A/N: Alright ladies and gentlemen. We are now at the point of no return. Time for the Rebellion to start.

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 42: Burn Them All

"Are we sure now is the time?"

"Don't flake out on us now, Jon. Put your tourney boots on and mount the horse."

Sighing, Jon Connington nodded. "Alright." This would be the most difficult part of his plan… supposedly betraying his Silver Prince to the man both planned to depose, but it was necessary. The Starks must be culled before they poison Rhaegar even more… this will destroy them while assisting Rhaegar. His inward encouragement may have been basic rationalization, but at that moment he believed them.

Without further delay Ser Jonothor Darry pushed open the doors to the King's personal solar… a dark, stuffy room filled with wisps of smoke from the hearth and eight braziers stationed around it - each containing one dragon egg nestled among the embers. "Your Grace," Ser Jonothor bowed. "Lord Hand Jon Connington has requested a personal audience." With four brothers of the Kingsguard with Prince Rhaegar, he essentially was the King's lone guard and it helped greatly.

Half-eaten loaf of bread on a plate in front of him, the King was silent for the longest time. Subdued, lost in thoughts both real and contrived. "What do you want, Connington?" he eventually snapped. "More grievances in favor of my son?"

The Lord Hand steeled himself, taking a deep breath. "I have come to report to you the gravest treason."

Aerys turned, his glassy eyes starting to return to life. "Yes?" If this was the moment he finally had proof of Tywin's treachery, he'd snatch the bastard and bring him here - perhaps it would be Ser Jaime that he made conduct the execution. The thought made him smile.

"It concerns the Knight of the Laughing Tree." All traces of a smile died from Aerys' lips. The King grew visibly harder, tenser, his already pale skin growing white with apprehension and… fear? "I have conclusively proven his identity." Motioning to the guards outside - both trusted bannermen of House Connington - they entered carrying his evidence. "This shield was discovered in a cabin outside Harrenhal."

Stepping forward, the King ran a hand along the well-painted weirwood. Maw open as if to laugh at him. Jenny…

"She returns from the dead." Whispered the soft, seductive voice in his ear. "She plans to destroy you with her champion."

"No… Rhaegar killed the traitor!" he hissed.

"Unfortunately, it seems not." Another gift, this one a cloth favor. "This was discovered in the cabin as well. A favor, emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark."

Aerys trembled when he held it. The sigil was undeniable. "Which one? Brandon? Eddard? Lord Rickard? I'll kill them all!"

Unlike most, Connington would enjoy this part. "He is actually a she. The knight is in fact Lyanna Stark."

"Impossible." The King laughed. "A woman couldn't be a fucking knight."

Connington shook his head. "Ser Jonothor interrogated a man of the Stark household guard. He confessed to assisting in Lyanna's plan for the tourney." He couldn't divulge the true source of the information, but everything had to be calculated to produce the proper result. Lyanna's banishment, the culling of House Stark, the humiliation of the North and its allies into supporting Rhaegar. All had to be gauged carefully. "The Princess planned to return and challenge your rule openly, but Rhaegar found her in the cabin and she instead seduced him. Deciding to undermine your rule from within. It's why she carried the false dragon in her womb."

Forgive me, Rhaegar, but this is for your own good.

Aerys staggered. Disbelief in his eyes. "Ser Jonothor…?"

"It is true, your Grace."

"They threaten your throne. Your life… your destiny."

Picking up a knife from his desk, one of Valyrian steel he had obtained fighting the Blackfyres in the Stepstones, Aerys fiddled with it as his mind wandered to Rhaegar. His own son, married to that wildling harpy, overpowering the frail Martell girl and his weak excuse for progeny. Gods, it was clear as day. He didn't even need to see the proof again - in his heart Aerys knew it to be true. "Tywin isn't the one Jenny sent to destroy me…"

"The Stark girl… it's always been her!"

"Yes, always that wildling bitch! Her whole family, they must have arranged for her to seduce Rhaegar once Jenny put it in my mind!" All made sense now. His thinking clear for the first time in ages.

