Visenya Targaryen

He was the grandson of a king, the brother of a king, husband to a queen. Two of his sons and three of his grandsons would sit the Iron Throne, but the only crown Prince Daemon Targaryen wore was the crown of the Stepstones, a meager realm he made for himself with blood and steel and dragonfire- The ship rolled beneath her feet as it crested a rather large wave. She set aside her book for a moment and closed her eyes tight. A wave of nausea came upon her but Visenya fought it down.

"The waves don't agree with you, Princess?" She peered up at the man who addressed her. His tunic was sea green, breeches stained by salt, but his boots were polished to a sheen. Grey-green eyes stared down at her, filled with mirth. Aurane Waters was a thin and handsome man, with silver-gold hair that was longer than even hers. But most of all, he was annoying.

"I am fine." She answered though it was a lie. It had been years since she had set foot on a ship and it seemed her body was no longer used to sea travel. The waves are not even rough. She thought. There were clouds in the sky that perhaps promised a later rain, but the sun was bright, and the day was clear. The wind was behind them, filling their ship's sails as well as the three escort ships that had traveled with them.

"Sure, you are." Aurane teased. Visenya's brow twitched but she said nothing. Despite her silence, Aurane spoke again. "I hear that reading a book can worsen one's seasickness."

Her head pounded. She was grateful that she only broke her fast with water and two hard-boiled eggs. Anything more and she might have spilled it into the sea. The last thing she wanted was to smell of vomit when she finally hugged her brother.

"Duly noted." She told Aurane when she noticed him still staring at her. Despite his many interruptions to her reading, she supposed he was not too bad of company. Aurane was captain of one of the three galleys that escorted their cog. Instead of captaining his ship, he had taken the opportunity to come aboard theirs when there was a lull in the wind. "How much longer till we arrive?" It had been a day since they had left King's Landing and now only the open waters of the bay lay before them and behind them. The distance between the city and their family's ancestral fortress was immense. Hundreds of miles and the journey by ship could be counted in days. As a girl, she had lived at Dragonstone for months with her siblings and Daenerys, but she had forgotten just how long this journey could be. Rhaenyra and Daemon raced Syrax and Caraxes from King's Landing to Dragonstone and back again. She wondered just how fast Jon's dragon was. Is she big enough for both of us to ride?

"Another day and a half I think if this wind persists. Longer if it stops or changes direction and we have to row this ship, but we will get there soon." Aurane leaned against the rail of the ship, smiling down at her. Atop his head sat a wide-brimmed hat with a red feather along its brim. The sleeves of his shirt billowed with the gentle breeze. "What are you reading?"

She handed him the book. Aurane gently took it from her hand and held it up to the sunlight. Years and use had stained the skin of the book, but the parchments were still in good condition. "The Rogue Prince, or, A King's Brother: A Consideration of the Early Life, Adventures, Misdeeds, and Marriages of Prince Daemon Targaryen." He read aloud. A frown came upon his face. "Sounds like quite the boring read."

She snatched the book away from him. "There is no better source of information about Prince Daemon in the Seven Kingdoms."

Aurane chuckled. "I did not say that the subject matter was boring. Quite the contrary. The life of Prince Daemon was very interesting, but do you think a Maester of the Citadel would know the true story of a man who was called the Rogue Prince?"

"Archmaester Glydayn may have been born long after Prince Daemon's death but this book was created from firsthand sources of Prince Daemon, Princess Rhaenyra, and their court. I am sure that some of those men knew the Prince quite well." She countered. Carefully, she set the book in the leather-lined bag that she had carried onto the deck. The chief responsibility of any enthusiast of literature was to maintain the care of their books and scrolls. Too much of history had been lost due to poor care by the surveyors who recorded it.

"There are still tales in the Hull about the Prince and his appetites. I bet your Grand Maester did not care to include those in his history book. Though, I wouldn't want to corrupt the mind of a young Princess." Aurane goaded.

Visenya smirked. "Have you heard of Mushroom? That jester did not hesitate to share the details of Prince Daemon's activities." Her father had given her an abridged version of the history, suspiciously lacking most of Mushrooms testimony when she was younger but Visenya had found a true copy in Grand Maester Marwyn's library. Most of the differences made her blush far too much to read in the company of her parents but they were certainly eye-opening.

Before Aurane could reply, Samwell Tarly stumbled up the stairs to the top deck. By the color of his face, the sea was treating him far worse than her.

Aurane noticed. "Samwell, you have traveled through the Smoking Seas and yet these tiny swells are making you sick?"

Sam shook his head and flopped on the bench beside her. Above a large canopy had been erected to protect her from the sun's glare. "Too big of a breakfast." He groaned and used his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight that pierced through the canopy.

Visenya looked at him in pity. I did warn him. Samwell had been a last-minute surprise addition to their traveling party. He appeared just as they were set to ride from the Red Keep to the Docks. The first day and night aboard their ship, Samwell had been in good spirits but this morning he had eagerly partaken in the blood sausages that were served at Breakfast. She hadn't liked their look or their smell.

Aurane handed Sam a sack of what she presumed to be wine. "Drink this. It will calm your stomach."

Sam drank a sip and then sputtered. Not wine then. "What is this?"

Aurane shrugged. "Traded pelts with an Ibbense Whaler for a few cases of that. I don't think there is a name for it in common, but the men have taken to calling it the Hairy Man's Piss. Tastes horrible and though the name is apt, with just a few swigs of it and your legs can weather even the fiercest of storms. Don't drink too much though, you might go blind."

