,” Rhaegar called out as the young Celtigar exited from Rhaegar’s solar.

Baelor returned to his shared chambers with Vaera to find his twin sat in their solar, already dressed in her nightgown, reading a book in a way that hid the title from Baelor’s gaze. She did not acknowledge him as he entered, forcing Baelor to clear his throat to make his presence known.

“You left us,” Vaera said pointedly.

“I am sorry. But I overheard someone speaking about father, and it didn’t sound nice,” Baelor declared his excuse.

“What did he say?” Vaera questioned.

“Not just one, there were two,” Baelor corrected.

“Well, what did they say?” Vaera continued to pester him.

“Father forbade me from speaking of it,” Baelor grimaced as he replied. His words caused Vaera to dip her head back into her book.

“Vaera!” Baelor exclaimed, with a slight annoyance.

“Am I not your twin? Did we not promise to hide nothing from each other? Do you not trust me more than… more than…” Vaera trailed off.

“It is not a secret you wish to know. Once it is taken care of by father, I will tell you what happened,” Baelor declared. His twin sister only sighed in annoyance and continued to read her book. Baelor found himself disappointed in Vaera for her lack of understanding.

He quickly found the doorway leading to their bedchamber. The platinum-blonde haired boy of House Celtigar slid out of the fancy maroon doublet and black breeches he had worn to the feast; Baelor had been so captivated by his adventure that he had forgotten the uncomfortable court wear adorning his body. Baelor replaced his prior costume with a sleeping shift.

Baelor and Vaera most often slept in these silk shifts. When they felt risky, or simply wished to be closer together, he and his twin would sleep in the nude. This night, however, that situation would certainly not come to pass. After Baelor’s body was encapsulated in his silk shift, he clumsily sild under the covers that rested upon his bed.

Some time passed before the glow from the solar’s candle dimmed, accompanied by the faint sound of Vaera’s breath putting it out. Her soft footsteps then followed the path through to their bedchambers, making the curved journey around to her side of the bed. With a movement much smoother than Baelor’s, Vaera gently slid under the covers, positioning herself facing away from Baelor. He received no form of acknowledgement from his twin, and Baelor found himself staring at the back of her shoulders.

“They said they would have their own king,” Baelor whispered, as gentle as the warm summer winds that graced the beaches of Claw Isle.

Vaera’s head snapped over her shoulder and questioned, “What?”

“Come here,” Baelor insisted, instead of replying to his twin’s prompt. Vaera appeared to hesitate, before rolling over and moving tight to Baelor. He wrapped his arms around her, taking his sister into his loving embrace.

“What?” Vaera queried once more, her voice now slightly muffled.

“I am sorry for earlier, for trying to hide something from you,” Baelor apologized, pressing a kiss to her moonlight locks.

“Hmph.”

“Truly,” Baelor insisted.

“I know. Was there anything else you’ve hidden from me?”

“No. Wait, yes, there actually is one more thing. Rhaenys and Arianne showed me the lord’s kiss,” Baelor informed her, “and Arianne danced atop me. Don’t worry, I was fully clothed.”

“Good.”

“Vaera, you know that you will be my first, for everything,” Baelor assured her.

“Yes.”

“Not fond of words tonight, are we?” Baelor jested.

“Tell me of the plot against father,” Vaera insisted.

“The first voice spoke of betrothals. I couldn’t make out what the second voice said about father, but I remember the first voice’s response clearly. ‘Then we shall have our own king,’ he said. And then they spoke about smallfolk loving the name, but I am not sure whose name it is,” Baelor whispered back the response Vaera so greatly desired.

His twin thought for a moment before she replied in a soft voice, “They are speaking about us. The Targaryens.”

“What? How could that be?”

“Do you know of any other kings?” Vaera replied with a patronizing tone.

“No, I suppose not. I guess I would’ve preferred not to face the truth of it,” Baelor explained.

“Father will take care of them, I am sure of it,” Vaera declared.

Baelor’s response came silently, turning her face to him and pressing his lips onto her full crescents.

When their mouths broke apart, Vaera asked Baelor, “Stronger together, right?”

“Stronger together,” Baelor affirmed.

With the following morning came the final day of the joust. His older brother whom Baelor squired for, Aegon, faced three opponents from the lists before the bout to decide the victor. Three great knights all ended their tournaments in the dust following strikes from the Crown Prince’s lance. In Aegon’s last tilt, he defeated Ser Oswell Whent in the final round. It was a fortunate and needed strike that succeeded, for Aegon certainly would have lost the bout on points. Now, Aegon was set to face Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, for the honor of being crowned Champion of the Joust at the Heir’s Tourney.

The quantity of tilts on the final day was much less than any prior day, leaving little time to rest between bouts. Instead of spending their breaks between bouts in the lavish tent that they had previously, rows of smaller tents had been pitched around the list field for the competitors’ use. Both fighters were granted sufficient rest before the final tilt, but this was soon ended when the bells rang.

Baelor followed Aegon out of the Crown Prince’s tent, making his way to the hazel brown destrier that his brother led into every tilt. He helped Aegon lift himself atop the smooth-coated, powerful beast before handing to him the blunted lance and shield.

It was not long before Aegon charged away from Baelor with his shield held firm and his lance steady. He watched as Aegon’s bobbing head escaped the strike from the Knight of Flowers while returning the gesture by breaking his own lance against Ser Loras’ shield.

Baelor lifted the next lance to his brother, preparing for his second pass. This turn would prove to be fateful for Aegon’s opponent, with Ser Loras falling off his graceful white mare into the unflattering dirt. Great cheers erupted from the crowd following Aegon’s victory. Baelor thought he could hear familiar voices cheering the loudest from the royal box.

After the noises settled, the voice of King Rhaegar boomed through the arena, “Congratulations, my son. After unhorsing the valiant Ser Loras Tyrell, I hereby declare Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen Champion of the Heir’s Tourney,” Rhaegar paused to allow more cheers from the crowd, “It is now time for you to select your Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Baelor watched the tourney herald place the crown of vibrant roses upon the tip of Aegon’s lance. The Crown Prince encouraged his horse to a slow trot, leading it towards the royal box. He extended his arm and raised the lance to the seat of his sister, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, who gracefully received the crown and placed it upon her own head. Baelor heard several gasps from the crowd, but he was unsurprised by the outcome.

Seeing his brother’s glory inspired Baelor, with the Celtigar boy now in possession of visions showing him crowning Vaera at a tourney.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Aegon Targaryen

“Why were you so late to your chambers last night? I forgot to ask,” Rhaenys questioned.

“To put it lightly, I was berated by someone at the feast for not crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty,” Aegon replied.

“And you decided that jealous bitch from Highgarden was more important than us?”

“How did you know it was Margaery?” Aegon said with a sheepish grin, “She will never mean anything to me, and she doesn’t hold a candle to either of you. Sure, she has her looks, but Margaery is not a woman I would wed.”

“You act like I was not late to our bed either. Lord Monford Velaryon received a parting gift last night; he informed me the whole Velaryon household was leaving this morning. And true to his word, they did,” Arianne added.

“Let’s hope Jon does not have a similar situation tonight. He and Dany shared their first time two nights past,” Rhaenys informed them, to surprised faces, “And I noticed him receiving a lot of attention at tonight’s feast following his melee victory.”

“Jon will stay true to Dany,” Aegon declared confidently, “Although I must admit he could have any woman in the world after his display today, I think that’s the fastest I have ever seen a man win a melee.”

“It was a delightful show, but hopefully ours tonight will last longer. You have the meeting in the morning with father, do you not?” Rhaenys queried.

“I do, and it’s fairly early.”

“Then we have no time to waste,” Rhaenys spoke as she began pulling down Aegon’s breeches. Arianne’s slender Dornish fingers made quick work of his smallclothes, revealing his hardened cock. His sister’s mouth quickly found his tip while Aegon helped Arianne remove her stunning amber dress. The deep cut beneath her neck nearly showed her breasts, so Aegon quite easily stripped her body of the fancy garb.

Arianne replaced Rhaenys’ soft lips on his manhood, which allowed his sister to disrobe herself. Her perfect, rounded tits bounced as they were set free; they still brought Aegon the same joy as when he first laid eyes upon them. Although Rhaenys’ breasts entranced him, her wet folds were a lavish sight. That dripping cunt was soon above his mouth receiving pleasure from Aegon’s tongue.

His Dornish cousin lifted herself onto his cock, slowly sliding down upon his length. Her lips met with Rhaenys’; their mouths captured each other’s moans of pleasure. Aegon placed a hand upon Arianne’s clit and began rubbing it with his thumb, turning her muffled moans to swathed screams.

Aegon’s hand and cock proved to be enough for Arianne. She pulled her head from Rhaenys and shuddered atop him as she found her release. As she lifted her dripping cunt from Aegon, his sister crawled over to the abandoned position and ass shook in front of his eyes.

“I want you from behind,” Aegon whispered while he slapped Rhaenys ass.

“Your day has been tiring enough, brother. Let me ride you,” Rhaenys gently replied, spinning around to face him. He reached upon and smacked her tits before falling back and letting his sister take control. Rhaenys quickly found a swift pace, moaning as she bounced up and down his hard cock. Arianne’s tongue joined Rhaenys and she began licking his base. Aegon could not withstand his two lovers, soon shooting his seed into Rhaenys cunt.

She collapsed onto him, her soft breasts pressed to his chest. With his cock still sheathed by her cunt, Aegon gently rolled her over to her back. He thrust once before he removed his length and admired his seed coating the edges of Rhaenys’ folds.

“You can rest now, Aegon. Arianne will help me find my release,” Rhaenys declared. Aegon quietly obliged, sliding under the silk bedcovers that were disheveled by their lovemaking. Rhaenys and Arianne fucked next to him. Aegon occasionally reached out and grabbed one of his lovers’ tits, squeezing them and exhaustedly rolling his thumb over their peaks. Before they could finish, Aegon’s eyes closed for the night.

As Aegon exited his chambers, he passed a weary Jon Targaryen, his younger brother. Jon was not dressed in proper garb; Aegon quite easily assumed where he had spent his night.

“It looks like you didn’t get much sleep,” Aegon jested.

“Aye, though its substitute was suitable,” Jon quipped back at him.

“How is she?”

“Dany? She’s perfect, I couldn’t ask for anything better,” Jon sincerely declared, with his voice carrying and honest passion.

“That’s good to hear. I hope father will allow the pair of you to marry. I fear that my meeting with father now is about my betrothal. The feeling in my gut tells me I will not like the outcome,” Aegon lost all joy from his voice, his delivery now stone and serious.

Jon grasped his shoulder with a firm hand, “Do not worry, brother. One day, you will be King, and Rhaenys will be your Queen. And Arianne will be your second wife, if you wish. All of Westeros would have no choice but to accept the union; the seven kingdoms would be at your feet.”

“Aye,” Aegon replied with a warm smile, “And you and Daenerys will be Prince and Princess of Summerhall. You will be able to shape the castle and the surrounding lands to your liking.”

“That seems more a task for Daenerys. As long as the training yard suits my needs, I could live anywhere. Your future children would be welcome to visit anytime they wished.”

“The same for yours. The bond they will share should be that of brothers and sisters, not cousins,” Aegon affirmed.

“Aye. Now forgive me, I must dress myself properly then I am to see Ser Arthur for sparring.”

“I will see you for supper this evening,” Aegon confirmed, giving Jon a quick, firm hug before continuing up to his father’s chambers.

He was greeted warmly by Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who allowed him entry through the grand door. Aegon passed through the threshold, entering King Rhaegar Targaryen’s solar and seeing his father sat at his desk. He spared a quick glance to Rhaegar’s bedchamber, where his father’s concubine Mylenda Celtigar lay naked atop the great canopied bed. Her form was similar to Rhaenys’ and he thought for long enough to decide what he would have done with her had she not been his father’s. Aegon’s gaze quickly shifted back to his father, ready to discuss the reason for the meeting.

“Aegon, my son. The conversation will not only take place between us this morning. We must make our way to the Great Hall promptly, for several of Westeros’ great lords are awaiting us,” Rhaegar informed him, as he rose from his seat. Foul thoughts circled Aegon’s mind; he knew that if his father agreed a betrothal with a great presence it would be fruitless to attempt a rebuttal.

Ser Gerold joined the father and son as they began walking to the Great Hall. Silence rested above both Aegon and Rhaegar until they exited the spiraling staircase. Then, Rhaegar started speaking to Aegon’s attentive ears.

“Tywin Lannister leads a conspiracy to see his descendants littered amongst our family. He wishes to wed the Lady Myrcella Tully to yourself and Joffrey Tully to Rhaenys. Tywin also wants Tyrion’s son, Gerion Lannister, to marry any future daughter you may have,” Rhaegar explained.

“That can’t happen. They would have too much control over us; anything that could be perceived as a slight against any of those betrothals would lead them to war,” Aegon stated, aghast.

“Yes, but as it stands, they would not receive much backing from the six other kingdoms. Tywin expects me to decline his offer for Myrcella’s betrothal to you. But this is Tywin Lannister we are speaking of, my decline of that specific betrothal is the key that unlocks another plan. After I say Myrcella is too young for you and will not be ready to marry for at least five years, Tywin will present another solution. Mace Tyrell would step forth and present an offer that would see you wed Margaery, which is an offer that does not have any obvious flaws for me to point out,” Rhaegar paused as they passed a small collective of people.

“I would never wed Rhaenys to Joffrey Tully. The boy is cruel, and I have worked with Lord Eddard Stark to discover strong accusations that could easily be grounds for me to decline. But then, we are still trapped. If I decline the offers, Varys believes they will attempt to depose me and raise my brother Viserys to the Iron Throne. And if they can’t have their way in the Great Hall, Houses Tyrell, Lannister, and Tully are all prepared for war. Their armies would easily reach the walls before our allies.”

Rhaegar continued, “Time would be against the Northern and the Dornish armies, our two staunchest allies. Jon Arryn is nearing eighty, so I cannot count on his willingness for war. Lord Stannis-”

“Do not worry about Stannis,” Aegon interjected.

“Then that makes it Targaryen, Martell, Stark, and Baratheon against Lannister, Tyrell, and Tully. If our enemies rush King’s Landing, then our war becomes difficult to win. But let us hope it does not reach that far. If the worst is to happen in the Great Hall, and the battle that could break out between our guards and the Lannister guards is fairly one-sided, I have created contingencies for our family. Boats are currently waiting for every member of our family, should they be needed. I have mapped their futures, as well as yours. But have confidence that fleeing from King’s Landing will not be our answer today,” Rhaegar finished as they neared the entrance to the Throne Room.

Aegon followed his father through to the room that possessed some of the greatest lords in Westeros. Mace Tyrell, Tywin Lannister, Eddard Stark, Edmure Tully, and countless others all occupied places in the Great Hall. Aegon waited for Rhaegar to ascend the steps and take his seat atop the Iron Throne; the crooked, sword-made throne rose the height of near to half the Great Hall. He then proceeded to position himself in his wooden chair. Gold lined the edges, and it was a soft silk cushion he sat upon.