Connington felt sweat running down his forehead, be it from the fear or the heat rolling off the braziers. "Your Grace?" he hesitantly asked, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat off his brow. "What do you wish for me to…"

"Where are they?!" he demanded. "My idiot son and the bitch. Where?"

"Starfall, your Grace."

He scowled. Fuck… Ser Arthur's family would defend them to the death because of Rhaegar's friendship with the Kingsguard that broke his vows.

"You still have Lord Stark… and his son… Show them fire and blood as your ancestors did."

That sounded like a splendid idea. "Yes, we must show fire and blood!" Aerys' eyes found Connington quickly. Stabbing the blade on the wooden table as a cruel grin curled on his lips "They will die."

Blinking, Connington shared a look with Ser Jonothor, who looked interested. "Who will die?" He hadn't truly expected deaths out of this… was he naive?

"Find your brother, Jonothor," Aerys snapped. This was the moment he became a true dragon. Dragons didn't plant trees, they unleashed fire and blood. Aegon did so by burning Harrenhal and the Ironborn within, while he would do what Aegon failed to do - wipe House Stark off the painted table. "Tell them to arrest Rickard and Brandon Stark."

"On what charges, your Grace?" he answered.

"Accomplice to witchcraft and treason." The kingsguard nodded and left the chambers. That left Aerys and Connington alone. "I know you care for my son… this must have been hard to do."

Connington's brow rose as his face remained neutral. "I serve you, my King. If this is your command I will see to it immediately." He paused, formulating his words. "Rhaegar may be weak, but he is loyal to you. I would suggest…"

Aerys turned her head to look at him, a sadistic grin on his face "He will have his chance to prove his loyalty. In the meantime, see to the Starks' trial at once. It must be for the entire Realm to see." As the door closed behind Connington he turned to the fires. Willing from them their secrets. Tell me.

"The wolf and false dragon… destroy them."

"I will," he murmured into the flames.

"Burn them all."

"Forgive me son," Rickard murmured - as if he had been punched in the chest. It felt like he was given the shock of his life. That seemed to happen more than once after travelling south many moons ago. "I don't believe I heard you correctly."

Brandon sighed. "Father, please. I'm not naive," he said gently. Nevertheless, he complied. "I am renouncing my birthright as Lord of Winterfell in favor of Ned."

It rocked him even greater than the first time. "Why? For gods' sake, why?" Rickard was in disbelief. "Were you threatened? Wait… did you sire a bastard off some southern noble?"

"What… no…" Running a hand through his wild cowlicks, Brandon felt close to suffocated. "Father, it's not like that, gods, I knew you'd be like this."

"Be like what?" They were both in the Master of Laws' solar, Rickard seated at his desk while the as of now former heir to Winterfell stood across from him. "I am dealing with the life or death decisions of our House only to find my son and heir willing to cast aside everything I've fought to give him." I sound like Tywin Lannister. The comparison was jarring but he did not find it problematic.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Brandon sat in one of the ornate chairs that the servants had stocked the room with. "Father, I mean no disrespect and I have no intention of abandoning you or our House, but you have to know that I am not suited to rule from Winterfell. Ned may be young and a little rigid in his honor but I know he's everything a proper King of Winter or Warden of the North could ever hope to be."

"And what is it that you would do?"

Memories of his conversations with Prince Oberyn or Gerion Lannister came to mind. He had thought about it for a while. "I yearn for a life of adventure, father. Of making our House proud by travelling the world. Rewarding the North with its riches. Serving Ned or Lya in any far-flung task they wish of me."

Pursing his lips, in his heart Rickard knew Bran was right. That his son had looked deep inside himself and found the same deficiencies as Olenna had informed him of at Lyanna's wedding. He's my son… "What do you want me to say, Bran?"

"Say that you understand, that this is what is best for our House."

"And Lady Catelyn? She is set to be your bride."

That did affect Brandon greatly. Catelyn was his fire-kissed maiden and he cared for her, but… "She is worth more than the life I could give her. I'm sure Lord Tully could find a match just as well for her. Lord Arryn perhaps?"

Elbert Arryn was a good match, and probably better than House Stark given the Tully piety. "And what match would you make for Ned? A Lord needs a Lady."