Sam paled and set the skin aside. Visenya's ears perked at the mention of the Ibbenese. She had seen the queer folk during the few times that she had been to the docks, but they were a shy and reclusive people by nature despite the long voyages of their sailors and Princesses weren't meant to associate with the ruffians of the seas. At least, not without an armed escort.

Aurane noticed her interest. "Have you been anywhere besides King's Landing and Dragonstone?"

Visenya shook her head. She had wanted to go to Dorne with Daenerys, but her parents had not allowed her to accompany Daenerys. And she had been too young to go to Winterfell with Jon and Aegon during their fostering. "No." She admitted.

"I'm sure that you have read about the great wide world in those books of yours." The smugness in his voice made her flush. He is mocking me. "You can ask me about anything that you want to learn. I have been to White Harbor, Braavos even Lorath."

"I am sure that you think of yourself as a modern-day Corlys Velaryon." She bit back. "Samwell here has been to Old Valyria itself, but you do not see him bragging about it."

Aurane shrugged. "Perhaps, he should. There is no better conversation starter than I have sailed the Smoking Sea and lived to tell the tale. I can't think of a single woman that wouldn't be intrigued by that story. Tell me, have you had some success with that line, Samwell?"

Sam cracked an eye open. "What do you mean?"

Aurane gazed at him as if the answer was obvious. "Surely, you know what I mean?"

Visenya looked between the two men and watched a look of recognition and then embarrassment appears upon Sam's face. Sam blushed brightly. "I..I haven't done that." He stammered.

Aurane was taken back. "I have heard the tale of the Lannisters and all the fun they are having in the wine sinks and..." He looked at her and trailed off. "You have been with them for the better part of four years, surely they have invited you?"

Visenya didn't care for what Aurane was hinting at but she could see the discomfort on Sam's face. "Sam has his duties with my father. There is little time for him to be anywhere else."

There was a look on Aurane's face that suggested he had more to say but he changed the subject instead. "So, Princess, since you appear to be such a well-read student of history which one of your ancestors do you think your brother most resembles?"

She bit her lip. That is actually a good question. "What do you mean by resembles?"

Aurane drummed his fingers against the railing. A plain iron band wrapped around his right index finger. "Well, your house's long history has contained some of the greatest and most notorious figures in history. Even a cur such as I know the names and some of the deeds of Jaehaerys the Wise and Maegor the Cruel and of course the Conqueror. Your brother has hatched the first dragon in over a century. It would be good for one to know which of his ancestors he most emulates."

His words made her think. Jon is nothing like Maegor. Her brother was always kind to her, protective whenever needed. Even when not needed. She remembered his smile and his dark eyes and the way that he would brush the tangles from her hair. Always gentler than their mother. He didn't even exclude her when he was with Daenerys. The thought of her aunt made her sad. Jon would want to marry her, not Myrcella or me. Visenya looked up at Aurane. "Jon is his own man. No one else has brought dragons back from the dead and not even Aegon the Conqueror could claim that he sailed into Valyria and lived. My brother stands alone."

Hours passed, and she joined the other girls on the main deck. Their ship was a triple-decked massive vessel meant to sail anywhere on the Narrow Sea in as much comfort as possible. It sacrificed space for oarsmen in favor of additional storage and cabins. As such, the ship was considerably slower without the aid of the wind yet there was enough space for the near entirety of their party to have their own rooms. Even the two direwolves were given a spacious cabin cleared of anything that could be shredded by them in their boredom. By choice, Visenya decided to room with Arya. She found her cousin fascinating. In many ways, Arya was a younger version of Queen Lyanna. Long hours passed quickly as Arya told her tales of Winterfell and its people. A land that Visenya had never seen. I want to.

However, now all she wanted was to get off this boat. Her mother ran her fingers through her hair as Visenya laid her head in her lap. She groaned as another wave of nausea hit her. To her embarrassment and dismay, the small breakfast that she had eaten was ejected into the sea and on her dress not long after her conversation with Aurane.

"Do you need the bucket, sweetling?" Her mother asked with concern thick in her voice.

"No mother," Visenya replied. Her stomach was empty except for the water her mother had forced her to drink. The wind had shifted and accompanied with the change in direction came bigger waves. It was far from a true storm, but it was enough to make her sick. Aurane had offered her the same drink he had given Sam, but one whiff of the Hairy Man's Piss was enough to make her gag. After heaving his breakfast, and finally consuming that foul drink, Samwell had recovered fully. She only worsened.

A ring of laughter drew her attention. She cracked open an eye to find the source. Arya had never been on a ship in her life but seemingly inherited the balance of a lifetime sailor. Now, she balanced and walked on her hands while Joy and Myrcella watched. Even the moving deck beneath her seemed to have no effect upon her cousin as Arya sprung backward and landed gracefully on her feet. Her cousin took a bow as Joy and Myrcella and even some of the crew applauded.

Her eyes couldn't help but flicker over to Myrcella. The seas had not affected her at all either though she did not attempt the same attempt the acrobatics as Joy and Arya. If she did, then the crew would be treated to the sight of her legs and the men would most certainly take notice. Visenya had seen them stumble over one another just to talk to Myrcella. She was certain if the woman asked, there would be more than a few men willing to jump into the sea to catch a fish for her.