After Rhaegar was seated, he gave permission for Tywin Lannister to rise. As the wily Warden of the West centered himself before the Iron Throne, Aegon’s eyes scanned the room, taking in his surroundings. To his right sat Lord Eddard Stark, and to the left of the Iron Throne sat the Hand of the King, Lord Ardrian Celtigar, and Prince Viserys Targaryen. Targaryen guards stood at their posts by each exit, while a strong number of Lannister soldiers stood off to the side of where Tywin was seated. From Aegon’s estimate, the Lannisters had twice the number of guards present in the Great Hall. Despite his father’s earlier warning about the potential gravity of the situation, in Aegon’s view, the needed precautions had not been taken. In Tywin’s row of chairs sat Cersei Lannister, her husband, Edmure Tully, Mace Tyrell, Kevan Lannister, as well as Tyrion Lannister, the heir to Casterly Rock. It was an impressive collective of lords, but Aegon noted that none of the potential suitors were present.

Aegon’s attention was drawn back to Tywin at the onset of his words, “Your Grace, it is my honor to be stood before you on this day. Every lord in this hall is of a great house with a storied history. Your Grace, House Lannister has always been one of the most powerful houses on this continent, and the richest. Our wealth surpasses everyone in Westeros. House Tully, of Riverrun, Lords Paramount of the Trident, were raised to their role by Aegon the Conqueror, and have been forever faithful. The people of the Riverlands valiantly ward off any raiders from the Iron Islands that dare to show themselves on the mainland. This is the basis of our proposal. A great union between the greatest houses of Westeros. I wish to betroth the Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen to Myrcella Tully. Joffrey Tully, heir to Riverrun, would be betrothed to Rhaenys Targaryen. And lastly, I propose a betrothal between any future daughter of Prince Aegon and my grandson, Gerion Lannister.”

“Thank you for your offer, Lord Tywin. I think Lady Myrcella is many years too young for Aegon, would you not agree?” Rhaegar queried.

“That is a fair point, Your Grace,” Tywin responded, signaling for Mace Tyrell to come forth, “I believe Lord Mace has an offer of his own.”

“Your Grace, if I may,” the Lord of Highgarden waited for acknowledgement by Rhaegar before continuing, “House Tyrell has a history that rivals any other Westerosi house. We, like House Tully, were raised to our post by the legendary Aegon the Conqueror. I ask you now to join our houses, and marry Prince Aegon to my daughter, Lady Margaery. With this union, the breadbasket of this continent will be amongst your closest allies.”

“Your Grace, if I may interject,” Lord Eddard Stark spoke his first words of the morning.

“Of course, Lord Eddard.”

“Cersei Lannister’s children with Edmure Tully are bastards, born to Jaime Lannister.” Chaos erupted through the Throne Room, and Rhaegar had to silence them all.

“These are grave accusations, Lord Eddard. Do you have proof to back your claim?” Rhaegar spoke with a soothing tone, before he turned to Ser Jonothor Darry and requested, “Bring me Ser Jaime.”

“Yes, Your Grace. The Tully features are dominant in all their offspring. You can see that, of my grown children, only Arya does not bear the red Tully hair and stunning blue Tully eyes. The bastards Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen all possess golden hair with emerald green eyes,” Eddard declared.

“These are preposterous claims, Your Grace. How could you determine parentage through hair and eye color?” Cersei stepped forward, wearing a low-cut dress of Lannister red with golden lining.

“There is no better proof, save for viewing the act itself,” Rhaegar noted, “And Lord Eddard is not a man to lie of such things. For that reason, Lord Tywin, I must decline your proposal. House Targaryen must not marry into a family of hidden bastards. I respect your service to the realm greatly Lord Tywin, but I cannot overlook this. Court is adjourned.”

“Court is not adjourned until each party has made their final point, Your Grace. I respect what you have done for Westeros, but I cannot overlook this denial. Isolating House Targaryen from the majority of the Seven Kingdoms led Aerys to madness, and it will not happen again,” Tywin forcefully declared.

“Lord Ty-” Rhaegar attempted to speak but was cut off by the Great Lion of Casterly Rock.

“Then we shall have our own king.”

It was those words from Tywin Lannister which caused the room to descend into chaos once more. The Lannister warriors charged at the heavily outnumbered Targaryen guards. Of the Kingsguard, only Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, was present. After the Targaryen soldiers holding the grand entrance shut were cut down, a collective of archers poured through into the Throne Room. Arrows began finding their way to the remaining Targaryen guards. Aegon glanced up and caught the gaze of his father.

“I love you, my son. Now run!” Rhaegar urgently shouted from atop the Iron Throne. Aegon did not wish to leave his father, but Ser Gerold pulled on his arm and began dragging him to the doors behind the Throne. Rhaegar had no quick escape; a jump from his high seat would leave him crippled and an attempt to descend the long stairs of the Iron Throne would not remove him from the range of the archers. Instead, King Rhaegar Targaryen stayed seated, his body firmly pressed to the steel chair. As Aegon glanced back one final time, he saw an arrow sprout from the chest of his father. Aegon Targaryen released a deep wail of grief at the sight of his father’s death.

Aegon had nearly reached the escape when he heard a loud thud to his side. Lord Eddard Stark was sprawled on the ground, an arrow plunged into his stomach. The man built of Northern grit rose to his feet, standing before Aegon.

“Run, my king.” Eddard turned back to face the archers, and Aegon presumed more arrows filled his body. The rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms raced after the White Bull with as much pace as he could. The events had still not processed in Aegon’s mind, with his focus the escape. Some thoughts had spun to Rhaenys, but Aegon remembered his father’s declaration that the family would be safe.

Time flew past as Aegon ran through the halls of the Red Keep. He could not keep track of his surroundings, with his only focus the white cloak of Ser Gerold Hightower running before him. Countless walls flashed past him, a grand blur of red brick. Some turns were certainly unfamiliar to Aegon, as he soon found himself in a dark tunnel with only a torch light leading them forth.

That light was soon replaced by that of the morning sun, rising into the sky as Aegon and Ser Gerold escaped the walls onto a rocky beach. The pair danced down the slanted rocks until they reached the sand by the sea.

Rested upon the shore was a wooden skiff, which Aegon was told to enter. After Aegon found his seat, Ser Gerold pushed the boat into the Narrow Sea, jumping in behind Aegon. The White Bull handed one oar to Aegon and took the other for himself.

“Straight ahead,” Ser Gerold began, panting, “there will be a boat, named the Sea’s Dragon. Row like your life depends on it. This time, it does.”

Aegon still could not formulate a sentence; he quietly obliged Ser Gerold’s request. Oars slashed through the sea like the swords that cut down the Targaryen guards. The precision with which they penetrated the sea was akin to the arrows that ended his father and Eddard Stark’s lives. Silence was also of great importance, for sound traveled far over the open water.

It was not long before the tall mast bearing the Targaryen sail came into sight, proceeding the sight of the entire ship. Once the hull was visible, Aegon and the White Bull began to row with more urgency. A rope ladder was dropped down over the starboard side of the ship. The new King of Westeros laid his oar back upon the skiff and extended a hand to snatch his escape from King’s Landing. Once Aegon climbed aboard the deck, Ser Gerold began his own journey to the platform of the Sea’s Dragon.

Before the rope ladder was pulled back, a man that appeared to be the captain partially descended the ladder. In one hand, the man held a flaming piece of wood, which he promptly dropped onto the faithful skiff, erasing any trace of their escape.

“Ser Gerold, are we sailing to Dragonstone?” Aegon queried.

“No, my King. Our destination is Driftmark.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Daenerys Targaryen

Daenerys had not expected the Lannister men on her path to the training yard. The chains she was shackled with were even more unexpected. It was a common event for the ladies of the court to watch the men and boys training, an event which Daenerys often joined. However, unlike the other ladies, she only attended for Jon. Although his chiseled body was still a sight to behold, it was less of a treat following the recent evolution in their relationship.

The menacing helm of the Lannister captain stood high above her. His mud brown eyes peered down at her, tracing her entire form. From his ugly voice, Daenerys assumed his face beneath was better hidden. She was distracted by this, but soon remembered her place.

“Excuse me,” Daenerys said to the red and gold steel tree that stood before her.

“Hello, Princess,” the Lannister man slyly spoke.

“You know who I am then, that’s good. Now I command you to let me pass,” Daenerys tried to speak with authority, but a few nerves cracked her voice.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that Princess. You’re coming with us,” his harsh voice responded.

“My brother will have your heads,” Daenerys swore at them as the chains shackled her arms and ankles.

“Your brother will be dead, Princess.”

“What? My brother would never be killed by the likes of you,” Daenerys bit back.

“You heard me, Princess. Now, jump into my arms and I’ll carry you to the dungeons.”

Daenerys stood mute in response, still shocked by the words he spoke of her brother. A hard slap on her rear jolted her forward.

“Oh, can you not jump?  Pardon me, Princess. I forgot about the chains around your ankles,” the Lannister captain responded. He pulled her close and squeezed her cheeks forcefully.

“What do you want?” Daenerys forced out.

“If I weren’t under strict orders to bring you unharmed, I would have you myself. That insolent runt of a new king isn’t fit for a girl like you,” the brute said. She spat in his face, but it only struck his steel helm. His laugh was akin to a snort.

Daenerys spoke with fire in her voice, “You’re a useless dog.” Daenerys grimaced as she received a slap on the ass in response. Shock was the expression on her face.

“You would strike a Princess? And are you not under orders to take me unharmed?” Daenerys said, aghast.

“A little thump on the rear isn’t doing harm to anyone, Princess. And when it is so plump it would be a dishonor to not give it any attention.”

“If Viserys is to be the King, he will hear of this,” Daenerys threatened.

“And Lord Tywin Lannister will be Hand, provide soldiers, and control the boy. He will have no true authority. And I am one of Lord Tywin’s best men, I would not face too great a punishment. Perhaps I will be moved back to Casterly Rock for a moon’s turn, or I might get a slap on the ass,” the man said with a wink as he gave Daenerys another gentle slap on the rear.

“Perhaps we should start moving to the cells?” one of the Lannister men suggested to the captain, “I don’t think it would be best if we were seen here like this with the Princess.”

“Feel this bitch’s ass and you won’t ever want to move again,” the captain responded, inviting a squeeze from the other man. Daenerys grew more inflamed each time they touched her.

“I will have your heads,” Daenerys warned. The Lannister captain laughed before he heeded his man’s advice, lifting Daenerys from the ground and slinging her over his shoulder. Daenerys felt a firm hand holding her bottom. She was told it was to keep her steady, but she found it rather unnecessary.

Daenerys later grew thankful for it, as it allowed her to thrash and strike the man with her bound arms without fear of falling. Each movement triggered a response, however, and Daenerys was forced to stop her resistance. She received a firmer squeeze on her rear or a strong pinch to her face or breast. The final response was the lion pawing at her light dress, which caused a tear.

This caused the man to come to a halt and speak as he set Daenerys on the ground, “Look, boys, the Princess has got a tear in her dress. That’s not fitting for such a lady. Get it off her. Remember Princess, I’m not harming you,” he said with a laugh. Daenerys stood in her defiance, swinging her shackled arms at the Lannister soldiers walking to her. She was quickly overwhelmed as the whole unit surrounded her. Two men were needed to lift her thrashing arms above her head and hold them still, and the rest lifted the dress over her shoulders and raised hands. Daenerys now remained standing in only her smallclothes, soft white garments which she had chosen to give Jon ease with removing them.

As the men returned to their positions, each one left Daenerys with a squeeze or a slap, all taking advantage of the beautiful, helpless princess stood before them. Daenerys could not see the faces of these soldiers, but she instead vowed that she would one day get revenge on the whole house. Daenerys imagined the look Tywin Lannister would bear as she informed him House Lannister will lose Casterly Rock and their lordship over the Westerlands.

“If I told Viserys how you and all of your men mistreated me, so terribly, there would be consequences. But you can’t get that through your thick head,” Daenerys spoke.

“And Tywin would ensure the cunts behind me will take the blame,” the soldier declared confidently.

“My brother, King Aegon VI, the Reclaimer, has awarded the role of Warden of the West to Prince Jon Targaryen, my husband,” Daenerys muttered, envisioning boldly declaring that to Tywin Lannister.

“What was that, Princess?”

“One day, I will kill you and every man loyal to the damned Lannisters.” Daenerys said, dragon’s flame coating her words. He only laughed in a mocking response.

The journey to the dungeons continued in verbal silence, but the clanking armored men echoed their sounds throughout every hall. Daenerys could only see the maroon legs and metal boots of the brute carrying her, in a constant motion of steps.

Once the party entered the darkness of the dungeons, the soldiers relaxed. Daenerys could see the men no longer rested a hand upon the hilt of their sword. Their march fell from the organized unit to a feeling flock of ravens. Daenerys now received unwelcome touches at the desire of most soldiers; before it was only the brute captain. They had lost any care they once had; there would be no witnesses down here.

“Am I going to the black cells?” Daenerys queried.

“No, too gloomy for the Princess. You’ll be out of here soon enough, they only want you here so you can’t escape, Princess,” the captain informed her. It appeared they had reached their destination, as the man placed her upon the ground as he finished his statement.

“I’ll take her from here,” a gaoler called out.

“We’re not finished with her yet. I’ve made a decision, boys, that tight cunt of hers could do with some loosening before the new king has her. It’s not right to try and make him fit his cock in that fingerhole,” the Lannister captain crudely said.

“The fucker probably only has a little finger down there, more of a struggle for us,” one of the other men jested.

“Aye, and he’s a dumb fuck too. Probably won’t notice the baby we put in her belly will have the blood of the Westerlands coursing through it,” the brute received a small cheer from his men at his declaration. Daenerys stood powerless as the maroon and gold tree stepped towards her, removed his glove, and viciously ripped off her smallclothes. The cloth item shielding her breasts from these despicable men was torn off her. The Lannister captain took a moment to fondle her rounded tits before he ripped off the garment shielding her sex.

“Have you lost your minds? I am a Princess of House Targaryen!” Daenerys exclaimed.

“Aye, and I’m Teran of Lannisport. And mayhaps my head will be taken for this, but at least I could say I fucked the future Queen of Westeros. And it helps that you’re the prettiest bitch I ever seen.”

Teran removed his helm and tossed it aside as he took a step closer to Daenerys. For the first time, she got a clear look at the brute’s face. It thick and ugly, heavily scarred. His matted brown hair was the same mud color as his menacing eyes. His nose was twisted and bent in. The bottom of his left ear was a clear line, and it appeared to Daenerys another sword had struck his mouth, for there was a line separating a quarter from the rest. He wet his lips whilst he reached out and squeezed one of her breasts.

“Has the teats of a cow, this one,” he barked back at his men.

“Stop right there,” a booming voice echoed from the corner, which caused everyone to turn in it’s direction, “We shall take her from here. You have delivered her to the dungeons, that is your job finished, Lannister.” The man was draped in a shadow, holding a long stick. His form was taller than any of the Lannister soldiers, and his voice more menacing than the lot behind.

“Apologies,” Teran said in a mocking voice, but Daenerys could tell from his voice that he was slightly shaken by new figure. She was faced away from him, staring at the man draped in darkness; she did not wish to see the man again before she could kill him. Daenerys yelped in slight pain as the man behind her defiantly struck her rear before he turned and lead his men from the dungeons.

The instant the barred door shut, the man in the shadows dropped his staff to the ground and began hobbling forward. He was no great intimidator, but bentbacked and old. A small, scraggly white beard sprouted from his chin with some spots crowning his head.