In that, Brandon could smile. "He's besotted with Cersei Lannister." Rickard looked shocked that he knew. "Don't be surprised. It was obvious at Lya's wedding." The two shared a chuckle at that.

Abruptly, there was a knock at the door. Rickard's brows furrowed. "Come in." The visitor was… unexpected. "Lord Varys?"

The Master of Whisperer's flabby face was devoid of its characteristic composure. Instead, he looked rather distressed. "Lord Stark… unfortunately matters have gotten rather complicated."

"What do you mean?" Are the gods going to beat me down today?

"Remember what I told you about influence? That you would have the time to properly build a network to battle your rival at his own game?" Rickard nodded, gulping, while Brandon looked confused. "It appears that we didn't have the time."

A dark glower formed on Lord Stark's face. "Connington is making his move?"

Varys nodded. "Lord Arryn is testament to that."

Another sledgehammer to the chest. "That buggerer killed Jon Arryn?!" Brandon roared, only for his father to shush him. "How for gods' sake?"

"Grand Maester Pycelle, he has Tears of Lys in his stockpiles. A bottle of which went missing within the last moon…" He was cut off when there was a banging at the door. A loud one, as if someone was trying to… It burst open, battering ram blasting it off its very hinges.

Fully armored as if going to war, the guards stormed Lord Stark's solar. One shoved Varys to the side, the eunuch's robes rumbling as he toppled. No one paid him heed. The guards were too busy in their dash for the Starks. "Unhand me you scum!" Brandon yelled, kicking one and hurling another halfway across the chamber before the guard captain smacked him across the head with the hilt of his sword.

"Bran!" Rickard cried, leveling a fierce gaze at the guards. "Bastards!" That earned him a slap while two men restrained his arms.

Back twinging from the fall, Varys hailed his soft, jolly body up just as Ser Willam Darry walked in. The master-at-arms looked quite smug, arms behind his back. Dressed down as a noble rather than the warrior he was. Varys sauntered up to him. "What is the meaning of this… uncouth assault upon the King's councilors?" the eunuch sputtered.

"Shut it, Varys," the Riverman knight barked. "You're lucky I'm not here for you as well." Clearing his throat, he approached the glaring Lord Rickard and the groaning Brandon. "Well we'll, if it isn't two wolfboys."

"The King will have your head for this."

"Oh, I beg to differ, Lord Stark." Leaning back, he pulled out a scroll from his belt and unfurled it. "By the order of…" Darry cleared his throat. "King Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name and Lord Jon Connington, Hand of the King, I hereby place Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark under arrest."

By now, Brandon had recovered his wits. "Arrest?! What the fuck for?!" He struggled against his captors, only to get a fist in the gut for his trouble.

Darry grinned. "For treason and accessory to the witchcraft of Lady Lyanna Stark." He gestured to the guards. "Take them away." Incredulous protests from the Starks aside, there was no more fuss. He turned to the Master of Whisperers. "Your 'little birds' didn't tip you off to that… did they?" he mocked.

Varys said nothing. Wiping some of the remaining dust from his robes as he looked at the floor. "Tell Lord Connington that few of us will remain here once this reaches its end." A pair of ruddy eyes found Darry's older ones. "The victors will be just as cursed as the defeated." With a sigh, he walked out of the solar.

"Please, your Grace." Frantic worry on his face, Jaime tried one last time to stop Queen Rhaella from entering the Throne Room.

Rhaella's eyes darkened. "Out of my way, Jaime," she told him firmly. No one would stop her, even him.

After what Prince Lewyn told him, Jaime didn't wish for her to be burdened by what was to come. "It will only cause you pain."

Gods, he's so much like Joanna it's uncanny. "Something is going on in there and I won't let you keep me out." Before he could react she pushed past him, determined as any dragon. It made him want her more than he thought possible, but the circumstances didn't allow for that. Instead, he was forced to follow his Queen into the packed hall of Maegor Targaryen's throne room. Into the jaws of the seven hells themselves.