Myrcella was certainly pretty, there was no denying that. Beautiful even with her blonde curls and deep blue eyes. And she seemed nice enough at least on the surface, her laughter at the sailors' bawdy jokes certainly was endearing to the crew. Visenya had to wonder how much of it was an act. Margaery had seemed nice, but she betrayed Rhaenys for her own ambition. She wouldn't make the same mistake as her sister.

Still, she could not say that she hated Myrcella. Not yet anyway. Arya liked her cousin and that had to count for something. So, she sat silent and watched. Watched and wondered if her brother would take a liking to this one. She knew it wouldn't have mattered if Dany came. Dany was mad at Jon for being gone so long but Visenya knew that if they were locked in a room together they would eventually kiss and make up.

A wave of sickness rolled through her. Maybe Jon will want a wife that doesn't get sick on a ship. She closed her eyes. Dany loved sailing and could command a skiff herself to sail to the far side of the Blackwater. Dany is better than me at everything. She should be here, not me. In her dreams, she could picture the disappointed look on her brother's face when he saw her and not Daenerys. How angry will he be when he learns of their father's plans? The thought of coming between the two people that she loved the most made her sad. If her brother needed to marry two women, then it would better for him to marry the woman he wanted and the woman that he needed to marry to keep the realm together. She was neither. Myrcella is beautiful too. As pretty as a Targaryen princess was supposed to be. In a family that had produced legendary beauties such as her sister and aunt, Visenya knew that she was a distant third. When he gets to know Myrcella, maybe he will pay attention to her more too. Somehow, that thought made her sadder.

"You should drink some more water, Visenya. And try to eat something as well; it has been hours since you had anything to eat. Maybe some fruit will help." Too weak to argue, Visenya agreed. She drank sparingly from the skin and took two bites from the fresh plum that her mother had served her.

"Do you want to go back to your chamber and lie down?" Her mother questioned.

"No." She replied. Deep breaths of the sea air helped to calm her dizziness and she wanted to stay on the deck out of stubbornness. Going below deck this early meant admitting defeat. "You don't have to baby me, mother."

Lyanna chuckled and tweaked her nose. "You will always be my baby. Little one."

Visenya's nose wrinkled in distaste. She was a woman flowered. Not at the age of majority but at four and ten she knew that she was smarter than most her age. "I am not a little girl." She protested.

Her mother smiled knowingly but chose not to argue. That frustrated her greatly. "I am at the same age you were when you met father, you know."

Lyanna cocked a brow. "I suppose you are." Mirth filled her voice.

"Were you a little girl when father crowned you as Queen of Love and Beauty?" She challenged.

The words made Lyanna pause. Her lips pursed. "I was young."

"But not a little girl cause then that would make father strange for desiring you." When her mother went silent Visenya thought she had won.

"Your father and I didn't consummate our marriage until more than a year later. By that time, I was sixteen, not four and ten. So, until then you will be my little one, though you always be my little girl."

Seeing that the argument was pointless, Visenya went silent. She tried to sleep and was nearly successful when shouts from the crew jostled her from her slumber.

"Dragon!"

"Dragon!"

Visenya's eyes shot open and she rolled from her mother's lap. Dizziness momentarily forgotten, her eyes scanned the skies. A brilliant silver form caught her attention immediately. All breath left her, and her eyes squinted against the glare thrown by the dragon's scales. Syraxes. She reminded herself. The wyrm circled their ship with lazy flaps of its great blue translucent wings.

She had seen masterful illustrations of the many dragons that their family had once claimed and yet no drawing could compare to the sheer awe generated by seeing such a creature in the flesh. The dragon, despite its size, seemed as nimble in the air as any bird yet the majesty of its scales was something no other beast could compare to.

Side by side, she stood with Arya and Myrcella. A glance around the ship revealed to her that every person on their vessel had paused mid-step to stare at the sky. Fingers pointed to track Syraxes.

"Is Jon on the dragon?" Arya asked. Syraxes flew too high for them to see if Jon was on her back.

Visenya rubbed at her eyes. Her vision was still a bit blurry from sleep. "Is he there?" She wondered aloud. To everyone's surprise, the dragon suddenly pulled its wings close to its body and dove.

Cries of terror sounded from the lips of the crew but Visenya watched silently as the dragon pierced the space between their ship and their escort galley. A great splash came as the dragon sliced through the water, soaking the entire deck and them. The crew laughed nervously, no doubt glad the dragon wasn't attacking them but the laughter that spilled past Visenya's lips, her mother's, Arya's, Joy's, and even Myrcella's full lips was genuine.

Then the ship rocked as the dragon brushed against the bottom of the hull. Before she could make her way to the other side of the deck, Syraxes burst forth from the water. More shouts of surprise were sounded as the dragon climbed up the hull of the ship. First, the clawed appendage connected to its wing appeared and then its long snout and brilliant amber eyes.

From the corner of her eyes, she could see the white armored forms of Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Walder Snow appear on the upper deck. Even the Kingsguard knights seemed to experience fear at the sight of the dragon. Her mother held up a hand to halt the Knights' approach.

Syraxes growled ominously at the men who strayed too close to her, flashing a row of razor-sharp black teeth. They were as long as daggers. A dozen sailors fell over themselves to scramble away.

At this distance, Visenya was able to make out the many wounds and scars where the armor of Syraxes' scales had failed to stop what must have been dozens of spears and arrows. They were so numerous that she could only wonder just how fierce the fighting in Essos had been.