“Marlen, you are as useless as those fools,” the man said to the other gaoler who had stood and watched Daenerys’ abuse, “Leave us.” The spry younger man turned heel and escaped from the same door as the Lannister soldiers.

“I am terribly sorry for that Princess,” the man apologized as he produced a grey cloak and handed it to Daenerys, “I’m did not bring any smallclothes; I wasn’t expecting you to arrive so mishandled.”

“Who are you?” Daenerys queried as he opened the door to one cell and gestured for her to enter.

“I am sorry Princess, but you must still enter the cell. To your question, I am Rennifer Longwaters. Over a century past, my ancestor, Ser Jon Waters, was born to Lord Alyn Velaryon and Princess Elaena Targaryen. He formed House Longwaters, and we have been a minor house in the Crownlands since. We have always been proud of the little dragon that is in us,” Rennifer explained in a speed akin to his walking pace.

“How have you ended up here then?” Daenerys asked whilst making her way through the cell’s entrance.

“I think it was over a decade past, when the previous Chief Gaoler passed. That is when I took this position. I do not have an heir. Look at me! I am no great beauty, unlike yourself, and I never wished to spend my life looking for a bride. When I came here, your brother wished me to have an heir. I tried with the women he sent, but I was then and still am too old and frail to make a child. These prisoners are my children,” he said as he gestured to the other closed cells, “No matter what awful things they have done. I feed them and prepare them for a trial, unless they are sent straight to the executioner’s block. Despite them, I am lonely down here, save for the seldom visits from your father. But he is gone now, isn’t he?”

A look of shock spread over Daenerys’ face, “How did you know, if you spent your whole life in these gloomy halls?”

Rennifer sighed and gently told her, “He told me he was going to die this morning. Some prophecy or another,” he shook his head and continued, “I never believed those stupid until I met Rhaegar. I still doubt them, but his belief in them was unwavering; it most of what he spoke about. I guess if they are true, I will see you again after this day, Princess.”

“Will I not still be a prisoner on the morrow?”

“No. Beneath the hay in the back left corner of the cell, a segment of the floor can be lifted. Make sure you cover it back up with the hay during your exit. Do not do this until the other gaoler, Marlen, gives you the scraps for dinner, which should be soon. It is not a proper meal in here like breakfast and supper, but we like to give some morsels. After he serves that, he likes to drink himself to sleep or bring a girl down here, and that will be your chance to escape. Three lefts, the far-right door, a left, then a right will take you out of this place. From there, lift your hood upon your head and find your way to the docks. The Maiden’s Shriek will be your ship. Goodbye, Princess,” Lord Rennifer Longwaters finished, and bestowed a kiss upon Daenerys’ hand before he closed her cell door and left.

Daenerys followed her instructions without any missteps. The morsels that she was given by Marlen for dinner appeared to be scraps from a feast held during the Heir’s Tourney. It did not look particularly appetizing, but Daenerys knew she might not eat again for some time. After she felt enough time elapsed, she set to work on her escape. Daenerys pulled away the hay, and easily found the floor segment that Rennifer Longwaters informed her of. As she lifted it, she pulled the hay over it, and grasped them together, certifying that they would both fall back into place. Daenerys descended the unstable wooden ladder and reached one of the many tunnels under the Red Keep.

“Three lefts, the far-right door, a left, then a right,” she muttered, repeating the instructions she had been given.

“Two lefts, the far-right door, a left, then a right,” Daenerys declared after she made her first turn.

“One left, the far-right door, a left, then a right.”

“The far-right door, a left, then a right,” Daenerys noted that these tunnels were gloomier than the dungeons themselves. The door barely worked; it produced a grand creaking as the Targaryen Princess opened it.

“Left, then a right.”

“One last turn, right,” Daenerys muttered as she rounded the final left. Deep at the end of the tunnel, Daenerys could see light beginning to enter the dark halls.

“The docks now,” Daenerys murmured. She exited the tunnel to a deserted cliffside, scattered with rocks and birds but no people. In the distance to her right, Daenerys caught sight of the docks, which supposedly housed her ship. She trekked down the perilous boulders and feared a slip until she eventually reached a gentler slope. Although no one was near, Daenerys obeyed the instruction to keep her hood covering her head.

 The sun had flown past its peak before Daenerys reached the docks. To her fortune, she spied that the nearest ship bore the name Maiden’s Shriek. She quickly ducked past the guards and briskly walked up the steps to the nearest dock. At a glance, she saw a young, handsome man stood on the edge of the ship. He reached one hand out and beckoned to her but kept the other behind his back. Daenerys sprinted over to him which caused the breeze that knocked the hood off her head.

“Give me your hand, Princess,” he gently called to her. Daenerys obliged and firmly grasped his hand. He helped her bridge the gap between the dock and the ship; she climbed aboard safely.

“May I have your name?” Daenerys queried politely.

“Ronnel, of Cracklaw Point,” he said with a cheeky grin, “I heard you were lacking some smallclothes.” With those words, he revealed his hidden left hand which held cloth garments.

He only laughed at her shocked expression and continued, “I’ll lead you to your cabin.”

Rhaenyra Targaryen

There was a time in which no Kingsguard were stationed outside the bedchambers. This moment, early in the morning, is often when herself, Baelor, and Vaera would sneak off to the safe bounds of the Godswood. The towering trees provided a haven in which the three could seek refuge from the duties and troubles of court life.

In the Godswood, they played a countless number of games. They did battle with the trees, enacted great councils, and hid from each other. But Rhaenyra’s favorite was always when they raced up a tree. Each would try to climb to the highest branch they could, and from there they could view the whole Godswood and surrounding area. The many trees of the Godswood shielded the interior from all the city noises that bounce around King’s Landing, but these bustling sounds were easily heard from atop the tall trees.

This is where Rhaenyra sat as she enjoyed the pride gained from beating her brother and sister in a race to the top. A gentle breeze graced the sky, making Rhaenyra’s hair dance. Her flowing silver locks softly bounced with each puff of air. Rhaenyra’s hair whipped around with her head at the faint sounds she heard from the Red Keep. It seemed to be screaming, with the occasional ring of swords clashing.

“Baelor, Vae, do you hear that?” Rhaenyra questioned her siblings.

Baelor ascended to the highest branch of his sturdy elm tree before he responded with worry in his voice, “Yeah… do you think we should stay here?”

“The Kingsguard and our father will be in Maegor’s Holdfast, I would hope,” Rhaenyra said.

“Yes, and if we get there, father will protect us. Him and the Kingsguard,” Vaera proclaimed.

“By your wishes, sisters. We should hurry.”

Rhaenyra followed Baelor’s lead as they raced to Maegor’s Holdfast. The youngest princess knew that she was running faster than an arrow zipping from a bow, but she felt slower than an aurochs. The roars and rings of steel clashing grew louder as they came closer to their home. Baelor led the way up and around the spiral staircase. During her journey up the steps, Rhaenyra confirmed to herself that something was wrong; no guards had been present at the entrance.

They climbed the last steps to see a battle in the hallway outside of their chambers. Ser Barristan was stood at the door to Baelor and Vaera’s chambers, surrounded by countless Lannister soldiers brandishing their steel and swinging with every malice.

In that instant, Rhaenyra felt a wave of guilt; Ser Barristan must have assumed he was obeying their father’s wishes and keeping them safe in their chambers. His life, and perhaps their own, was at risk because of their stupid games. From the look on Baelor’s face, Rhaenyra sensed that his guilt struck similar.

The Lannister soldiers had not yet noticed them, but her heart dropped right before she planned to whisper a message of silence to her siblings, “Ser Barristan!” Vaera shouted. Foul thoughts plagued her mind as the Lannisters and Ser Barristan alike turned to face them.

The priority for the red and gold men was no longer Ser Barristan; they left him protecting the chambers and clunkily raced towards Rhaenyra. She looked to Baelor but instead viewed a towering red brick wall where her brother was just stood. Over her shoulder, Rhaenyra watched as Baelor and Vaera sprinted through the intimidating doorway and down the spiral staircase. Rhaenyra was quick to follow. She ensured that the wooden door was slammed shut behind her, hoping it would cost their enemies precious seconds in their pursuit.

Only one destination for the siblings was possible: the Godswood. Rhaenyra recalled from a few days prior the hiding spots they had used with Visenya. When she easily found them, Baelor had rebuked her criticisms and told her they would never be found if they so wished. She hoped that his confidence was not misplaced, for their lives depended on it.

Rhaenyra ascended to her favored spot. It was a crevice in the tallest tree of the Godswood, a black cottonwood. A pronged seat was made by three branches and hidden by thickets of leaves on either side. From her vantage point, Rhaenyra was unable to see out, and therefore none would be able to see in. Rhaenyra hoped that her brother and sister were similarly hidden.

The respite from the clashing of steel ended shortly after Rhaenyra scaled the tree. She assumed that Ser Barristan had reached the Godswood and was beginning their rescue. The ringing noises did not drown out the crunching of boots on leaves that Rhaenyra heard beneath her seat. She hoped that this indicated the Lannisters were split, which gave her greater confidence in Ser Barristan. As time passed, the clashes grew less frequent, before they disappeared entirely.

“Prince Baelor,” she heard a friendly voice call out, “Princess Vaera, Princess Rhaenyra.”

“You killed all of them?” Vaera exclaimed. Rhaenyra spared an exasperated glance to her sister.

“We are sorry, Ser Barristan,” Baelor left Vaera unacknowledged.

“There is no need, children. Everything has worked out now. Come, let us get to our ship,” Ser Barristan Selmy commanded.

“A ship?” Rhaenyra queried, “Are we not staying here?”

“No, my princess. Our destination is Claw Isle.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Jon Targaryen

Jon’s night had been long and enjoyable, but tiring. As Jon exited his chambers, he passed a spry Aegon Targaryen, his older brother. Jon was not dressed in proper garb, contrary to the fine princely garb his brother was dressed in.

“It looks like you didn’t get much sleep,” Aegon jested.

“Aye, though its substitute was suitable,” Jon quipped back at him.

“How is she?”

“Dany? She’s perfect, I couldn’t ask for anything better,” Jon sincerely declared, with his voice carrying and honest passion. His nights with her were better each time. They grew more experienced with each encounter and they learned best how to please each other.

“That’s good to hear. I hope father will allow the pair of you to marry. I fear that my meeting with father now is about my betrothal. The feeling in my gut tells me I will not like the outcome,” Aegon lost all joy from his voice, his delivery now stone and serious. Jon nodded his head in agreement with Aegon’s statement.

Jon grasped his shoulder with a firm hand, “Do not worry, brother. One day, you will be King, and Rhaenys will be your Queen. And Arianne will be your second wife, if you wish. All of Westeros would have no choice but to accept the union; the seven kingdoms would be at your feet.”

“Aye,” Aegon replied with a warm smile, “And you and Daenerys will be Prince and Princess of Summerhall. You will be able to shape the castle and the surrounding lands to your liking.”

“That seems more a task for Daenerys. As long as the training yard suits my needs, I could live anywhere. Your future children would be welcome to visit anytime they wished,” Jon offered.

“The same for yours. The bond they will share should be that of brothers and sisters, not cousins,” Aegon affirmed.

“Aye. Now forgive me, I must dress myself properly then I am to see Ser Arthur for sparring.”

“I will see you for supper this evening,” Aegon confirmed. Jon received a quick, firm hug from his brother before he continued across the hall to his own chambers.

Whilst Jon changed, he thought of Daenerys. The sight of his nude body sparked the thought of his aunt’s form conjoined with his own. At night, Jon was confident he spent more time inside her than asleep. He hoped she did not lie about taking her moon tea, for if that was a falsehood, he was sure her belly would soon rise with his child.

His sparring outfit consisted of breeches and a light tunic that he would remove before beginning his practice. The leather boots he wore made a distinct sound with each step towards the training yard. The sounds were accompanied by the rustling of Ser Arthur Dayne’s armor and mail.

They had just raised their blunted swords when the sounds came. The training yard was filled with bustling crowds and blunted swords clashing as it was on near every day. Ladies of the court occupied the stands that surrounded the yard, for they enjoyed the sight of the men training. At the noises from the Red Keep, these ladies shifted in their seats, and swords dropped to the warriors’ sides.

It was shrieking and the ringing sound of swords clashing that startled all present. Ser Arthur Dayne had disappeared from Jon’s sight; at the same time, Lannister guardsmen burst forward into the training yard. Jon locked eyes with one of the men, which caused him to bellow instructions to the other Lannister soldiers. The path to Jon was not clear, however, for the other men in the yard posed strong opponents. Despite their blunted swords, they still swung and sliced at the heavily armed men.

The obstruction of the Lannisters gave Ser Arthur time to return to Jon with two steel swords in his hand. One was Dawn, the fabled sword of House Dayne. The other held no great name or design, but it would suit Jon’s needs. Jon received the blade from his protector and together they turned to face the enemy.  

Ser Arthur’s hand advised Jon to stand firm, and to first allow the other men in the training yard to have their fights. Some Lannister helms fell to the dirt at strikes from blunted swords. Several of the loyal warriors also knocked the Lannister men themselves to the floor, whilst others lost their lives to the Westerlands’ swords.

Slowly, the enemy guards trickled through the measly, poorly armed line of defense. Jon confidently believed that these Lannister men lacked intelligence, as each man who broke through would rush towards him, only to be cut down in a few strikes by the Sword of the Morning.  

Four enemies were cleanly killed by Ser Arthur before Jon was forced to face his first opponent. The training Jon had undergone during his life was far greater than necessary for him to face this foe. The rough dance began with a rash strike from his enemy, which Jon easily ducked underneath. His reply was a strike to the side which clanged off his armor. Jon blocked a fury of relentless strikes before he could return the favor.

Jon’s reply was a strike to the underside of his enemy’s sword arm, which forced him to scream in pain and drop his sword to the dirt. His opponent now held every disadvantage in their battle, and Jon did not hesitate to end it. His glimmering sword pierced the Lannister soldier’s neck, just beneath the chin. It was a swift stab, as his sword was needed to turn away another enemy’s strike. Jon’s sword now shone with blood; droplets flew off with each parry.

That soldier was the first man Jon had killed, but there was no falter in his rhythm. His confidence only grew, and his mind entered a trance of perfection. Each parry easily deflected his opponent’s blade, and every strike pushed his enemy back. Jon’s next pattern was performed to perfection. He struck to the left then cut across the right of his opponent, before inviting a lunge. His opposition fell for his trap, leaping forward with an extended arm. Jon struck at the plated arm, deftly disarming the Lannister man. Jon stamped his foot on the sword when his enemy reached for it, which earned a fearful glance. As the man turned his face to Jon, he performed another quick stab to the neck, bathing his sword in blood once more.  

Another man struck at him from his right, which Jon jumped back from. He felt a man fall into his back, but Jon had no time to turn. He feinted a cut to the right before striking with a backhanded slash to the left. Jon parried a strike once more before he replied with a hit to the helm of the Lannister with the blunt edge of his steel sword. The man, clearly daze, stumbled whilst Jon hacked at his throat.

Jon turned to find a body crumpled at his feet, and Ser Arthur battling another two opponents. He guessed that the man had come up behind him, but his loyal knight of the Kingsguard made swift work of him. Ser Arthur now deftly defeated one of the two remaining opponents, whilst Jon buried his sword into a gap in his armor on the soldier’s left side.

After they both defeated the final two Lannister soldiers, Ser Arthur beckoned Jon to follow him, “Come, we have a ship.”