Nearly every courtier in King's Landing crowded among the columns - summoned by the goldcloaks or journeying of their own accord to watch the show unfold. Around the throne were the two forms of Ser Jonothor Darry and Lewyn Martell, joined by a squadron of household guards. Every one of the King's sycophants were in attendance - Lucerys Velaryon, Renfred Ryker, Owen Merryweather, Symond Staunton, Qarlton Chelsted, Grand Maester Pycelle, Willam Darry, and the disgusting Pyromancer Wisdom Rossart. Beside the Iron Throne were Jon Connington and Varys, the latter quite distressed.

Seated upon the throne of Aegon the Conqueror was Aerys II Targaryen, looking quite pleased with himself. "Ah, wife. Took you long enough to show up."

"What have you done, your Grace?"

Such insolence was normally ill advised, but the King was in a good mood. "You shall see."

At that moment Rhaella noticed a small, silver-haired figure tucked close to Prince Lewyn. "Viserys!"

"Muna!" His cries made her start to rush towards him.

But the King wouldn't allow it. "Lannister! Make sure she stays by Lord Varys." It was across the Iron Throne from Viserys and Jaime hated having to follow the order, but he did so. Begging with his gaze for Rhaella to comply… which she hesitantly did. Something told her this was not going to be what young Viserys should witness. Once she stood next to Varys, Aerys clapped his hands. "Ser Manly, bring the prisoners!"

Newly appointed Lord Commander of the City Watch, Manly Stokeworth was enthusiastic and loyal. He beamed and summoned other guards, dragging the two prisoners forth and forcing them to kneel in front of their King. At the sight of them, Rhaella hid a gasp… something the crowd didn't.

Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark, both filthy and ragged from being set upon by fists and truncheons. They were both tied up with their hands behind their backs, three goldcloaks guarding them in full armor. Gags were in their mouths, which were removed by order of Lord Connington. Brandon sputtered and glared at the throne. "This is a travesty!" He whipped his head around at the court. "You're all witnesses to this fucking, criminal travesty!" Of the goldcloaks kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling.

While what the King was planning didn't sit right with him, Connington was resolved to find this satisfying. "Lord Rickard Stark, Brandon Stark," he announced with a ghost of a smile. "The both of you are hereby branded enemies of the Crown."

"Bull, fucking shit!" Brandon snarled. "You're fucking murderers, both of you!" He headbutted a guard and tried to rush the throne, but was subdued quickly. Jaime admired the lad's spunk.

"To what grounds?" asked Rickard, tone even… though with a thinly-veiled anger.

Aerys laughed. "To what grounds?" He scoffed, spitting at the Starks, "Here are the fucking grounds, traitorous fool! You let your bitch of a daughter become a heartbeat away from becoming Queen, only to know she committed witchcraft?! Threatens to bring the Doom upon us all?" He motioned to Connington. "Read the evidence so we can get this over with!"

Citing the found helm, the favor emblazoned with the Stark direwolf, the 'confession' of the guard, Rickard took it all with stoic silence. Waiting for Connington to finish before he addressed the King. "Allow me to recite my evidence."

"Be silenced, fool…" Willam Darry began before the King held up his hand.

"Wait." He leaned back, smirking. "I want to hear what he thinks I did." This was so delightful.

Narrowing his eyes, Rickard's voice was every inch a proud Lord of the North. "Aerys Targaryen, you have committed assault upon Princess Lyanna Targaryen and the murder of the unborn Prince or Princess in her womb." There were some gasps, as the baby wasn't widely known. "And Jon Connington and Grand Maester Pycelle, you have committed the murder of Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale."

"Murderers! You're the murderers!" Brandon snarled.

Surprised, Rhaella looked at the Lord Hand. "Is this true?"

Connington said nothing, but the King replied. "He was a damned traitor anyway," tacitly admitting it. "I've heard enough. Carry out the execution in the name of your King!"

"Of course, your Grace." Connington motioned to Stokeworth, who nodded and forward with the other goldcloaks. They grabbed the Starks and lifted them off their feet.

"Fuck you!" Brandon screamed, kicking at them. "Rhaegar and Ned will kill you all!" More guards and servants came forward with two large litters stacked with fetters and logs, while others looped two harnesses from the rafters. Tying them around the Starks' arms and shoulders to suspend them above the pyres. It was obvious to all there what they were doing.