The dragon was too large to fully climb onto the ship and her weight made it list noticeably to one side. She was bigger than an aurochs with great wings and a long tail that added to her size. Lean but lined with visible muscle beneath her scales. Bred for war. Her long neck lifted and those amber eyes scanned the ship before settling upon her.

She stepped forward. Her mother gripped her wrist tightly. Almost instinctively, all the women had gathered to one edge of the ship. Visenya looked back. Her mother was awestruck yet remained cautious; Joy looked terrified and clutched Myrcella tightly. Myrcella was wary but she put on a brave face. Arya was more curious than anything else. Visenya smiled first at her cousin and then her mother. "It is all right. I can see Jon in her eyes."

She could. Just as she saw Jon when she had looked into Ghost's eyes. This time though her brother looked happier than she could ever remember. The dragon drew closer. Not in an aggressive motion but cautious as if it did not want to scare them. Visenya broke her mother's grip and crossed the distance. She extended her hand, but it was Syraxes that closed the distance between her hand and its snout. The wyrm's large eyes never left her form. Besides her brother's presence, Visenya could feel Syraxes' consciousness. An alien intelligence. Beneath her palm, she could feel the heat and promise of power that emanated from Syraxes' form.

"You are magnificent." She told the dragon. Syraxes made a deep rumble, almost a purr. Her scales were hard, rough and abrasive if she stroked against the grain of them.

Arya was the first to join her in petting the dragon. Visenya smiled at her boldness. "Who knows Stark, maybe you will claim a dragon for yourself."

Arya laughed. "Sansa would be so jealous."

Soon after her mother joined them. Syraxes' delighted rumble grew louder as three sets of hands petted her body. Visenya maintained eye contact with Syraxes. Somehow, she could discern that it was Jon who reassured the wyrm that they were friends. Her brother's reassurances placated Syraxes' instinctively suspicious and predatorial nature.

Myrcella and Joy did not join them. Visenya turned her head and saw why. Joy is terrified. The little girl clutched her older cousins' side and tremors of fear shook her form. Myrcella stroked her hair in comfort. "It is all right, Joy. The Dragon won't harm you. Jon is his rider and both his sister, and mother are present on this ship. You are safe with me." Myrcella's words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Visenya moved to help but to her surprise, Syraxes' teeth gently grab the sleeves of her shirt and pulled her back. A shocked sound left her lips when Syraxes lowered its wing. On the crest of its back, where her brother should have been seated was an empty saddle made of crude leather and a rope tied to one of the five horns that adorned the dragon's head that she had not noticed before.

"Do you want me to ride?" Visenya questioned. A current of fear ran through her but it was almost overwhelmed by the rush of excitement that she felt. Before she could make a decision, she heard Samwell's voice.

"Wait! Syraxes will only let Jon ride her. She will throw you off and you'll drown."

Syraxes' growl and glare quieted Sam. He shrank back. Next to Sam, on the upper deck, stood Grand Maester Marwyn. He clutched his rod of Valyrian steel and his dark robes swirled in the wind. "There has never been a powerful warg who was also a dragonrider. Prince Jaehaerys is there in the dragon, is he not, Princess?"

"He is!" Visenya shouted with a smile.

Marywn nodded. He looked fascinated. "Then their will is one. It seems your brother wants to see you and doesn't want to wait for these slow ships. Best not to keep him waiting."

"But-" Samwell protested.

Visenya was already clamoring aboard the dragon's back. She gripped a spine to haul herself into the saddle. She was almost grateful that she had soiled her dress when her breakfast came up again. Taking a cue from Arya, she wore riding pants with high brown boots and a blue tunic with a brown vest. Her legs she strapped into the saddle and then she gently gripped the rope wrapped around Syraxes' horn.

She felt more powerful than ever sitting atop the dragon's back. Thank you, big brother.

"Be careful!" Her mother shouted. Arya waved. They stepped back as Syraxes lifted to her feet. The ship shook violently as Syraxes climbed up the rail and then jumped. Visenya screamed. Syraxes' wings unfurled and with a single, powerful flap they were airborne. Visenya could feel the movement of the muscles beneath her seat with each beat of the dragon's wings.

They climbed higher and higher. Soon, the clouds seemed much closer than before. When she looked back down, the ships were tiny enough to fit in her palm. Syraxes soared easily on the warm air currents. Only occasionally needing to flap its wings to stay aloft. Visenya was mesmerized. Any sickness that had plagued her before on the ship was driven away by riding a dragon.

The curve of the horizon was laid before her, yet the Blackwater Bay was so vast that she could not spot land on either side. With just the sea and the clouds as a reference, it was difficult for her to discern just how fast they were flying. Yet, she could tell that Syraxes covered distances in mere minutes that would have taken hours by ship.

A flock of birds flew beneath them unaware of the dragon that was stalking them from above. Visenya grit her teeth and gripped the rope tightly as Syraxes descended rapidly. A burst of bright, silver gold flame streaked with blue engulfed several birds. Frightened by the sudden flame, the flock descended into disarray. Syraxes caught the blackened husks as they fell. Her heart settled as they righted once again.

Minutes or perhaps hours later, Dragonstone came into sight. She wasn't completely sure of how long the flight took but the island swelled rapidly before her eyes. First, it was a green and black speck with a column of pale smoke that disappeared into the sky. Then she could make out the shape of the isle. Much of it was dominated by the Dragonmont, the landscape almost entirely vertical for most of its landmass but there were miles of flat coastline to both the east and west of the isle. On the western side was the port town that had existed even before Aenar the Exile brought his dragons west. The eastern half was mostly uninhabited, save for a few isolated farms. Land was constantly being made a new there as the lava flow extended into the sea.