Jon only replied with one word, “Daenerys!”

“She will be fine, my Prince. King Rhaegar has ensured her safety,” Ser Arthur explained.

“No, we must find her,” Jon desperately rasped. As he said this, another band of Lannister soldiers appeared where the first had once stood. He felt Ser Arthur’s hand grab his arm at the sight of them. A tug forced Jon to turn and follow the Sword of the Morning from the training yard.

Together, they easily lost the enemy. As they raced away from the Lannisters, Jon’s mind raced with thoughts of his lover. He hoped that Ser Arthur’s reassurance was true, but that did not displace the worry that coated every thought.

Before long, they reached a skiff on one of the rocky King’s Landing beaches. Ser Arthur handed Jon an oar, and in unison they rowed out to a great galley. It bore the name Dragon’s Revenge, and it also sent forth a rope ladder from the edge. Jon climbed aboard first before Ser Arthur followed. The captain of the ship offered a hand to each as they reached the deck. After both were safely stood on the ship, the captain dropped a burning torch on the skiff, which set fire and would eventually remove any trace of their escape.

Overhead, the sun flew past its peak and eventually descended beneath the horizon, permitting the moon to rise in its stead. Jon’s mind was occupied fully by thoughts of Daenerys. Two more days and nights of worry passed before Dragonstone came into view. He hoped she was safe in her chambers in the grand castle, but he would not learn that answer, as the ship continued past the island.

“Ser Arthur, that is Dragonstone, is it not?” Jon queried.

“It is, my Prince.”

“Why is our ship sailing past it?”

“Our destination is not Dragonstone,” Ser Arthur explained.

“Then what is the destination we seek?”

“Asshai, my Prince.”

“Asshai? What awaits us in Asshai?” Jon asked, shock apparent in his voice.

“I know only that it is the destination Rhaegar decided for you.”

“I don’t suppose Daenerys will also be journeying to Asshai?” Jon questioned with little hope.

“No, my Prince. But I can assure Rhaegar will have planned a safe future for her,” Ser Arthur informed him. Jon bowed his head, resigned to the fact that he may not see Daenerys for several years. The full impact had not yet struck him, but sadness was the emotion that paired with worry in his thoughts.

Rhaenys Targaryen

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen lay nude upon her brother’s bed. Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen had left earlier in the morning for a meeting with their father. Their other lover, the Princess of Dorne, Arianne Martell, had also recently departed Aegon’s chambers. She guessed the meeting between her brother and father was about his betrothal. The Heir’s Tourney had come to a close, and the lovers had known the grand event would likely end with Aegon’s promise to another house of Westeros.

Rhaenys hoped Aegon would have the nerve to oppose their father, but she doubted the conclusion of the meeting would be pleasant for either her or her brother. Rhaenys knew that Aegon had shared the bed of Margaery Tyrell, and even though she was confident of his love, she worried that he would see a betrothal to Margaery as an acceptable outcome.

Rhaenys and Arianne had both discussed the future on many occasions with Aegon, and they had determined their ways of life if each was married off to random highborn lords and ladies of the realm. Rhaenys and Arianne were unbreakable on the determination that Aegon would father their children. Rhaenys was like to have less control over her future than Arianne; the Princess of Dorne could birth a bastard to Aegon that could become a legitimized heir of House Martell once Aegon became King, all whilst she would remain unmarried. Rhaenys, however, had far less control over her fate.

If she married a high lord of the realm, she would not be able to maintain a relationship so openly with her brother. She still would do her best to avoid bearing a child to any perspective husband, and only give birth to children from Aegon. But that was all in the distant future.

At the present, she had unknowingly lent a hand to her folds, aroused by the idea of bearing Aegon’s children. Her short-lived pleasure was broken by the sounds of swords clashing outside Aegon’s chambers. Now in response to worry, her fingers continued rubbing her wet folds. Her actions ended when she heard children screaming, voices that sounded alike to her youngest siblings.

Still nude, Rhaenys rose from her bed and found her way to the doorway of Aegon’s chambers. The ringing of swords slowly moved down the hall, and Rhaenys allowed herself a peek. She cracked open the door, with enough room to spy the battle with one eye. One of her rounded breasts pressed against the thin door’s edge; it was not the most comfortable position. However, it did give a view of the event outside the chambers. Ser Barristan Selmy, a knight of the Kingsguard, was chasing several Lannister guards. Rhaenys considered herself fortunate that they had not entered Aegon’s chambers.

She locked herself in Aegon’s chambers, and before long the ringing of swords returned. Less footsteps plagued the hall now, and it sounded like they smashed in the door of other chambers. That was when the clash of steel returned to the hall. They ended faster than when Ser Barristan had chased away the previous Lannisters, and another door was smashed in.

This door was that of Aegon’s chambers, and her nude form now stood exposed to the man who entered. Fortunately for Rhaenys, it was Ser Oswell Whent, another knight of the Kingsguard. Her knowledge of his sense of duty saved her embarrassment, but Rhaenys knew there must be trouble.

“Dress yourself, and take what you need,” Ser Oswell ordered.

Frightened into movement, Rhaenys rushed to her dresser. First, she snatched a set of smallclothes. The Princess pulled one half over her bottom, and tightly fit the other half over her breasts. Rhaenys was fortunate that many of her clothes lived in Aegon’s chambers; it was a convenience as she spend every night with him. She reached for a dress but received a warning from Ser Oswell.

“Not a dress, tunic and breeches,” he ordered urgently. Rhaenys obeyed his commands, pulling a Targaryen red tunic over her head and fitting her legs into a pair of breeches.

“What’s happening?” Rhaenys frantically asked Ser Oswell.

“I will explain all shortly, Princess. If you were to not return for several years, is there anything you would miss greatly?” Rhaenys looked around Aegon’s bedchambers, pondering his question. Despite being a daughter of House Targaryen, a great house which had access to every gem and jewel imaginable, she did not think of any item that held any great importance. Her greatest possessions were the relationships she kept with her family. But as her eyes swept the chambers, she did notice a necklace resting atop a wooden bedside stand. Rhaenys quickly dashed over and grabbed it with her slender Targaryen hands.

It was one of Aegon’s necklaces. The necklace did not possess great gemstones that would draw attraction from every pair of eyes. A sliver chain formed the base of the necklace, and upon it rested five gemstones. The far left was a shining ruby. Next was a glimmering black onyx gem. The center stone was another ruby, and the pattern continued for the remaining two places, another onyx then a shimmering ruby.

Rhaenys raised Aegon’s necklace over her head and allowed it to fall onto her neck. She proceeded to follow Ser Oswell Whent from her brother’s bedchambers and out of Maegor’s Holdfast. The looming red brick walls seemed intimidating to Rhaenys, a new feeling. At each turn, their pace would slow. Ser Oswell would steal a glance around each corner, before he decided which path would be best to take.

Upon one of these glances, Rhaenys heard shouts that declared, “There!”

“Turn right, Princess, and run,” Ser Oswell warned. With Lannister soldiers chasing behind them, the Kingsguard knight now allowed Rhaenys to run first. He instructed her to check the halls in the same manner that he had.

Soon, they burst from an exit and left the Red Keep with the Lannisters inside. Their escape from the maroon and gold guards was not the last peril they would face. Ser Oswell led Rhaenys through the backstreets of King’s Landing. A princess and a white cloak were uncommon sights in these alleys, and it caused all to stop and watch the duo. Their rushed run came to a halt when a pair of gold cloaks stepped forth, into their path.

“Stand aside,” Ser Oswell ordered, his voice dropping deep.

“I’m afraid I cannot do that, Ser.” Steel clashed at his words. Ser Oswell Whent deftly blocked each strike from the City Watchmen. Rhaenys turned away when her knight plunged his sword into one man, spurting blood from his body, and when she turned back, the other man was crumpled on the ground alongside the first.

Soon, they reached the docks of King’s Landing, ducking and hiding at every glimpse of a gold cloak. Ser Oswell Whent led her between two ships: the Maiden’s Shriek to her left and the Lover’s Hope to her right. Still following every precaution, Ser Oswell guided her to the Lover’s Hope. She climbed aboard first, and her protector followed behind.

“Greetings, Princess. I am Captain Andar of the Vale,” the captain of the ship introduced himself to Rhaenys.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Andar. Where is our destination?” Rhaenys asked, more interested in the answer than the man.

“There is no time for conversation, Princess. We must depart, at once,” Andar declared. He turned away from Rhaenys and began barking orders at his men.

Several days would pass before Rhaenys found the answer to her question. She prompted Ser Oswell each day and he consistently refused her, until she demanded an explanation when the Lover’s Hope sailed past Dragonstone.

“Tell me true, Ser Oswell. What is our destination?”

“Silkhead. The House Rogare rules that section of Lys.”

“Rogare? Are they not direct descendants of Valyria? And was there not a Larra Rogare who married into House Targaryen?”

“Indeed, Princess, you are correct on both accounts. The current head of House Rogare, Lord Byan, wields Truth, a Valyrian steel blade. But their possession of the most importance is their wealth. When the Rogare Bank fell, House Rogare took the remaining gold and hid it in vaults deep beneath their castle. Rhaegar believed their wealth would be enough to buy an army.”

“I don’t suppose Aegon will also be headed to Lys?”

“I am sorry, Princess, he will not. His destination is not in my knowledge, but I was assured he will be safe,” Ser Oswell Whent concluded their conversation.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Visenya Targaryen

Princess Visenya Targaryen spent this morn with her cousins. Visenya had spent a year with her mother’s family in Winterfell, and in that time, she had grown very close with the offspring of House Stark. Herself and Prince Jon Targaryen, her brother, had been closest with Arya Stark during their stay, and they were now reunited in King’s Landing. She had also made fast friends with the Heir to Winterfell, Robb Stark. Brandon and Rickon were both too young to see as anything more than little siblings, and little Lyanna had not seen her second nameday before Visenya returned to King’s Landing. Sansa, although she was of a similar age to Visenya, shared no common interests with the Princess. Their relationship was nothing more than courteous, but despite that, they were sat together now.

Lord Eddard’s sons were not her only cousins in the North. His brother, Benjen Stark, ruled Moat Cailin and had three kids of his own. Jeor, Lyarra, and Rickard had once visited Winterfell during Visenya’s stay, but the oldest, Jeor, was less than half her age. Instead, it was their mother, Dacey Mormont, who Visenya enjoyed the company of. House Mormont of Bear Island was famed for their female warriors, and Dacey proved the reputation. Visenya learned much from her and sparred many times with Moat Cailin’s she-bear.

But despite the expansive family, only five Starks traveled to King’s Landing. The retinue that followed them was far greater, containing the likes of Jeyne Poole, Septa Mordane, and the family’s household guard.

Four of the Starks were present in Robb’s chambers, in one of the many guest wings of the Red Keep. The solar was minimal and cozy, and Visenya’s presence pushed the attendance to its maximum. They were all huddled in chairs around the small desk that was the centerpiece of the room; it was threadbare with a thin top and four legs that would not go amiss if they were fingers upon Visenya’s hand.

Sansa sat across from Visenya, twirling her fiery red hair. To her side, Robb spoke with annoyance and dropped his head lower, causing his Tully red curls to bounce slightly. Brandon, to Visenya’s left, shared similar hair to his two eldest siblings. Arya sat to her right, keeping a large distance between herself and Sansa. The wild daughter of Lord Eddard was the only present child to bear the dark brown hair of her father; little Lyanna did as well.

The topic they discussed were betrothals, “We spoke of this a few nights past, Senya,” Robb complained.

“And some Southron lord may have offered his daughter to your father,” Visenya rebuked. She wished to discuss this topic no more than Robb, but she knew that if she pandered to Sansa’s interests now, she would have more freedom in conversation later.

“There were several,” Visenya smirked at his comment, her point proven, “Roslin Frey, a girl of five and ten. She is rumored to be very beautiful. Another girl, with one year less but the same rumored beauty, Alysanne Bracken, was offered to my father. And when House Bracken does something, House Blackwood must match them,” Robb rolled his eyes, “a younger girl, Bethany Blackwood. Near to Arya’s age, I think. But, the current preference for both myself and my father is still Alys Karstark.”

“And what relation does this Roslin have to the Late Lord Walder?” Visenya asked with a laugh.

“Daughter, I think. You never know with the expanse of his army,” Robb countered with a jest.

“And Sansa? Any charming young lordlings?” Visenya questioned with a mocking in her voice that could only be sensed by Arya and Robb.

“I think my betrothed would be Brandon Umber, heir to Last Hearth, if Robb marries Alys. If his bride is Roslin, I think I would have to marry Harrion Karstark. He is near twice my age,” Sansa shivered with disgust at that, “Though my dream would be to marry the Crown Prince,” Sansa spoke with a sweet innocence that was broken by Visenya’s laugh.

“I’m afraid that would never happen.”

“Why not? The King hasn’t announced a betrothal yet,” Sansa pointed out.

“He is quite in love with our sister,” Visenya informed her. Sansa gasped at her words. Visenya could only imagine the reaction if she informed her cousin of Arianne.

“But… but that’s…” Sansa was unable to complete as response.

“That’s a tradition in our family that stretches back to before the Doom of Valyria,” Visenya reminded her and moved the attention away from the entitled girl, “Any suitors for Arya?”

“I’m not marrying anyone,” she defiantly declared. Visenya looked to Robb instead, hopeful he would properly answer.

“If she is to marry, I think it might be young Joren Mormont, for our father thinks she would enjoy life on Bear Island,” Robb explained calmly. Arya released an exasperated sigh.

“Though now you think that you will never marry, one day you will wish for a husband.”

“Do you truly think so, Senya?”

“Aye,” Visenya told her. She received a sound of annoyance in response.

“I wish to marry some great lady!” Bran exclaimed.

“I don’t think father has considered many offers for him. I know of one, Eddara Tallhart, but no more,” Robb explained, “Rickon will marry Uncle Benjen’s daughter, Lyarra, I think. Like our grandparents, but it will be Rickon instead of Rickard. And for sweet Lyanna, I think it is far too early to guess. Mayhaps her future betrothed has not yet been born,” he speculated.

“Mayhaps she could marry a little prince,” Visenya suggested.

“Prince or not, she will have the largest Kingdom at her feet,” Robb declared.

“Aye,” Visenya affirmed. At her words, the door burst open.

“Princess,” Jory Cassel called, making an indication with his head. With that, Ser Jaime Lannister, the youngest member of the Kingsguard, stepped forward.

“We must go, Princess,” he informed her.

“Something’s wrong,” Visenya surmised.

“Yes, and we must take no longer. Follow me,” he ordered.

“What’s happened?” Robb asked. Ser Jaime ignored him.

He continued to urge Visenya to follow him, “We must leave before the fighting starts.”

“Fighting?” Several of the children exclaimed in unison.

“Yes,” Ser Jaime confirmed, “Visenya, we have a ship that awaits us, we must hurry.” Visenya paused, hurriedly thinking and glancing at her cousins.

“They will come with us,” Visenya decided, authority exuding from her words.

“Princess, I know they are your cousins, but they will only slow us down,” Ser Jaime argued, exasperated they had not yet departed.

“If there is danger here and they are not safe, then they must come with us,” Visenya countered, remaining firm.

“Very well, now let us go.”