Scurrying forward, Lord Rossart has a skeletal smile upon his gaunt face. "I would say it is an honor, Lord Stark," he offered to Rickard in a hoarse voice. "For I am greatly looking forward to this." Licking his lips, the Master Pyromancer opened his mouth to speak just as Rickard spit in his face.

"Fuck you," Rickard breathed, turning his head to stare at the King. "Winter will come for you, Aerys Targaryen."

The King scoffed. "Am I supposed to be scared?" he taunted.

"You will be when this is over, my King. The ice and snow will engulf you."

"Ice does not concern a dragon."

"You are no dragon!" Brandon yelled, still fighting against the restraints.

Scowling, Aerys' fists clenched on the throne. "Rossart? Is it ready?"

The pyromancer nodded. "Yes, your Grace. I only await your command."

Suddenly someone fell to her knees at the foot of the Iron Throne, grasping at the King's legs. He recoiled back, only to find Rhaella pleading with wide eyes. "Please, your Grace. Please, brother… mercy! For the sake of our son!"

A snarl curled on his face. "That traitor is no son of mine." Before he could order her dragged away or strike her, Ser Jaime hauled Rhaella up - carrying her down the steps.

"Let me go!" she yelled. "Mercy, brother! Mercy! You know not what you start!"

"Get her out of here, Lannister!" He barked. Gods, she was an embarrassment. Thankfully her cries of mercy faded out, leaving nothing but his perfectly staged ceremony. The moment he would finally take control and banish the traitors from his realm. Oh, Jenny… you have failed. The bitch you sent to bring the Doom will die soon.

Ready to give the command, Aerys hesitated. A moment of lucidity penetrating the haze of his brain. Rhaegar would never hand over his bride, he would never tolerate such an insult. The north would go to war to avenge their Lord, and after the revelation reached the Eyrie so would the Vale. Did he want war? Did he want to have to kill his own son.

"You have doubts, my King…"

There… the voice. His gaze softened as the soothing tendrils of the mysterious voice wrapped around him. It was always there to calm him, to protect him from evil. To set him on the proper path.

"Even the wisest have doubts, but the greatest among us are bold and decisive."

Bold and decisive… the actions of the mighty. The actions of a dragon.

"Yes, my King. A dragon, you are the dragon reborn to the world."

A power flowed through Aerys. Warm and comforting, yet one that stoked his strength. Made him feel invulnerable. A great beast soaring in the skies, untouched by man or god.

"What does a dragon do to those who would do it harm? Burn them all…"

Aerys locked eyes with Rickard."

"Burn them all…"

He saw the defiance within the gaze.

"Burn them all…"

Anger coursed through him at the thought of a direwolf defying the dragon.

"Burn them all…"

Suddenly his voice roared through the chamber. "BURN THEM ALL!" And euphoria…

Without hesitation Rossert drew his flints and struck them together. Spark catching on the fuse that started burning fast. Spreading closer and closer till it reached the wildfire-soaked logs and fetters underneath the suspended Starks. "Everything burns, Lord Stark!" he cackled, drawing back as the green flames suddenly sprang alive. A wall of heat shooting in every direction, many courtiers stumbling over, unprepared for the fury of wildfire.

The pain was instantaneous. Roaring furiously, the tall flames began to lick at the feet and legs of the still finely dressed Rickard and Brandon Stark. The latter began to scream, agony of the searing flames unbearable even only against his feet. The former held strong, refusing to relent even as his feet roasted within his boots. He was a direwolf of House Stark and they never howled in pain… but the wildfire racing up his leg broke even him.

Aerys' eyes shone as he watched it unfold. Smiling in ecstasy at the green flames, color reflected in the violet. Every bit of fear and weakness that had grasped him was gone in that moment. In this, he finally found the power and control he so sought. "Lewyn! Bring me my son!" The Kingsguard complied, face unseen under his helm. Depositing the trembling Prince Viserys on the King's lap. "Are you scared, son?" Aerys whispered softly to the Prince.

Viserys nodded. "Yes, kepa." By now the flames engulfed the entire lower half of the Starks, both screaming in pain. Curdling blood of even the most hardened sycophant of Aerys II Targaryen. "My ears hurt."