Syraxes began to descend. Visenya could see the twisted black walls of the Fortress Dragonstone. The castle sat at the base of the Dragonmont, more alien than any other castle in Westeros yet it looked at home in the land of salt, smoke, and fire. To her surprise, instead of landing near or within the castle's walls, Syraxes carried her off to a remote cliff edge.

The land was green here. Tall grass and a few strong oak trees. She spotted Jon immediately. He was sitting beneath the trunk of one such tree. Alone.

When Syraxes landed on the cliff. Visenya fumbled with the straps of the saddle and then leaped from the dragon when she was finally free. Jon stood, leaning against the trunk to receive her. Her arms wrapped against his torso tightly.

"Ow," Jon moaned. His face was contorted into a wince. Too late, did she remember the Maester's letter which described his injuries. She released him immediately.

"Sorry." Guilt flooded her. In her haste to meet him, she had ignored his wounds. There was a scab on his cheek. His right hand was tightly wrapped, and he had to lean against the trunk to stand comfortably. He was more handsome than she remembered. Beautiful even. She flushed at the thought. Long brown hair touched his shoulders; a shadow of a beard graced his defined jawline. Her brother's face was sharp, almost angular with noble features that reminded her of their father. Yet, there was gauntness to his face that suggested he had lacked proper nourishment in the east. Most troubling were the dark circles under his eyes. They gave him an almost haunted look.

"I'm afraid that I am a bit fragile at the moment, little sister. You will have to be gentle with me." He smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist. Afraid to hurt him once again, she hugged him as carefully as she could. "I am not made of glass, Senya. You can hug me a bit harder than that."

She giggled and did as ordered. To her delight, Jon stroked her back as he held her. "I missed you," she told his chest. Her vision blurred and then her tears were falling. Jon only held her tighter.

"I missed you too, little sister." His voice was full of emotion. She looked up at him. Visenya knew that she had grown since Jon had last seen her, but he had grown far more. She had to crane her neck up to look at him. He was tall, nearly as tall as their father and likely of a height with Aegon. His shoulders were broad and despite his injured state, his body felt powerful like his dragon's.

To her surprise, there were tears in his dark eyes as well. And the guilt within them was so plain that it made her heart ache. "Jon?" She questioned.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" She shook her head at once, but Jon still scanned every inch of her. He even lifted her hands level with his eyes to check and see if she had all her fingers. Even after his inspection, his guilt did not dissipate.

"See? I told you that I am fine. You would never hurt me." That drew a sad smile from him. Tears began to slide down his cheeks.

"I almost did. I didn't know that it was you." His voice cracked, and a ragged sob left his lips. "If he hadn't stopped me… If I hadn't hesitated…Ghost would have torn you apart."

"But he didn't. Ghost stopped when you realized it was me. They made you do it. Father knows that as does our entire family." They sank down to the base of the tree together. She kissed his brow and then his lips. "No one who matters blames you, Jon. Especially, not me."

Jon's sad look did not disappear, but his tears stopped when she brushed them away. Her brother did not release his grip around her waist. She laid her head against his chest and breathed in deeply, trying to commit the smell of him to her memory. His clothes were fresh, and he smelled of soap and smoke. They sat there in silence for a long time. Holding each other.

"I could see them you know? What those monsters were doing to you." She told him after a time.

Jon stiffened. He peered down at her. "I know. You helped me realize that those things I saw weren't real. That it was a dream. A trick."

She bit her lip and regarded her brother. He doesn't know about the people that Ghost killed. Her heart grew heavy. I have to be the one to tell him. "Jon-" She began but the words got stuck in her throat. Once again, her eyes welled with tears. Don't cry you fool; your brother needs you. But she was crying, and Jon was comforting her. The same as he once did when she skinned a knee or when she climbed into his bed during a storm. I need to be strong for him. Like Dany would be. Her aunt would know the words to say. "What did they make you dream?" She asked instead.

Jon hesitated. She squeezed his uninjured hand in comfort. You can tell me. She told him with her eyes. "They made me dream of a life that I could never have."

"Of Elaerys?" She ventured. Jon looked surprised to hear that name. "Samwell told us about her. I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, little sister. I think she would have liked to meet you. You're still a little bookworm from what I have seen, and I met Elaerys in one of Volantis' massive libraries."

Visenya gazed at him in shock. "How did you-" Then she thought of Ghost and how the wolf would sit in the corner and stare at her and Daenerys for long moments. Ghost is his familiar. That is how. She realized. "You were spying," she said in mock outrage.

Jon gave her another one of his sad smiles and shrugged. "A brother has the right to keep an eye on his baby sister."

She knew then that every word Samwell said about the possibility of her brother going mad was bullshit. Jon was protective to a fault. He had been her guardian longer than she could remember. He still is. Those Shadowbinders must have exploited his nature. "They made you see something that happened to her. That is why Ghost attacked us, you thought were defending her."

Her brother's gaze lowered. "Aye, I thought she was under attack. And our children-" He paused. "Us?" He parroted. "Those things were people? Real people?"

When she nodded, a look horror and revulsion came upon him swiftly. Visenya gripped his face. "It wasn't your fault, Jon. You didn't know. You could not have."

His eyes were mournful. "Ghost is my direwolf, Senya. He would not have attacked anyone if I had not ordered him to."