“Wait,” Visenya halted her cousins before they could follow the Kingsguard. She rose and entered Robb’s bedchambers through the small doorway. The screams and the sounds of swords clashing grew louder.

Visenya’s eyes darted around the room, hoping that she could see what she wished for. Her gaze passed the small bed, the few sconces on the wall, and the singular mosaic. Compared to her own chambers, it was the difference between Barrowtown and King’s Landing. Finally, she caught sight of her hope. Inside the hearth, the outline of a small door appeared. It would be invisible to anyone who was not looking for it.

“We’re using that,” she thought out loud.

“Using what?” Robb spoke from behind her. Visenya walked forward to the hearth and pulled the metal grate from inside. She reached her arm out and felt around the wall. She found a small fingerhole and filled it to its brim. Her slender finger hooked down and pulled backwards, releasing the doorway.

“Ser Jaime,” Visenya called, “Lead us through the tunnel. Jory! Allow my cousins to enter first, then follow them. Drag the gate back and close the entrance behind you.” Ser Jaime Lannister entered Robb’s chambers, and squeezed through the small gap.

Visenya traced Ser Jaime’s path through; she was forced to condense her body, for the doorway would have barely been large enough for one of the castle’s cats. On the other side, the hall immediately opened to a ceiling that matched her height. Ser Jaime had to bow his head and hold it ducked as he walked. Behind her came Bran, Arya, Sansa, and Robb was last of her cousins. Jory was the final member of their party to use the entrance, closing the small door behind him.

“I was only expecting the Princess,” the ship’s captain informed Ser Jaime.

“We have found some companions,” Jaime pointed out with a courteous smile that indicated he wished for no further conversation.

Visenya assumed his annoyance grew when the captain began to ask questions, “We don’t have enough cabins for them, how are they meant to sail with us?”

“Aye, it’s an issue. And it’s yours, not mine.”

“Is our destination still Braavos?”

“Yes, now that’s enough questions. Let’s get out of this city before the enemies come.”

Visenya pondered the conversation before she interjected, “Wait! We will not sail for Braavos. Set course for White Harbor.”

The captain balked at her orders, “White Harbor? I was commanded by your father to take you to Braavos, Princess.”

“I surmised that, captain. The Starks are with us now, and we must return them to Winterfell. Our destination is White Harbor,” Visenya firmly concluded.

“Very well, Princess.”

Ser Jaime turned to her, “White Harbor? We could have sailed for Braavos and found your cousins another ship that would have taken them home. But now, you flaunt your father’s final wishes for you.”

“Final wishes?”

“I’m sorry, Princess. I never explained. My father, Lord Tywin, plotted to rid the realm of its King on this day. Rhaegar knew, and he saw it as an opportunity,” Visenya began to cry, but Ser Jaime continued, “He created new lives for all his children. Yours was to be a Faceless Man, in Braavos. Then once the Prince retook the Iron Throne, your skills could secure the dominance of the family,” he enveloped her in a hug.

“And you? Did he not worry that a protector of his daughter is the son of the man overthrowing him?”

“He offered me an escape. He said that I could join my father if I wished. But I declined; it is my duty to fulfill his wishes,” Ser Jaime spoke with a troubled voice. Visenya noticed, but pressed him no further.

Visenya turned to her cousins, “Let’s get you home.”

Lyanna Stark

Lyanna Stark, Queen to King Rhaegar Targaryen, awoke to the sounds of moans and skin clapping.

“You didn’t wait for me,” she noted, her eyes still closed. Lyanna forced them open when she felt a pair of lips press against her own. Above her was Queen Elia Martell, who had been their husband’s first wife. Nine years past Lyanna’s age, the Dornishwoman still possessed all the beauty from her younger years. Elia had been married to Rhaegar for two years when Lyanna ran off with him. When they first escaped the public eye, the realm had thought Rhaegar had kidnapped her. Every account of this was soon fixed following the war. A secret know only to Lyanna was that Rhaegar forced a septon to erase his record of Rhaegar’s marriage annulment with Elia. He had set her aside for Lyanna, but that tale remained between them. Elia was revolted when her King brought Lyanna to bed with her, but over time they had grown into a close pair of lovers.

From the side of her eye, Lyanna spied Rhaegar vivaciously thrusting into Lady Mylenda Celtigar from behind. At first, Lyanna and Elia had been opposed to their husband taking Mylenda as a concubine, but their love eventually prospered. Mylenda had been four and ten when Rhaegar selected her in 284 A.C., and within the year the stunning Celtigar gave birth to twins. Despite Baelor and Vaera sharing the Celtigar name, Lyanna and Elia treated them as if they were their own. The following year was the birth of Rhaenyra, in 286 A.C. The sweet Princess was always troubled, but Lyanna was ever-present to comfort her.

Mylenda embodied the image of a Valyrian lady. Her silver-gold hair stretched the length of her back, which led Lyanna’s eyes to her perfectly curved ass. From there, she snuck a glance at Rhaegar’s chiseled form. With his age, the effects could be seen on his body, but nonetheless, Lyanna adored her King. Mylenda’s thighs flowed with each thrust from Rhaegar, and her shaped stomach jiggled ever so slightly. She possessed perfect, rounded tits that bounced with no restraint as her lover took her from behind. Strands of hair danced in the air, and a pained smile of joy crowned her face.

Lyanna’s attention turned back to the stunning, olive-skinned beauty that lay naked atop her. The thin bedsheet divided most of their form, but Elia’s sweet breasts pressed into Lyanna’s own. She did not own the largest tits, but she found Rhaegar loved them the same. Lyanna placed one hand behind Elia’s head, firmly holding it in place. Her lips gave entry to Elia’s tender tongue, and together they did battle with their mouths. Lyanna’s spare hand stretched down to her lover’s ass, giving it a firm squeeze before she aided her husband.

Lyanna reached out and squeezed Mylenda’s nearest tit, blessing it with a playful slap as well. Her occupied lover shared a higher moan in a grateful response. Elia broke their kiss and slid down the barrier between them, immediately occupying Lyanna’s folds with a gentle hand. The Dornishwoman strummed her strings like a musician at a feast in a routine practiced a thousand times. Lyanna’s moans rose and joined Mylenda’s in a harmony of pleasure.

This continued until Lyanna gasped and begged, “Allow me, Elia.” The Dornish beauty knew what she wished for and positioned herself in a certain manner. Lyanna moved her form for the first time since awaking, scampering a portion of the bed and interlocking her legs with Elia. In unison, they rubbed their sexes together, which gave Lyanna a shiver of delight.

An echoing slap sounded from the other edge of the bed as Rhaegar slowly removed his length from Mylenda.

“Elia, come to me, my love,” he beckoned, falling and turning upon his back. Lyanna knew Elia, of her King’s three lovers, could ride him the best, and that was the way in which he had her most often. The Dornish queen crawled over to Lyanna’s beloved whilst an aching Mylenda made the opposite moves. Instead of assuming the position that Elia abandoned, the Celtigar beauty filled the void with her talented tongue. Already as wet as the Blackwater, Mylenda’s moist spear added to the bay.

Lyanna did not allow her to continue for much longer and she commanded Mylenda to reverse their roles. The Northern Queen lay flat as her tongue ravaged Mylenda’s folds whilst she felt her own juices soak the bed beneath her. A furious bounce from her right gathered her attention. Elia rode Rhaegar with every strength in her body, finding her pleasure with a final bounce, his length stabbing deep into her cunt. A great moan echoed through their chambers.

When she lifted herself off him, Lyanna discovered his cock was now drowned in Elia’s juices. He called for Lyanna to replace her. She tantalizingly found her way to him, climbing atop him and pressing her small figure tight against him.

“My sweet Queen, my sweet love,” he whispered, his caring voice blowing away loose strands of hair that covered her ear.

Lyanna giggled and responded, “My charming King.”

In a sudden movement, he flipped their position. He now lay dominant above her, the motion leading to a shriek of excitement. He gently took her mouth with his, rolling a soft thumb over a nipple. Soon, the thumb was replaced by his wet tongue, circling her small breast.

Lovingly, he slid his shaft along her moistened folds, making it easier for him to insert himself. Rhaegar tenderly penetrated her welcoming cunt with his throbbing cock, giving her a pleasure she had wished for from the moment she woke.

“Rhaegar!” she cried his name between moans of pleasure. He continued gently, rocking his hips into her own. To their side, Mylenda moaned with obvious pleasure as she found her release from Elia’s tongue at her folds. After moments admiring their beauty, Lyanna once more focused on Rhaegar, gripping his back and digging her nails into him. His pace increased and soon the soft sound of their sopping bodies colliding grew into a roar that echoed through their chamber walls.

As Lyanna felt her peak nearing, she stared into Rhaegar’s eyes and sensed his finish was soon as well. In near perfect unison, Lyanna moaned, finding her pleasure, whilst Rhaegar grunted with joy, painting her walls with his warm seed. She lay still, basking in her ecstasy, as Rhaegar rose from their grand canopied bed and quickly dressed himself. Lyanna took more pleasure in watching him dress; it was still an enjoyable sight after all these years.

Once clothed, he turned to them and declared, “Whatever happens today, I love you. Elia, Lyanna, and Mylenda,” he locked his eyes with each as he spoke, “Dress yourselves, and following my departure, go with Prince Lewyn to the docks. To tell you true, I do not expect today’s ending to be in our immediate favor. But remember our house words, Targaryen, Martell, Celtigar, and Stark, for all are true. Our children are fire and blood, they live unbowed, unbent, and unbroken, and they will remain sure and steadfast. And they will grow stronger and braver than I ever was, for winter is coming. Goodbye, my loves.”

Lyanna, Elia, and Mylenda stood, covered in their finest dresses and adorned with their finest gems, between two ships. Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard stood near, and they anxiously waited for news of their King. If Ser Jonothor Darry was to come, Mylenda would board the ship docked to their left, and Lyanna would board the right-sided ship with Elia. They did not like being split, but they knew it was safest if all three did not journey on the same ship.

Lyanna’s heart sunk when she saw Ser Jonothor Darry riding his horse to where they stood. She did not listen to his words, for her mind knew what they would tell her. In a trance, the Queen climbed aboard her ship, and stood against the side in misery as they sailed away. Worry joined the pile of misery as they sailed away, for Mylenda’s ship seemed to continue struggling with its departure. Elia found her embrace, and they both shed deep tears into each other’s shoulders.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Aegon Targaryen

As the long point of Driftmark came into sight, King Aegon Targaryen still struggled to understand the events from two days prior. His father, the former King Rhaegar Targaryen, had indicated the events that took place were the worst outcome. But to Aegon, it seemed so simple to guard against the eventual result. More guards, restrictions upon Lord Tywin Lannister’s soldiers, and an easier escape route all could have been set in place without much struggle. His father told him that plans had been made for his whole family, but what plan would be better than simply securing their rule? Mayhaps he would understand once he grew older.

If their ship were to sail along the left coast of the island, the first structure visible would be the castle of High Tide. Constructed by Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, the grand castle was built to house the Driftwood Throne. Its towers and walls were crafted from a pale stone. Atop those slender towers sat silver crowns, which shone bright in the sun. The castle’s name originated from an actual high tide, acts of nature that affected High Tide greatly. At high tide, the castle would be surrounded by the water of Blackwater Bay and the only path to land was a thin causeway.

At the end of this causeway sat the village of Spicetown, which had been burned to the ground in the Dance of Dragons. The remains of flamed buildings still stood as the town had never been reconstructed. High Tide was also put to the torch, but the castle was deemed more important than the village. The fields around Spicetown were now used for farming, as the ash made the ground ripe and fertile.

But Aegon’s ship bent to the right of Driftmark’s long point, and it sailed toward the castle of Driftmark, and the town of Hull. Hull had been a prospering town before the Dance, and it only grew once the refugees from Spicetown made the town their new home. The docks of Hull were its greatest asset. Filled to the brim with the fleet of House Velaryon, the harbor could still house merchant ships alongside the hundred and twenty ships of the Velaryon fleet.

Aegon’s galley found its spot in the harbor, and the King was promptly embarrassed. The dromonds of the Velaryon fleet dwarfed his galley, making him seem none more than a measly lord. He disembarked the boat, and was greeted by a unit of Velaryon guards.

“Welcome to Driftmark, my King,” the leader declared.

Aegon hesitate at his last word before responding with a pained voice, “It is a pleasure. What is your name, Ser?”

“Ser Daemion, of Hull,” Daemion announced, bowing his head, “Follow us, my King. Lord Monford awaits you.”

Cheers accompanied Aegon during his march through Hull. The castle of Driftmark was the ancestral seat of House Velaryon. For each description Aegon heard of High Tide, this castle could be named the opposite. It was a grim-looking castle, with dark, salt-stained walls decorating the exterior. Once Aegon reached the interior, he found it no more pleasant. It was damp, flooded in places, and the halls where thin and cramped. The Great Hall was unspectacular, as was the chair Lord Monford Velaryon occupied at the end of the room. This Great Hall once possessed the Driftwood Throne, but that now spent its days at High Tide.

“King Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name!” the herald called. Lord Monford rose from his seat and knelt as Aegon walked towards him. Beside Monford was Aurane Waters, a bastard-born son of the late Lord Lucerys Velaryon. He knelt with his brother, and from there Aegon saw three more Velaryons. Monterys Velaryon, a boy of twelve, heir to Driftmark, knelt with his head bowed, preceding his siblings. Daena Velaryon, a girl of ten, and Jacaerys Velaryon, a boy of nine, were positioned beside their brother. All three possessed the Valyrian silver-gold hair and purple eyes.

“Rise,” King Aegon acknowledged the room.

“My King, it is a pleasure to welcome you to Driftmark,” Lord Monford declared.

“The pleasure is mine, my lord.”

“Let us move somewhere more private,” Monford suggested.

The council chamber in the castle matched the other surroundings, which prompted a question from Aegon, “Why do you live here, and not High Tide?”

“High Tide is removed from the people, Your Grace, and the people are what make a lord,” Monford informed him, “We stay a moon’s turn at High Tide, but for the remainder of the year, this is the castle we inhabit.”

“I shall remember that,” Aegon promised, “I still am unaware of why I am here. Ser Gerold refused to inform me as to why we sailed here instead of Dragonstone. He said that would be discussed with you.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Your father did not think that Dragonstone would be safe, with Viserys and the Lannisters likely sailing ships in search of you. He thought Driftmark would not be safe either, which is why you will leave shortly after noon.”

“To where?” Aegon queried, intrigued, but annoyed with the prospect of having to sail once more.

“Since Rhaegar became King, we have secretly expanded our fleet, at his wishes. Recently, we have celebrated the completion of twenty galleys, raising our fleet to one hundred and twenty vessels. With my brother, Aurane Waters, you will sail thirty ships south, and conquer the Stepstones,” Lord Monford declared.

Monford had resigned to Aegon the seat at the head of the table, in the grandest chair. To his right sat Lord Monford, and to his left sat Aurane. Behind him stood Ser Gerold, the White Bull, ever watchful.

“The Stepstones?” Aegon exclaimed with a questionary inflection.

“Yes, my King,” Aurane confirmed, “The Stepstones have not been conquered since the Band of Nine, although your grandfather tried and failed. It is a pit of vipers that hail from both sides of the narrow sea, but it is also a pit of potential. Yes, it is currently infested with pirates, but I have never had to live within the rules of Westeros. That’s one of the few advantages of being a bastard.