"You are a dragon, Viserys. Watch." The boy peeked and then looked away. Brandon and Rickard's legs had almost burned to ash… only for Aerys to grab his chin and force Viserys to look. "Watch it! This is who you are! You are a dragon, and a dragon doesn't plant trees."

His arms still trembled. "A dragon doesn't plant trees…"

"Say it again."

"A dragon doesn't plant trees." Brandon Stark began to howl. Wolf cries echoing into the chamber - joined later by Rickard. Mournful requiems of the line of the Kings of Winter - with winter came House Stark, remembering all.

Fury stoked by the defiant cries, Aerys gripped the jaw of his son tighter. "Say it again!"

In that instant, Viserys' eyes seemed to glow just like his father's. "A dragon doesn't plant trees." The howls petered out as the green flames engulfed them all. "I am a dragon."

"Good! Very good!"

Death was close, they could feel it. All their flesh cooking alive, the sweet embrace of death close enough to touch. "Lya…" Brandon murmured, blackness coming. "Brother, avenge me…"

Rickard's last word was less defiant. More peaceful, the flames giving way to a light as bright as snow. "My love," he gasped, suddenly seeing his late wife. "Lyarra… I am here again…"

The wildfire burned for almost ten more minutes. Aerys forced everyone to watch as the long-dead corpses of Rickard and Brandon Stark were turned into charred husks dangling from the ceiling. On occasion a bit of ash would fall to the embers below. Most were sickened, some were indifferent, and a few were grinning openly. Among the latter was the king. "Get on it, Connington," he barked.

"Yes, your Grace." Connington was stunned by what happened - indifferent, but stunned. As such, he stuttered as he started the proclamation. "By the order of his Grace, Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name and King of the Seven Kingdoms, the following decrees are made." He cleared his throat. "Lyanna of House Stark is declared guilty of treason and witchcraft and sentenced to death. Eddard of House Stark is declared guilty of treason and sentenced to death. House Stark is hereby stripped of all titles and lands."

Gods, it was music to Aerys' ears. "Remember, son, a dragon must burn all traitors."

"Burn them all," Viserys murmured, and was rewarded by his father kissing his head. Aerys never kissed him.

"Furthermore…" It pained Connington to say the next, but it was necessary for now. "Rhaegar of House Targaryen is stripped of his birthright and name. Prince Viserys of House Targaryen is hereby declared heir to the Iron Throne." Decrees finished, he clasped his hands together. "All hail the King! Long may he reign!"

It rang in Aerys' ears. "Long may he reign!"

The voice was pleased. "You have done well, my King."

And now for them to destroy each well, my King. Soon all your enemies will burn before you."

Soon, all of you will destroy each other...

The tears were unavoidable at first… but there was a moment where the pain and anger had gone beyond tears. Beyond even yelling and screaming. There stood Rhaella, hunched over the hearth. She gripped the stone lip tightly - as if the physical pain of her white knuckles would ground her. Drive into her the reality of what her husband… her brother did.

Rickard burned. Brandon burned. Jon Arryn dead by Tears of Lys, Lyanna to be put to death. Rhaegar… Viserys… my sons… One stripped of his birthright and likely exiled while the other was forced to endure the full force of Aerys' madness. Who among them was the worst off? By the gods she knew Jon Arryn was the luckiest… at least his death was quick.

There will be war… There would certainly be war. Rhaegar would die for his beloved Lyanna. Eddard Stark and Elbert Arryn calling the banners - the Tullys and the Lannisters to join them. On her husband's side the ambitious Tyrells would stubbornly stand, joined by the Lords of the Crownlands. Robert Baratheon would slay thousands if it meant getting revenge for her son winning Lyanna's heart. Just like his grandfather… and grandmother. Rhaella knew her sister well.

Rivers of blood. Lakes of blood. Oceans of blood graced the future of the realm. Gods, what have we done to merit this curse?! Has our bloodline and culture paid for contrition in our blood?! The answers would not come, and so Rhaella would continue to be plagued with the reality of her hellish existence.