Her gaze was fierce. She needed him to understand that what happened in King's Landing was not his fault. "Look at me, Jae." The nickname she had used for him as a child came to her suddenly. For as long as she could remember, he had always been Jon to her but then she had once heard her mother call him by his full name and at that age, she could not hope to pronounce Jaehaerys. Instead, he became Jae. "Whoever did this to you deserves to burn for what they did but as far as I am concerned… as far as mother and father are concerned, you are blameless. And I won't sit here and listen to you try to tell me otherwise."

Jon… Jae grew quiet, but he pulled her close once again. They sat there, under the canopy of the great oak for a long time. Finally, Jae kissed her forehead. "How many?" He asked.

"Thirteen dead and Obara Sand lost her arm trying to stop Ghost from leaving." She responded honestly, knowing that she could not lie to him. Jae nodded solemnly.

"Who?" Came his simple question. Visenya listed the names for him. He flinched at the mention of the Redwyne twins. "The heir and the spare of the Lord who controls the second most powerful fleet in Westeros and Oberyn Martell's eldest daughter." He sighed. "Father must have quite the headache. Are you sure that I haven't inadvertently started a war?"

Visenya rested her chin against his chest. She didn't like that he still was placing the guilt upon himself. "You know father is smart enough to prevent that. If anyone can keep the peace even after this tragedy, then it is him." Their father was the greatest king since the Old King. Perhaps it was her bias speaking but she knew that Aegon would have a large legacy to fulfill when he ascended to the throne. Memories of her dream came to her then. He was too young. She knew what that meant. Her mother had suffered coughs and chills like anyone except for them of dragon's blood. Even Jae and Rhaenys who lacked the distinctive silver hair seemed to inherit their father's resistance to illness. If not illness, then… She knew the alternative and that made her afraid.

Jae noticed her distress and his hand resumed stroking her back. "I imagine that he will need to make some concessions to keep the peace."

We have dragons to keep the peace. She did not say it. Somehow, she knew it was not what her brother needed to hear. Syraxes drew her attention. The wyrm rested its head on its wings. Its tail hung over the cliff and its large eyes watched them intently. "Were you looking for us or did Syraxes find our ship by chance?"

"Ravens fly much faster than a ship can sail, little sister. Father sent word of your impending arrival probably right after you set sail." He pointed at Syraxes with his injured hand. "This one has taken more than a passing interest in stalking ships; she likes to see the excitement and fear of the crew. So, I like to watch and make sure she does not misbehave or more likely some fool isn't stupid enough to shoot a crossbow bolt and get his whole crew burned. I saw our sigil on the sails. A three-headed dragon is hard to miss." The dragon snorted in humor.

That made her smile. "Someone would have to be truly stupid to do that."

Jae grinned, a most welcome change from his gloom. "You would be surprised, little sister."

Cautiously she asked him, "Is that what happened in Volantis? Her wounds, I mean they were caused by arrows and crossbow bolts, by men stupid enough to provoke her?"

His gaze darkened and his lips thinned. "You saw them, those Shadowbinders. Maelyx used them to trick me, to trick Ghost and even Syraxes. When I broke free of their grip, Syraxes went insane. Most of the men that she killed were slave soldiers, merely doing their duty and defending their home."

"I hope you killed all those responsible." She told him.

"I killed two of them. Syraxes killed more but I think Maelyx escaped. Trust me, little sister, I will kill him." She shivered at the look in his eye. It was so unlike the boy that she had last seen leaving for the Westernlands, more than four years ago. He is not a boy. He is a man. A dragonlord. Compassion still flowed in Jae's veins but there was a burning anger present as well. This Maelyx was a fool to test him. Jae squeezed her hip. "But first and foremost, I must ensure our family's safety. And our power. That is my greatest priority."

He breathed in deep and then looked up at the sky. "We should go Senya. It will rain soon."

Her brow furrowed. The sky looked clear enough to her. "Is there something that I don't see?"

Jae pointed to Syraxes. "Nothing more than I can see but we don't possess the heightened senses of a dragon. Syraxes knows the weather will shift."

Visenya chewed her lip as she wondered at the possibilities. "Can you do the same with Ghost?"

He sighed. "Ghost has been resisting me ever since I left Volantis. Not that I can blame him, our trust was betrayed when I-" She glared at him. "When they made him attack those people. I will need to win him over again."

A direwolf is no ordinary beast. Ghost may not see things like right from wrong as a man would but he knows when he is being led astray. She squeezed Jae's hand to comfort him. "I am sure Nymeria and Arya will help with that. I like our cousin. She is fierce."

"Are she and Sansa still at each other's throats?" Jae moved to stand. He grunted in pain and slowly rose to his feet. Visenya helped him as much as she could.

"Well, Sansa has been at Viserys' side for most of the tourney." A thought came to her. "You do know of the tourney, right? Father planned it to celebrate your return, but you were taking so long… not that we blame you and then the attack happened… well, Father could no longer wait. And there is Aegon's and Rhaenys' weddings." Heat bloomed in her cheeks. "They were being inappropriate with Margaery Tyrell though she was supposed to keep it a secret until you could bring the dragons back so Aegon could marry them both. Now, Rhaenys has to marry the Usurper's brother and Margaery gets rewarded with Aegon. She will be Queen one day. It's so unfair; Rhaenys would make a much better queen." She took a breath. "And Daenerys didn't come with us… not that she didn't want to… well, she said she didn't want to crowd you, but I think it was just to maintain appearances. Father wants to marry you to Myr-"

Jae quieted her with a gentle "Sssh." He reached to grab the cane that rested against the tree. Visenya hadn't noticed it before but grabbed it before he brother needed to bend over and hurt his ribs. It was a beautiful weirwood cane so ancient that the wood had become hard as stone and the bands of iron were starting to rust. "Maester Pylos told me most of what he knew that I missed in my four years away. I know there was a tourney though I knew nothing about Sansa and Viserys. What of his wife?"