“I have made many friends in the Stepstones, but I also have many enemies. Your father and I discussed this during the Heir’s Tourney. You may have noticed we left King’s Landing a day early, and that was so we could prepare to leave promptly upon your arrival. Your Grace, you are currently a king in name only. By your father’s wishes, we will conquer the Stepstones. After our success, I will anoint you King of the Stepstones,” Aurane Waters declared. A stunned Aegon was allowed time to process his words before he responded.

“Very well. The Stepstones will be the start of my kingdom,” he confirmed with Aurane before turning to Lord Monford, “Will Rhaenys be coming as well? Did my father speak anything of her, Arianne, or my other siblings?”

“I asked him, but got no sure response. He told me that his children each had their own destinies, and that the dragon will rise again. I am sorry, Aegon,” Monford spoke truthfully, with heartfelt words.

Aegon nodded, sad and disappointed, but in his heart, he had already known the answer. As their conversation finished, Ser Daemion knocked and entered the room.

“Lord Monford, a woman is here, she names herself Mylenda Celtigar. Ser Jonothor Darry is with her.”

“Bring her in, at once,” Aegon commanded. The stunning Valyrian concubine gracefully entered the room. Though he had just seen her two days, his good mother embraced him with a hug that emulated a ten-year absence. They had never been the closest, but silently they mourned the loss of Rhaegar together.

“What happened?”

“We had struggles leaving the dock, and the captain, he said there was an issue with a mast. He requested that Ser Jonothor agree to a stop here, so they could fix the ship, then continue to the city in Lys.”

“Lady Mylenda, there is no time,” Lord Monford declared, “Lannisters will be sending ships, and we cannot risk them catching any member of the Royal Family. Join the King on his journey to the Stepstones.”

“It will be good to be with family,” she acknowledged.

“Then it is decided, good mother, you will join myself and Aurane during our conquest of the Stepstones.”

“How was Rhaegar, as a husband?” Aegon asked Mylenda. They stood together on the deck of Aegon’s Revenge, a powerful dromond. The breeze shaped their silver-gold Valyrian hair, making it dance in the wind. He stared into the purple eyes they shared.

“He loved the three of us, your mother, Lyanna, and myself, equally. He never had to. Lesser men would have played favorites, but his heart was always true,” Mylenda explained. Aegon felt guilt at those words, knowing he had worried more for Rhaenys than Arianne. It should have been the opposite; he knew there was a plan for Rhaenys’ safety, but his father had not made plans for Arianne. Aegon hoped she stayed safe in King’s Landing. He at least had confidence that her seduction abilities could guarantee some safety.

“I’m sure at one instance I despised some of his parenting. But now… now all I can think of is everything he did right. He never failed in his teachings to me, and from ten I sat every Small Council meeting. When I was young, he never refused any of my requests. For play, a certain meal, even a quick trip to Dragonstone, he granted them without hesitation,” Aegon spoke, a rueful smile on his face.

“I’m sure you’re aware he wished to marry someone other than Rhaenys?”

“Aye.” Aegon said, not wishing to remember that particular plan of his father.

“He changed his mind, the night before… before he…” she trailed off.

A new sadness bloomed on Aegon’s face, the charge led by several droplets of tears.

“Truly?”

“Aye. And he would have legitimized any child Arianne bore you as a true Martell. He had concluded that it made no difference in the grand course of the world,” Mylenda informed him, her own eyes now shedding tears.

“I was four and ten when I married him, but he did not have my maidenhead,” Mylenda now confessed, “During Robert’s Rebellion, a small force of enemies landed on Claw Isle. I was only three and ten; my nameday had just passed. I snuck into their camp, seduced their commander, and the men left the following day. I had several others before I married your father, some for lust and others for favors, not unlike your Arianne. I wish now I had never slept with them,” as she finished, another flurry of tears fell from her face.

“Do not be ashamed, good mother. As you know, Arianne has had half of Westeros, and I have taken countless women with Arianne and Rhaenys by my side,” Aegon reassured her.

“We all make rash decisions in our youth. Some we come to regret, and some we learn were wise beyond our years.”

Stepstones Appendix

(Western Stepstones)

• Sunstone (Lord Tormo, Lyseni)
• Shame Isle (Lord Belyrio, Myrman)

(Central Stepstones)

• Bloodstone (Lord Gyleno, Lyseni)
• Wreckstone (Lord Khorane, Lyseni)

(Northern Stepstones)

• Dark Den (Lord Salladhor Saan, Lyseni)
• The Skulls (Lord Khorane Sathmantes, Lyseni)

(Southern Stepstones)

• Grey Gallows (Lord Samwell Arryn of Gulltown, Westerosi)
• Last Refuge (Lord Monterys, Westerosi)
• Torturer’s Deep (Lord Daario Vynenohr, Tyroshi)

Viserys Targaryen

Small, slow drops of blood fell from the high Iron Throne, and several rivulets of red descended the steps. Opposite to the blood, Viserys ascended the tall Throne. His boots made a loud clunk every time they clashed with a step. He dared to slide his hands along the side occasionally, pulling his hand away every time he felt a poke from the tip from a sword. Once he reached the top, he stared down at his dead brother’s body, blood spilling from where the arrow struck. Gingerly, he reached down and removed the gem-encrusted crown from his dead brother’s head.

Sweat had dressed the former king, Rhaegar Targaryen’s silver hair, and it had also seeped onto the insides of his crown. Viserys used the bottom of the doublet to wipe away the sweat, refreshing the crown for its new King. With a deep grin adorning his lips, Viserys made the long-awaited movements that he had dreamed of for so long. His hands lifted the crown and raised it above his head, slowly dropping it to his top. A sense of satisfaction overwhelmed him at the feeling of his head being encircled with the metal circlet.

He made these actions facing the back of the Throne and turned around to a gratifying scene. All those present in the Great Hall, from Lord Tywin Lannister to Lord Edmure Tully, were knelt with their heads bowed.

“Rise,” declared King Viserys Targaryen, Third of His Name. At his word, Tywin Lannister was the swiftest to stand. He scurried to the bottom of the Iron Throne and stared up at Viserys.

He spoke quickly, “Your Grace, the coronation will be tomorrow.” He then turned his back and began barking orders at every man in the room.

Viserys awoke the following day in the former chambers of his brother. The grand canopied bed and the sconces on the wall with rushes adorning the floor gave him a warm feeling of joy. He threw off his bedsheets and began to dress himself, finding a stunning red and black doubled with his finest pair of black trousers. He wore finely made black leather boots and slid several ruby rings onto his fingers.

Two men guarded his door and led him forth two the Great Hall. He made short, nervous conversation with them during their journey that felt a lifetime to Viserys. He learned their names two be Ser Osmund and Ser Osfryd Kettleback, two in a set of three brothers. Osmund and Osfryd both looked alike. Their heads were matted with a dark, mud brown hair, and their hooked noses made them unpleasant to look upon. Both towered over him, which was not the image he wished to portray, but he knew his safety was assured. Ser Osmund was the more accomplished, telling Viserys great tales of his life. Learning about his adventures in the Stepstones and fighting with the Gallant Men in Lys and Tyrosh took Viserys’ thoughts off the source of his nerves.

He reached the Great Hall soon, and that is when they bubbled to the surface once more. Viserys gazed around the hall, spying countless familiar faces. He saw his lover, Lynesse Hightower, with her Targaryen-like hair, stood next to her husband, Tyrion Lannister. He saw Lord Paramount Mace Tyrell, stood between his children. The only one that drew Viserys’ attention was Lady Margaery Tyrell, the Rose of Highgarden. To view her stunning face, his eyes passed over Willas, Garlan, and Loras Tyrell. Lord Paramount Edmure Tully, with his blood red hair, his children, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, with their golden hair, and his wife, Cersei Lannister, with hair match her children, all stood present. Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne sat in a sea of unfamiliar faces, but her jet black hair and olive skin distinguished the Dornish beauty from the rest. Lord Paramount Stannis Baratheon was the only representative of House Baratheon in attendance. Even with the distance between them, Viserys could recognize the grim expression upon his face.

There were countless other lords in attendance, but Viserys’ spectating was interrupted by the herald, “King Viserys Targaryen, Third of His Name!” With those words, the Kettleback brothers allowed him to walk forth to the base of his throne. He stood in front of the steps as Tywin lifted a golden crown, topped with a shining ruby, from a majestical red pillow. This crown was different to his brother’s, as his allies wished for the primary color to be gold. It was traditionally the High Septon who performed this, but Tywin wished to show his power to the realm.

“Kneel as Prince Viserys Targaryen,” Tywin’s voice boomed through the room, his hands placing the crown upon Viserys’ head and proudly declared, “and rise as King Viserys Targaryen, Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” When Viserys rose, the crowd in attendance knelt, pledging their allegiance to their new King. All except one. Arianne Martell was the lone defiant. She spoke her treason whilst Viserys ascended to the top of the Iron Throne.

“Look at you all,” she hissed, “These men betrayed your true ruler, King Rhaegar Targaryen, and killed his heir, Prince Aegon Targaryen. They murdered the family you once loved and adored, and now you follow these traitors like a flock of sheep. This puppet of Tywin Lannister is no King of mine.”

“Guards!” Viserys ordered, “Take her to the dungeons. Show the realm what we do with traitors,” he finished with a contemptuous look on his face.

“You may rise,” Viserys declared once the wild Dornishwoman had been dealt with. Each member of the audience rose and proceeded to sit.

“I thank you, Lord Tywin, for all your aid with my ascension. Therefore, I hereby name you my Hand of the King. It is an honor to have a man of your stature by my side,” Viserys declared.

“The honor is mine, Your Grace,” Tywin spoke briefly, giving the crowd much time for applause.

“This day is not only my coronation; I will also announce my bride. But first, I have another betrothal to speak into law. By all your witness,” Viserys addressed the crowd, “I betroth my firstborn daughter to Tyrion Lannister’s son, Gerion Lannister.” The audience politely applauded.

“Many thanks, Your Grace,” Tyrion rose to speak.

“Lord Paramount Mace Tyrell has been a staunch ally of mine. As a reward for his loyal support, I shall marry his daughter, Lady Margaery Tyrell, in two moons’ time,” Viserys declared to a wave of applause. Mace Tyrell attempted to speak, but the clapping of hands drowned his words.

The following process was the longest and held the least enjoyment for Viserys. Every lord with his lady and children made their way to the base of the Iron Throne, and one by one, they pledged their allegiance. Most also offered congratulations for his marriage to Margaery, which only ate away more  of his time. Viserys fell into a routine, nodding acknowledgment to everyone who pledged allegiance. Before long, he could not differentiate between each lord.

Once the Great Hall emptied, Viserys could only wish his obligations were over. But there was another ceremony he was forced to attend before he could see his sweet sister. He had not gone too seen Princess Daenerys Targaryen since his ascension to the Iron Throne. Viserys was advised that visiting her the prior day would only provoke anger, and that it was best to give her time. He had informed the realm earlier that he would marry Margaery, but Tywin wished him to omit his future marriage to Daenerys.

This ceremony was one of tradition, held in the Great Sept of Baelor. The attendance was made fully from smallfolk, which were hostile compared to his earlier audience. Viserys entered the Sept without his crown upon his head, with it already sat on the same cushion from earlier. He knelt before the High Septon, who anointed him with the seven oils. The crown was placed on his head once more, and he rose to a mixture of applause and jeers from the smallfolk.

Rage coursed through Viserys’ veins when he found Daenerys’ cell empty. The Chief Gaoler was not present, but a bulky and stout undergaoler who called himself Marlen made his services available to the King. His anger found its victim in Arianne Martell, who occupied an end cell on this level of the dungeons.

“Marlen, find a low pillory. Make the Dornish bitch of use to me,” Viserys snarled. His seething rage continued through the wait. At the signal from Marlen, he entered Arianne’s cell. The olive-skinned Dornishwoman was bent with her head trapped and hands locked in the pillory. Her perky, rounded rear was displayed for his ease of use.

“You traitorous bastard!” she hissed through gritted teeth. With every piece of rage, he slapped her ass, leaving an immediate red mark. Viserys circled the Princess of Dorne, recipient of kicks and spits. After several encirclements, he stopped and bent down to stare in her face.

“Your Prince is gone, your Princess is gone, and they’ll never return,” Viserys spoke with a tone he would use with a child.

“You’re an embarrassment to House Targaryen and its legacy. What would Rhaegar say to you now?” Arianne seethed with venom.

“Rhaegar disrespected me and treated me as if I was a boy who knew nothing of the world,” Viserys argued.

“If he did, he would have been right, as he was in everything,” Arianne declared, and laughed at the rage rising once more on Viserys’ face. His patience had worn thin, and he responded with a slap across her face. Her laugh continued through his assault.

“In the annals of history, I will be remembered as one of the greatest rulers in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Great, for your inexplicable ability to constantly fail.” Viserys treated her with another slap, but once again, she only laughed. His infuriation only grew.

“And you will be remembered for being the Royal Whore of King’s Landing, offered to please any guest of mine,” Viserys announced.

“You would never,” she spat, aghast, “I am a Princess of Dorne!”

“Aye, and Prince Doran will send his threats then go hide at the Water Gardens,” Viserys countered. He dropped low and crawled beneath Arianne. He firmly grabbed her tits, squeezing them until she screamed in pain. His mouth also encircled them, leaving the occasional bite. Arianne’s legs were not bound, and she, with every bit of fight left in her, began striking him.

“Marlen!” Viserys called, “Hold her legs.” Arianne continued to thrash and scream, but Viserys to his pleasure from her tits. His mouth descended her body, finally reaching her folds. His tongue battled with the Dornish Princess, with the rare aid from his harsh fingers.

The olive-skinned Dornishwoman was one of the most beautiful women in the realm, and Viserys did not think he would be able to find a man that would debate his claim. His limitations of only using his hands and mouth grew powerless to his urges.

“Marlen! Leave us,” Viserys commanded. The stout undergaoler swiftly obliged, relieved from his duty that was made successful by his obvious strength.

Viserys spoke as he rose and undid the laces on his trousers, “House Martell will do nothing against us whilst you are here. And once Dorne’s heir starts giving birth, your father will be even more reticent to oppose my rule.”

His length was full as it was released from the restraints of his black trousers. Viserys walked around to Arianne’s rear, striking her ass with his full might on his path. His left hand grabbed her hip firmly whilst his free hand gently guided his hard cock into her cunt. Her folds were wet and dripping, although Viserys assumed it was not by her wish. Viserys gripped her hip even firmer with his free hand, and began viciously thrusting himself into her.

A grand satisfaction came over Viserys with the feeling of his manhood being sheathed fully in Arianne’s cunt. His hands held her defiant thrashing at bay, except for when he would spare one to viciously strike her ass. She yelped in pain at every strike, but it only fueled her defiance. Despite her obvious revulsion, Viserys still reveled in her beauty, and could not withhold his seed much longer. He groaned in pleasure as he finished inside her; a warm joy surrounded his cock inside her.

“You will pay for this, you traitor,” Arianne snarled.

“And once you give birth to a bastard, your child will pay for each defiant action you perform,” Viserys warned.

“Burn in each of the Seven Hells,” she seethed.

Viserys laughed, “You’re a challenge! Mayhaps you will be more fun than Lynesse and Cersei.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Visenya Targaryen

“When we reach Lord Manderly, you must ask for news of your father,” Ser Jaime Lannister informed her.