"Ser Jaime!" Her eyes widened, whatever blood remaining in her head washing away in fear. "Of course you're here like a good little cub." The voice came from outside her chamber door. Strong and confident, wicked and powerful… a feeling she hadn't heard from the King in over a decade. "Stay here and don't move a fucking inch."

"Yes, your Grace," she heard her sweet bodyguard croak. Oh no… Jaime… Tormenting the beloved son of Tywin Lannister was a pastime for Aerys, and to most torture him would be to…

The doors flew open and her husband entered, grin on his lips and a spring in his step. "Oh dearest Rhaella, how glorious is this day?!"

She blinked at him incredulously - watching Jaime's green eyes find hers before the doors shut in front of him. Rhaella missed them greatly. "You're a monster!" There really was no sugarcoating anything anymore. Not after what happened.

"I prefer the term dragon," he beamed, eying her like a hungry predator. He hadn't done that since their first stillbirths… Rhaella's eyes found a tent lower in his robes. Gods… please no. "For once this realm has one that sits on a throne."

"You are no dragon, husband," she yelled, tears starting to fall as she shook from anger and fear. He reeked of sweat and smoke… of burnt meat, the stench of what had been her son's goodfather and goodbrother. Rhaella fought not to vomit. "Just a kinslayer."

His eyes darkened. "You say this to me on the day of my glorious triumph? At the moment we are about to create a Valyrian Princess for our son?"

He truly was lost. "You have lost everything, Aerys. Rhaegar…"

Rhaella saw stars when he struck her. "Do not speak his cowardly name in my presence again!" Aerys moved to kiss her when she struck him back - an elbow to the gut. "You little bitch!" Grabbing a poker from the hearth, he advanced on his now running wife. Striking her as he could. "Get the fuck back here, sweet sister!"

Heart beating out of her chest, Rhaella grabbed whatever she could to throw at him. Frantic, eyes wide in terror. "Brother! Stop!" she shrieked, picking up a small knife from her used to open wax seals.

The King saw this and laughed. Mind clouded with the green tongues of wildfire. I am the dragon! "You think you can slay me? Be a kinslayer yourself, sweet sister?" She lunged at him, only for Aerys to sidestep it, bringing the metal rod again and again on her back and sides. "Get on the fucking bed!" Rhaella shoved him back, racing away. "Get back here, sister!"

She kicked the door to their bathchamber closed, hearing it smack. "Brother! Stop!" Rhaella screamed, rivers of tears stained with blood and snot running down her cheeks. Tripping on her vanity stool, she fell to the marble floor. Crying out in pain as her husband's steps stomped closer to her. "Think of muna!"

Aerys stopped where he was, clenching the poker tightly. Her words echoing in his head. An image of Betha Blackwood, her smile loving and her eyes sparkling, filled his mind. Breaking through the green-tinged haze for but a moment… only for the wildfire within to roar back. "Muna's dead!" he bellowed, kicking down the door and advancing on the hapless Rhaella.

"No, Aerys! Stop!"

"You're mine, slut! Mine to breed!" Further screams echoing from beyond the door to the royal chambers. Each one a knife to Jaime's heart. Over and over and over again… "Mine!"

The Lannister knight shook. Hearing nothing but the screams of the woman he loved desperately. "You're hurting me! Stop… I'm begging you!" A faint crack rang out, the King bashing her with his fist.

"My son will have a dragon bride!" Clothes ripping, Jaime's hand drifted to his sword. Teeth gritting as his fingers wrapped around the hilt. Ready to storm in and run it through the King's back. "You will give me one!"

"Aerys… ahhhh" Her wails pierced his ears.

"Mine!"

Protect her…

Not from him.

As the Queen screamed, Jaime stood there. Hand on his sword, but unmoving. Unable to do anything for her…

And wanting to die.

A/N: Unfortunately, for Dany to be conceived the worst had to happen. It was not easy to write, and much harder for Rhaella and Jaime to deal with :(

But yes, the Starks couldn't escape death this time around. Only this time Aerys has no leg to stand on - Rickard and Brandon were completely innocent of even stupidity.

Next time, Lyanna will have to find out the truth. Not going to be pretty :(