"She is gone now. You have a new niece that you have never met." Visenya replied.

Jae's face grew solemn. He nodded. "Just as well, he will face an uphill battle with Lord Stark if he wants to pursue her and Viserys will be gelded if he tries to take advantage. War, be damned."

She shook her head. "Viserys is different now. Less of a pain in the arse, as Rhaenys says. He is nice to me and I think that counts for something. Plus Aerea, Rhaella and Shaena are gorgeous little girls. Every lordling will fight for their favor when they come of age."

His brow arched. "Like you little sister? I am sure that the hopes of thousands of knights were dashed when their Queen of Love and Beauty left to see her brother."

She thought that he was joking at first, but the sincerity of her brother's words made her heart soar. Her voice faltered, "I- there is no one."

Jae titled his head. He peered down at her. His eyes were so dark that they looked black, yet she knew there was grey in there. "Truly? Has some boy been lucky enough to catch your eye?"

She shook her head.

Quieter he asked, "Or a girl?" She stared at him scandalized. "I wouldn't judge you."

"I like boys. Just not a boy," she said heatedly.

That drew a laugh from Jae. "I am sure that books are more interesting to you." She would have agreed with that if he wasn't teasing. "Maester Pylos couldn't tell me if our parents have made a betrothal pact for you or laid before you a list of options. Do you know what they are planning?"

Visenya swallowed heavily. "Why do you ask?"

"I have a dragon. No one will marry you unless you want them to." There was a dangerous look in his eye. "And they will need my approval as well as father's." Under his breath, he said, "They might find me a tougher judge of character."

The words should have brought a smile to her face; instead, they brought dread. "Father has already made a betrothal for me."

She couldn't meet his eyes, but she could feel the weight of his gaze. "It displeases you, doesn't it?" He asked.

Not exactly. There were songs of love, but they had never interested her. When Dany married for duty, Visenya knew that one day it would be her in that position. All she had hoped for was a husband that was not too old or too fat and whose castle or keep was close to Summerhall or King's Landing so she could see her family more often than once or twice a year. Many men were intimidated by a woman who read real books and she did not want to be tied to that type of man for the rest of her life. Her brother was the opposite. The only care that he would have was when she disappeared for hours in the library was that she ate properly and didn't read with candlelight to preserve her eyesight. And he was her family, her favorite person next to Dany. Even if he never loved her like he did Dany she knew that he would never mistreat her. And I would see him every day. After four years of his absence, there was no way that she wanted to only see him occasionally. "No. The man father wants me to marry is very kind."

"Is he old or ugly. Or ugly and old? I can speak to father for you, Senya." Jae gently squeezed her arm and turned her to look at him. "What troubles you, little sister?" She met his gaze with a watery one of her own. His thumb brushed her cheek. He smiled reassuringly. "Father can be contrite with me, but you will have nothing to fear. I promise you."

"He is neither. He is young and comely, tall and a great warrior." She took a deep breath. "And he is my brother."

Confusion came across Jae's face. "Aegon? I thought he was to marry the Tyrell girl."

"No silly." She scolded. "He wants me to marry my other brother. You know the one who can warg a dragon and has a massive direwolf."

"I get the picture." He told her. His voice was flat. An unreadable expression was on his face.

"Are you mad at me?" Her voice was small.

There was humor in his voice that she hadn't expected. "Is your name Rhaegar Targaryen?"

She smiled. "No."

"Then why would I be?" He pressed his lips to her forehead and then sighed. "When I saw Myrcella I thought that father was still looking to fulfill our betrothal. I wonder how Tywin Lannister will react when he learns father's intentions."

"Father does want to fulfill your betrothal with Myrcella. He expects you to wed us both." Jae's eyes widened. Most men would be ecstatic to learn they were to marry two women, yet her brother looked the opposite. We are not the one that he wants.

"I see." He said cryptically.

"What will you do?" She did not want her brother and father to come at odds with each other so soon. Father can tell Aegon what to do and who to marry but Jae has a dragon. Who's will is more powerful, a king's or a dragonrider's? The only dragonrider.

"I do not know. Speak to father and ask him why he has made these decisions prior to my arrival and without my input." His eyes were windows to the slowly growing storm held within.

She saw a drop of rain hit Jon's forehead and then another. Soon they were pelted by a light drizzle. His troubles momentarily forgotten, Jon smiled knowingly. "Can you grab my cloak?" She did and felt the thick material. Her brother wore loose fitting dark pants with a short-sleeved shirt that bared his muscular arms. The cloak did not match his attire and was too thick to be comfortable in the summer heat.

"Why did you bring this?" She asked him. He turned her around and wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. The hood protected her head from the rain, and it was long enough that the end of it pooled at her feet.

"I did not know if we found you that Syraxes would beat the storm. Her saddle is a temporary one until a higher quality one can be constructed. No pouches on it I'm afraid." Syraxes lowered her wing as they approached. Jon helped onto the dragon's back and then he clamored behind her. She watched him wince in pain with each movement.