“I will, although I feel the answer may be given before the question is asked,” Visenya affirmed.

Dark clouds bore over their galley as White Harbor came into sight. The sun was cloaked in grey, and light was limited. Their ship displayed no Targaryen colors, and hence they were forced to dock in the outer harbor. Designed for common merchants and passenger ships, the outer harbor was far larger than the inner harbor, which was reserved for Manderly ships, important merchants, and any visiting nobility. The inner harbor offered greater anchorage and protection, as it is shielded by a grand wall. On a jetty that separates the harbors, it sits thirty feet tall and over a mile long. Speckled with watchtowers, this wall is only one of the two buildings that shelters the inner harbor. The Wolf’s Den rose from the ground to loom over the harbor. Once a grand fortress, it had fallen into disrepair and been transformed into a prison.

But before Visenya’s galley would find its space in the outer harbor, they had to sail past Seal Rock. Grey in color but adorned with algae, it was the resting point for many seals, as its name suggested. The seals were accompanied on Seal Rock by a fortified ringfort, shining with lights to steer ships clear. From her ship, Visenya saw crossbowmen poking their heads over the ringfort’s walls. She had been up there once, when she visited White Harbor with the Starks during her year’s stay. Lord Wyman Manderly had insisted it was unnecessary for them to scale Seal Rock, but Visenya and Arya were steadfast in their wishes. She knew that those stone walls housed spitfires and scorpions. Visenya did not quite know how the seals had ascended the walls of the ringfort, but there had been a small colony of these creatures within the stone circle.

Visenya disembarked the ship once it docked, and she was immediately greeted with the overwhelming smell of fish. Little stations of vendors dotted the landscape, with each selling a variety of fish. Men, women, and children all called out to Visenya and the Starks that walked with her, each offering a different kind of sea creature. The claws of crabs poked out past the slick scales of salmon. The red pincers of lobsters contrasted the aptly named whitefish. Visenya shuddered at her first sight of a lamprey, but her senses were soon relieved when she remembered the brilliant taste of the many lampreys she had preyed upon in her previous visit to White Harbor.

Visenya passed under the high arch of the Seal Gate to the sight of much grander establishments that the assortments of cloths that posed as buildings. They walked past the grand oak and iron door of the Old Mint, a fine tavern. Nearby was the Lazy Eel, which had no class similar to that of the Old Mint.

“They have the oldest whores in Westeros there!” Robb remarked.

“Aye, and the worst wine,” Visenya shuddered at the remembrance of the night they snuck out to the Lazy Eel. She remembered that Jon had lost some sort of bet and had to eat their infamous meat pies, well-renowned for their inedible gristle. The most prominent memory from that night was when one of the elder whores had come to tempt Theon Greyjoy, Ned Stark’s ward. His cackle was still fresh in her memories, as was the scarring image of Theon having the whore. The sight of her drooping, wrinkled tits would forever be branded in Visenya’s head, akin to the raspy screams from the old woman.

The Sept of the Snows cleaned her thoughts from the dreadful memories. The giant statues of the Seven, from the Mother to the Stranger, surrounded the marble sept. A domed roof with a golden peak topped the Sept, glinting in the few rays of sun that snuck through the clouds. In that moment, Visenya decided that she must visit the holy site when she first had an opportunity.

Visenya and her travelling party, led by Ser Jaime Lannister, now grew close to the ominous Wolf’s Den. But the dark fortress was a deep contrast to the marble steps of Castle Stair, the street that provides the path to the New Castle.

Like the Sept of the Snows, New Castle’s prominent features were comprised of marble. From a distance, one would think the whole city was crafted with marble, but most buildings are only formed with a whitewashed stone.

“State your name,” one burly guard ordered.

Robb stepped forward and stated with confidence, “Robb Stark of Winterfell. Accompanied by my siblings, as well as Princess Visenya Targaryen, with her Kingsguard, Ser Jaime Lannister.”

The guard paused before he gave his response, “You lot have the looks for it, if I’m being honest. Very well,” he signaled for the gate to be opened by twice knocking his trident against the grand oaken door, “You’ll get an audience with Lord Manderly at once.”

Merman’s Court, the great hall of the New Castle, was decorated with a keen knowing for its environment. The bright colors of painted clams, crabs, and starfish adorned the floor but there was a gloomy undertone with the stretching black fronds of seaweed and the scattered human bones. Visenya found it to be stunning art. The walls mimic the sea, and its creatures follow with it. Fearsome sharks patrol the deep blue-green walls, and slimy lampreys and eels slither through the sunken ships. Herring and codfish swim into the fishing nets cast from the small boats resting near the top of the walls. At this surface rests a shining new galley, but when Visenya turned her eyes to the other side of the great hall, it was a dreary, weathered cog that adorned the sea. A grand kraken and a grey leviathan were depicted entrenched in a formidable battle on the far wall, but when Visenya dropped her eyes, the sight matched none of the paintings.

Lord Wyman Manderly was near too fat to sit the large, cushioned throne that rested at the dais. His velvet blue-green doublet blended well with the seat, and the gold lining on both were covered by the large lord. Wyman’s deep-reaching chins were not covered by his grey beard. Wisps of hair that matched his beard adorned his head, and his pale blue eyes were nearly colored the same. His fingers looked the size of some of the fish Visenya had seen in the harbor earlier. He was distastefully known as Lord Lamprey, but Visenya knew his personality to be far from the slimy nature of the lamprey.

“Lord Robb! And Princess Visenya,” Lord Wyman’s chair creaked as he shifted to bow his head, “I thought you were imprisoned. That was the news that has been spread by Viserys. I should’ve known to not trust that eel,” he said, and soon after, his gaze found Ser Jaime.

Wyman’s expression darkened, but Robb called out to alleviate his fears, “He is on our side, Lord Wyman.”

“Very well.”

Robb queried, “Why do you name me Lord?”

“Forgive me, my lord, you must not have known. Your father was slain in King’s Landing. As was yours, Princess. My deepest apologies, I should have said earlier. I offer you all condolences for your losses,” Lord Wyman informed him.

 “Oh,” Robb muttered meekly, “I see. The time for mourning will be later. We have things to discuss first,” he declared, not without a few quivers plaguing his voice. Visenya stood in shock. She had no words to speak, and only nodded a swift thanks to Wyman. Visenya had expected this answer, but the news still pierced her heavy heart.

“You are a strong boy, stronger than you know,” Lord Wyman told him, continuing after he received no response, “I have no need for a tale concerning your escape from King’s Landing, all that matters is your current presence. What must happen next?” he paused himself after the question, “Before we continue our conversation, allow me to summon my sons, Wylis and Wendel.”

A short time passed before the rotund brothers arrived. They were not near as fat as their father, but their size was larger than most men. Their doublets matched their fathers, and Ser Wendel strode with a sword on his hip.

“If you’ll permit it, Lord Robb, my sons will join you on your journey to Winterfell,” Lord Wyman suggested.

“They will be a welcome addition,” Robb responded with a polite smile. Robb remained stood alone in front of the Lord Lamprey, whilst the rest of their party had found a seat off to the side. Visenya relished nit having to speak with Lord Manderly, even though she was the most important person in the room, and one who should be in conversation with him.

“I would also like to suggest that my daughters Wynafryd and Wylla journey with you, to provide company for the young ladies and Princess.”

“They will be one of our own,” Robb affirmed with a smile. Visenya knew he saw through the old man’s trick; he only wished for them to journey with Robb, as he hoped Robb would give them his favor and take one of their hands in marriage.

“And whilst you are here, my lord, it is only fitting that we have a grand feast celebrating yourself and the Princess, as well as the life of your father. I will send my fastest river runner to Winterfell to inform them of your impending arrival.”

“Very well. The feast will be a grand honor, and we will leave after we break our fast tomorrow.”

“It is settled then!” Lord Wyman boomed in a warm tone.

Visenya rose with the remainder of her party, joining with Robb and following the beckoning of a maidservant.

“Before you go to your chambers, my lord, I must ask. Will it be war?”

“You will receive a raven before the moon’s turn, Lord Wyman. But know this: the North remembers.”

It was in Robb’s temporary chambers where Visenya and her cousins gathered. The large bed housed them all, and the covers enclosed them in it. Little Bran had taken it the hardest; tears were still pouring from his eyes. Visenya was laid next to him, but Bran wished for no comfort. His face was buried in the pillows. To Visenya’s right was Arya, dressed only in her smallclothes, like Visenya herself. Tears were crusted on her long face, which rested on Robb’s bare chest.

Robb’s hand stroked Arya’s brown hair whilst Visenya’s arm enclosed her body. Robb’s hair blended with Sansa’s as their heads were gently laid together.  The pale-faced Sansa had the covers drawn over her chin, covering her near nude body. The five had near to no fresh clothes on their ship as a trunk of outfits had only been prepared for Visenya. She had shared those with Sansa and Arya, whilst Robb and Bran were forced to rotate between their outfit at the time of escape and oversized crew uniforms. But nevertheless, the clothes were overused and dirty, and they had all been discarded once they entered Robb’s chambers.

The mood in the as dark and dull as the clouds. None of the children moved until Ser Jaime knocked and indicated that it was time for the feast soon. At that, Visenya was forced to return to her own chambers and prepare herself. She stripped herself of her smallclothes and wet one of the blue-green towels provided to her. With the assistance of soap, the Targaryen Princess cleaned her body of all the grime and sweat it had collected that day. Lord Manderly had graciously provided fresh clothes for Visenya and her cousins, everything from chemises to fine dresses. Once she was presentable, Visenya joined once more with her cousins and together they made their way to the feast.

The feast was rather dull to Visenya. She was placed in a seat of importance and was the attention of countless minor nobles and petty lords, but the death of Ned Stark bore over her and her cousins. The same gloomy expression dressed the faces of Robb, Arya, Sansa, and Bran.

The red-haired Lord Walton Holt had been the first to greet her and give condolences for her own father. Swift behind him had been Lord Rorge of House Slate, a burly beast with a red beard as thick as the Wolfswood. Lord Hallis Ashwood of Sheepshead Hills had followed swiftly after with his comely son, the Ser Jeor Ashwood, heir to his father’s demesne. The elder Lord Edwald Wells had been kind and soft in his greetings, unlike the short and curt Wayn Woolfield. Her disdain had been replaced with remorse when Wyman informed her that Wayn’s father, Lord Coenred, was bedridden and deathly ill. The tender Lady Lyessa Flint had been sweet and complete in her words. Those paired with the warming voice of the man who neared eighty namedays, Lord Ondrew Locke, had temporarily suppressed her emotional pain.

The oily pink salmon melted in Visenya’s mouth, and its sparing heat spread through her mouth. It was surrounded by crispy onions, apricots, and parsnips. The fishy smell was once a distant fear to Visenya, but her year in the North had accustomed her to the taste she had once hated back home.

The dessert was a traditional lamprey pie, a fine delicacy that grew more expensive the further south it went in Westeros. A common meal in White Harbor, it was expensive and rare in King’s Landing. Visenya’s first bite was her most delicious of the night. The variety of spices melded together for a fine taste, despite Visenya being unable to name the majority of them. Lamprey pies were always baked in wine, and Visenya guessed that the feast’s batch was a Dornish red.

The food and festivities did little to remedy to the moods of Visenya and the Stark children. During her walk back to her chambers, Visenya reflected on the news she had received today. It had not been the most pleasant of surprises upon arrival to White Harbor, but she knew that her life must not be consumed by mourning. Earlier, Lord Wyman had informed them of Viserys spreading the news that he had captured the other Targaryens and the Stark children. It was obviously a lie, which gave her the hope that her siblings were also free.

“Goodnight cousins!” Visenya softly called out, receiving similar murmurs in response.

Once in her bedroom, the Targaryen Princess stripped herself of her Northern dress and her smallclothes. She found the bath in her chambers. As a generous show of hospitality, it had already been drawn by one of Lord Wyman’s servants. Although she appreciated the gesture, Visenya was not warm to the idea of fully bathing herself. She instead dipped the slab of soap in the water before removing it and scrubbing it across her body. Visenya discarded the soap and replaced it with a dampened towel, scrubbing that across her body as well, albeit more gently.

Whilst Visenya cleansed herself, she allowed her minds to drift to her family. Her mind first went to Jon, her best friend, brother, and perhaps even more; of that, she was unsure. She truly hoped for his safety, and had every confidence that he could handle himself. She missed her close confidants, Rhaenys and Daenerys, her little brother Baelor, her little sisters Vaera and headstrong Rhaenyra. Visenya grieved for her father, prayed for her mothers, but for Aegon, she was worried. He had always been impulsive and fiery, and Visenya feared that could now work against him. She hoped that, like herself, he was guided now by a member of the Kingsguard, for Visenya thought that would be the only measure to keep him calm.

Visenya dried herself and found her way to the trunks filled with clothes provided by House Manderly. Unfamiliar with her new wardrobe, Visenya spent several minutes searching for a chemise. Her eyes and hands worked in unison and eventually found a black chemise, which Visenya gently slipped over her head. In turn, she slipped under the heavy fur covers that rested upon her bed. And with the shutting of her eyes, her eventful day finally came to a close.

Daenerys Targaryen

The deep blue water of the Dragonstone Sea shone in the bright sunlight. There was a calming to it, which Daenerys appreciated. She had always enjoyed the journeys between Dragonstone and King’s Landing, as long as the weather was calm and sunny. She reflected on the day that had been a few mornings prior, the day she had left King’s Landing. When Daenerys had awoken with Jon she never could have expected the turbulence that troubled her in the following hours. It was a short and disturbing journey that was now permanently branded in her mind.

Sailing past Dragonstone was another unexpected twist in Daenerys’ newly invigorated tale. She quickly turned from the glimmering blue of the Dragonstone Sea to find her ship’s captain, Ronnel of Cracklaw Point. Ronnel always wore a cheeky grin with near perfect teeth, abnormal for a sailor. His disheveled brown hair created stripes across his forehead and remained cleanly cut around his ears. Those ears were slightly pinned back, with his right ear sporting a brown splotch that matched one affecting the right curve of his neck. His neck was strong and curved well into his broad shoulders. Ronnel had a large frame, but he was not fat. The man seemed to be of a non-rounded shape, even with the added sailing garments he always and the armor he occasionally wore.

“Ronnel, why is it that we are sailing past Dragonstone?” Daenerys queried her captain.

“Your brother’s orders, Princess. Lannisters should be there soon,” the handsome man replied.

Daenerys did understand the reason but another query was at the tip of her tongue, “If we are not docking at Dragonstone, where are we going?”

“Pentos, Princess, and the palace of Illyrio Mopatis,” she was informed.

“And what about my mother? She was on Dragonstone.” With these words, a fright of worry passed over Daenerys.

“News of her, I do not know. My mission is only to deliver you to Pentos and remain should you ever need an escape from the city,” Ronnel informed her once more.

“Thank you, Ronnel,” Daenerys declared. He bowed his head and she turned back to the glistening waves of the Dragonstone Sea.

Not long after the high walls, brick towers, and tiled roofs came into sight was Daenerys’ ship docked in Pentos. She had only a fleeting glimpse of the city before she was guided into a litter with closed shutters and no handmaidens for company. Daenerys, with a slight sea sickness, closed her face’s own shutters and found a soothing rest.

Daenerys was blinded when the sunlight bore in through the opened door of her litter. She saw a dark outline and tried to steady her vision. Before her eyes were cleared, she heard a familiar, loving voice.

“Mother!” Daenerys excitedly exclaimed. She stumbled from her grand litter and dashed into Rhaella Targaryen’s loving embrace.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Ser Benethon Scales

Ser Benethon Scales was the last in a long line of the members of an ancient Valyrian house. House Scales was not one of the great Dragonlords of Valyria, they were not a house of any repute, and likely no member of their house had ever even touched a dragon. But there was Valyrian blood coursing through Ser Benethon’s veins. For this, the late King Rhaegar Targaryen had put much trust in him, giving him effective control of Windwyrm, the Targaryen castle on Dragonstone. Master Morton of Derlyn, the town on the island, helped him to administrate Dragonstone. Even though the Queen Mother Rhaella permanently lived on the island, and even though Rhaegar often brought his family to visit, much of the island’s responsibilities were left to Ser Benethon. Benethon was thirty and one, unmarried, and had no bastards.

The last member of House Scales to hold such a great position was Ser Elyas Scales, master-at-arms during King Jaehaerys I Targaryen’s regency. He was a descendant of Daemon Scales, who had served King Aegon during his conquest of the Seven Kingdoms. The origins of House Scales had been lost to Ser Benethon, but the accepted rumor was that they were Targaryen bastards raised to nobility soon after the Dragonlords arrived on Dragonstone.

Great houses arriving on Dragonstone had been rather dull since the Targaryens began their rule of the island. Visits from other great houses were scarce, but under Ser Benethon’s watch, it would finally change. Golden lions on red sails approached the harbor of Derlyn. This was not unexpected for Benethon, as King Rhaegar had aptly educated him on his future plans. He knew that Rhaenys was to meet the Rogares in Silkhead, he knew Jon’s mysterious destination, he knew Aegon would soon conquer the Stepstones, he knew Visenya should be in Braavos, he knew the Celtigar kids would be on Claw Isle; he knew every plan.

Benethon knew his part in the plan was to protect Dragonstone and attempt to keep it out of Viserys’ and Tywin’s hands. With the Lannister fleet now within sight of the island, Benethon supposed it was time to make his way to the harbor and prepare to face their leader. His journey through the grass fields and other terrain on the island returned the memory of a dream he often had: dragons flying around Dragonstone, landing in the fields and perching on the rocks.

Benethon rode a brown mare along the dirt paths of Derlyn. He was followed closely by the small Targaryen army that resided on Dragonstone. It was numbered near to a thousand and they all marched in perfect formation behind him. The taverns and houses along the main path were emptied; all the inhabitants stood tight to their wooden walls, watching their defenders go to meet the Lannisters.

Ser Benethon’s eyes were locked on the Lannister captain that stood central on one of the docks, having just disembarked the Lannister flagship. He was flanked on either side by four Lannister soldiers that all towered over six and a half feet tall. Intimidation was the clear motivation, but Ser Benethon was unfazed. Benethon’s hand was placed firmly on the pommel of his sword, matching the stance of every other man in his sight. As he glanced from side to side, Ser Benethon saw lines of Lannister arches stood along the decks of the nearest ships, each with their bows trained on him.

“You will find no Targaryens here, if that is what you are after,” Ser Benethon called out, “To what and whom do I owe the pleasure visit?”

“Ser Forley Prester, heir to Feastfires,” the captain declared.

“Aye, and where is your red ox? Do the Lannisters not let you display it any longer?”

“Things are different with ships, you see. It matters not, less personal enemies.”

“Hmm,” an unimpressed sound came from Ser Benethon.

“Enough of the small talk. By the decree of King Viserys III Targaryen and his Hand Lord Tywin Lannister you must hereby surrender the island of Dragonstone and all its holdings to his Grace. All of Dragonstone’s inhabitants must bend the knee to their rightful king with no further delay,” Ser Forley read from a scroll.

“Fuck off our island.”

“We have 20 Lannister ships here. 10 Lannister and 10 Targaryen ships are soon to be at Driftmark, and 20 Targaryen ships will soon be at Claw Isle. When those lords bend their knee to Viserys, we will bring the might of the Lannister and Targaryen fleets to Dragonstone. Surrender us your island, at once,” Ser Forley demanded. Benethon knew resistance would be futile, so he determined he must resort to trickery to follow his late King’s wishes.

“I’ll tell you true. There are no Targaryens on this island, nor will there be. I received a raven, from King Rhaegar, commanding me to prepare Dragonstone’s small fleet and sail it to Elyria. If you wish to find Rhaella, that is where she will be,” Ser Benethon declared.

“If you have no Targaryens to hide, allow my men to scour the island until sundown. If they find nothing, we will leave the island, and you will be hearing of the new Lord of Dragonstone shortly.”

“And I will accept him, so long as King Viserys recognizes the whole of King Rhaegar’s will. Specifically the decree that House Scales will be the eternal castellans of Windwyrm.”

“That will be for the King to decide, Ser Benethon,” Forley said slyly, “Now stand aside to allow our men to conduct their search.”

“My men will remain on the beach for the remainder of the day, then they will only unarm once the last of your men board your ships.”

“Very well,” Ser Forley said as he extended a hand to Ser Benethon. He gripped it well, confirming their deal.

Monterys Velaryon

Monterys was sat on a beach near the town of Hull, trying to ignore the small Lannister force that marched toward Castle Driftmark. He rested in the sand far from the Dragonstone Sea and the trails of driftwood that lined the shore. To his left was his sister Daena, his younger by two years. The gentle breeze had strewn her long silver hair across her sweet face. She was between her two brothers, as Jacaerys, a boy of nine, was sat to her left. The three were near inseparable, and all dreaded the inevitable servant bringing a request for their return to the castle from their father.

Lord Monford had been close with the late King, Rhaegar Targaryen, so much so that he had been instrumental in some escape plan of the new, true King, Aegon VI Targaryen. He was Rhaegar’s Master of Ships and he had always been a staunch advisor and supporter. These reasons gave Monterys great worry for his father as he was unsure if the pretender King, Viserys, or the Lannisters would be lenient with allies of the former King.

“Father won’t surrender to them, right? They’re traitors,” Jacaerys spoke innocently.

“He wouldn’t,” Monterys affirmed, “Not whilst Aegon or Jon live.” He was confident in that belief; he knew his father’s loyalties to Rhaegar and now Aegon were unwavering. Monterys now feared for his house’s safety and worried they might need to abandon Driftmark to save their lives if matters with the Lannister soldiers went south. 10 Targaryen ships had accompanied the 10 Lannister ships, but all had birthed Lannister soldiers to the shore. Far in his eyesight were the docks of Hull, were those ships now resided. Plenty of space had been cleared for them in the docks by the recent departure of the thirty galleys now under the command of Aegon and Aurane Waters, Monterys’ bastard uncle.

“You look lost,” Daena noted wryly.

Monterys snapped out of his thoughts and jested, “At least my head isn’t as empty as the current sky.” There were no clouds to be seen.

“Weak,” Daena laughed, before all joy fell from her face, “Monterys, what troubles you so much?”

“Nothing… nothing of note. I don’t wish to trouble either of you with my stupid thoughts,” Monterys informed her.

“We’re scared,” Daena declared. Monterys looked across to Jacaerys who nodded in agreement with his sister. Monterys reached an arm around Daena in comfort, gently rubbing his hand on her side.

“There is nothing to be worried for, father will take care of everything. The Lannisters will do us no harm.”

“What if they do? Will we have to flee like the Targaryens did?” Daena queried him.

“We won’t have to. If that happens, our fleet outnumbers them. There is nothing to be scared of,” Monterys assured them.

“It would be fun to travel somewhere, even if it was fleeing,”Daena noted.

“I want to go to Valyria,” Jacaerys declared.

“No one who goes to Valyria ever returns. You know that, silly,” Daena told him condescendingly, “I would like to see Lys. I hear the sunsets there are beautiful.”

“Aye, I’d love for us three to witness one. Imagine us sat on a beach of Lys instead of us sat watching Lannisters patrol our home,” Monterys wistfully said.

“With the pleasure barges as well,” Jacaerys laughed. Monterys and Daena both turned their heads to him in unison.

“You’re too young to be talking about that stuff,” Monterys scolded.

“I’ve seen you spying on the women when they go swimming in the ocean,” Jacaerys jokingly bit back.

“Aye, all zero times that’s happened,” Monterys burst out laughing.

“Once I’ve flowered you won’t keep your eyes off me,” Daena jested.

Monterys quickly gestured with his hands, “Calm it with that Daena, we’re not the Targaryens.”

“Aye, but perhaps we should be. Who knows how little blood of our ancient ancestors still courses through us?” Daena questioned.

Monterys laughed then scolded, “You’re also too young to be talking of those things. I’d love to see Braavos, and the mighty Titan of Braavos that guards the harbor.”

“It’s hard to imagine cities in Essos,” Daena noted, “I can’t imagine a place without a lord or a king, like how we have.”

“Aye, that would be odd. I wonder what the Stepstones are like, if all the rulers there are just pirates or if there is something more to life down there,” Monterys spoke his deep thoughts aloud.

“Your father wants your presence,” a voice called from behind. It was Alyn, one of their father’s most trusted house guards. He was not the captain; that honor fell to a man named Aenar.

“We should not keep him waiting,” Monterys declared as he rose to his feet. He presented a hand to aid Daena so she could stop the breeze from turning her indecent. Her silver hair was still strewn across her face, but that was quickly fixed once she rose. Monterys then led his siblings behind the footsteps of Alyn, which guided them towards the throne room of Castle Driftmark.

Alyn led them to their places of honor alongside their father, Lord Monford Velaryon. He sat on the new seat that had been constructed in the Castle Driftmark since the Driftwood Throne was at the heart of High Tide. That castle had been burned during the Dance of the Dragons, but it had been reconstructed under Monford and Lucerys’ reigns. The Driftwood Throne had survived the burning, and now it sat secure.

The Lannister captain stood before the steps that led to the seat of their father, holding a scroll that he had not yet read out. It appeared he was waiting for Monterys and his siblings to arrive before commencing with the declaration of the words on the scroll.

“By the decree of King Viserys III Targaryen and his Hand Lord Tywin Lannister you must hereby swear your everlasting fealty to King Viserys III Targaryen or be declared a traitor and an enemy of the realm, punishable by death. You must first bend the knee to the Lannister in command at Driftmark, with the witness of your court, with immediacy, then you must travel to King’s Landing and pledge fealty to King Viserys III Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm, before the Iron Throne, under the witness of his whole court.”

Monterys, Daena, and Jacaerys exchanged glances. Looks of worry plagued their faces but Monterys silently reassured them. He was confident in their father; he thought that he must have planned for this scenario. Monterys’ confidence did not waver when Lord Monford rose from his seat and walked down the steps to stand tall in front of the Lannister commander. Monterys knew that his father would tell the Lannister commander that Viserys was the traitor, and that House Velaryon would never bow to him and the Lannisters.

Slowly, Lord Monford Velaryon began to drop his knee to the floor, before it firmly touched the stone ground. Shock enveloped Monterys as his whole world crashed and burned in front of his eyes.

Vaera Celtigar

Vaera Celtigar, her twin Baelor Celtigar, and her younger sister, Rhaenyra Targaryen, had struggled to adapt to life on Claw Isle. The island had always felt like a second home to the three, but it now felt an uneasy resting place in light of the recent events that had shaken their world. Ser Barristan remained close with them through the entirety of the day, and they remained in a small shack on the southern side of the island.

The town they were in was a crabbing village, with few inhabitants. Their grandfather, Lord Ardrian Celtigar, had insisted they move to the village, as he was aware of Lannister-manned ships headed for the island. The village was stuffed in a shallow valley between two hills, hidden away from the rest of the island.

“Ships!” Vaera exclaimed.

Vaera, along with her siblings, were sat with an elder woman on her crabbing skiff when they first spied the Lannister-controlled Targaryen ships. She had been teaching them how to fish for crabs, but all four rowed with urgency back to the shore and the protection of Ser Barristan. They knew that the men on the galleys would likely not notice them from that distance, nor would they have reason to stop at this tiny fishing village.

But for precaution, the three siblings returned to their shack whilst Ser Barristan remained guarding their door. They had only one mattress in their new home. It was placed on a plank of wood that protected it from the dirt floor. The mattress itself was no great comfort, a distant quality compared to their former beds in King’s Landing. Vaera and Baelor lay cuddled on the woolen mattress whilst Rhaenyra paced their temporary place of living.

“Rhaenyra, come lay with us and stop with the pacing. Let us sleep. It’s the fastest way for these dreadfully boring days to pass,” Vaera requested of her younger sibling.

“I haven’t need to sleep since our grandfather trapped us in this town filled with old crabbers,” Rhaenyra exasperatedly replied.

“Rhaenyra, please,” Baelor begged. At his request, she relented in her pacing. The sound of her footsteps no longer attacked the ears of Vaera, and silence reigned as it had in this village for its entire existence. Her younger sister removed her tunic and breeches and crawled onto the mattress and under its covers. Whether or not Rhaenyra would sleep was a mystery to Vaera, but nonetheless she was grateful for the quietness that filled their shack.

A drowsy Vaera drifted in and out of sleep until she exited their shack during the following day’s sunrise. Ser Barristan had awoken Vaera and her siblings from their slumber. She was greeted by four mares, causing her to rub her eyes to confirm their existence was true.

“The Lannisters have left Claw Isle,” Ser Barristan informed them, “We must now ride for the castle.” Vaera, still half-asleep, obeyed his commands and climbed atop a brown mare. Her horse was speckled with white dots, perhaps indicating the dispersion of the once strong Targaryen dynasty. Those thoughts were not what Vaera wished for, so she instead turned her mind to remembering what the elder woman had taught her about crabbing.

They were guided to the council chamber of Claw Isle’s castle, where they were met by their uncle, Ser Maric Celtigar. Vaera was slightly surprised that their grandfather, Lord Ardrian, was not present, but she was sure he had his reasons. By traditional inheritance laws, Maric was heir to Claw Isle, but he had long been disinherited. He had never held any interest in ruling, and Vaera believed it had come as a relief to him when he was removed from the line of succession.

“The Lannisters have made me Lord of Claw Isle,” Ser Maric declared, “My father was taken as a prisoner to King’s Landing, and he was stripped of all his titles. I can only assume they wanted him imprisoned as he was Rhaegar’s hand. It matters not, his time was most likely soon to come without this interference.

“He is a strong man, he will be fine,” Rhaenyra declared, brimming with confidence.

“The most important matter is the rule of Claw Isle,” Ser Maric continued, “I do not want it. But it is best I do not publicly give it to you now, Baelor, as we told the Lannisters that you had not come to the isle. You are only a boy of twelve, but the rule should still be yours. I will remain as a figurehead, but you will have the power. To you it might seem to great a responsibility for your age, but you will have Ser Barristan to support you, as well as myself, Malora, and Harrold.”

Vaera glanced at Baelor, but his eyes were trained on Ser Barristan.

“It is what your father would have wanted,” Ser Barristan informed him.

“Very well. I will accept this responsibility,” Baelor declared.

“Our support will be yours as well, brother,” Vaera told him, indicating herself and Rhaenyra.

“And for that I will be the most grateful,” Baelor smiled warmly.