"Your ribs." He waved her worry away.

"It is a short flight, I will be fine." Courtesy of having uninjured two hands, she was the one who strapped their legs into the saddle. There were enough harnesses for both their legs, yet she felt a bit less secure due to needing to sit more upright on the saddle to make room for her brother. Jon's wrapped his arm around her, and his uninjured hand held the rope tied to Syraxes' horn. Thicker raindrops beaded against his skin.

"How did you fly here from Volantis?"

"Slowly and in pain." Then they were falling, and she was screaming. Jae's strength prevented her from moving any more than an inch and after the initial terror, she was laughing once again. A flap of Syraxes' wings halted their fall and they soared gracefully over the sea. Her brother's commands were wordless but Syraxes seemed to follow a straight path to Dragonstone.

Over the wind, Jae yelled, "When my ribs are healed, we will fly above the clouds. There are few things better than watching a storm from above."

Visenya stretched her arms out wide. "I can't wait!"

Too soon, they were touching down in the inside of the walls of their ancestral fortress. It had been years since she had been in the castle. Smoke rose from the Dragonmont, and the sea surrounding it, formed from water that boiled away as it came in contact with superheated rock. The vapor created a perpetual haze that at times could entirely engulf the castle. In that steam, the many dragons and wyrm shaped towers could seem to come to life. As girls, she and Daenerys pretended they would while her brothers chased them through the many twisting yards and stairwells.

Countless gargoyles, manticores, griffins, sphinxes and other strange creatures watched their approach, their figures as elegant as the day they were sung into existence. Time seemed to be meaningless to the black stone creations of the Valyrian stonesingers. Soon there will be another in King's Landing. A powerful symbol of their family's resurgence. There were guards along the walls who did not seem to notice Syraxes' approach until her shadow passed directly overhead. Despite Syraxes' size, many times greater than any bird, she could glide almost silently.

To Visenya's surprise, instead of landing in the main yard as she expected or in the many more secluded yards that were interspersed throughout the castle, Syraxes climbed higher. The gaping maw of the Windwyrm tower enveloped them. Stone teeth longer than her arm passed over her head. The tower was huge and despite its massive size, it was life like as if she, her brother and his dragon were swallowed whole by a screaming dragon several orders of magnitude larger. Syraxes touched down on the balcony that formed of the lower jaw of the dragon.

Jae helped her from Syraxes' back. The dragon did not linger long and launched from the balcony. The top of the tower extended over the curtain wall with a narrow sea facing cliff just beyond it. Syraxes fell from sight and then rose suddenly into the sky. Two flaps of her wings carried her from sight.

Jae slid open the doors to his chambers, revealing a large room with rows upon rows of empty bookshelves. She could smell the dust as soon as they entered. A spiral stair connected the two levels of the room rose from the far corner. It was noticeably bare, with little if any in the way of personal effects save for the brilliant Valyrian steel sword that sat close to the bed on a stand.

Fresh drapery and rugs gave the room some semblance of comfort. The sheets on the large bed looked clean as well. They were a dark red that complemented the black frame of the bed. "I know that it isn't much. They are still in the process of cleaning up the place. This room probably hasn't been used in decades."

She saw him struggle to remove his boots and moved to help. "Let me." Jae gave her a strange look when she dropped to her knees in order to untie his laces. "What?" She asked.

He looked away. "Nothing." Once done, she removed her own boots and handed Jae his cloak. He shook away some of the moisture and discarded the cloak on a dresser. Wet footprints were left where ever he stepped. Jae's wet clothes clung to his skin. A pitiful attempt was made by her brother to remove his shirt with one hand. Visenya would have been amused by his struggle if it were not accompanied by winces of pain.

She replaced his fingers with her own and helped him fit his head through the shirt hole and then his arms. His torso was revealed to her. Bruises and old scars adorned nearly all the skin that was not covered by the wrappings around his ribs. "It looks worse than it is." He told her when he noticed her concerned stare.

She frowned. "You cannot even raise your arms above your head without a grimace. How can you be in so much pain? Has Maester Pylos forgotten how to brew Milk of the Poppy?"

Jae peeled his wet pants off his legs and stepped into a pair of thin white pants. She saw another large bandage wrapped across his left thigh. He forwent a shirt entirely. He looks like he just returned from war. She supposed in a way he had. "He has offered many times. Probably will again tonight but I prefer to have my mind sharp and not addled by the drink."

Is that why you look like you have not slept in a week? In the state that he was in, she could imagine any movement in the night would bring him pain. The flight here must have been unbearable for him. Even his stride was impeded. He moved with a slight limp and told her that the Maester suggested the cane in case his leg was ever threatening to give out on him. Months would be needed for him to heal fully and she doubted a lack of sleep would help the healing process.

"When was the last time that you were on Dragonstone?" He asked.

"Before you left."

Jae nodded. "I can send for some of mother's clothes if you want to change and they should have your chamber ready in the Stone Drum."

The Stone Drum served as the central keep and one needed to cross an arched bridge, a twisting stair and several gardens to reach it. Not to mention the hundreds of stairs in this tower alone that needed to be ascended if she wanted to visit him. No one knew that she was here. After four years of him being away, she had Jae all to herself. "I want to stay here. I just need a long shirt to sleep in."

Her brother looked surprised but not displeased. He pulled a bright blue shirt from the dresser. She recognized it as her father's. The shirt was so long that the tails of it went past her knees and she had to roll the sleeves of it several times.

Jae stared at her bare legs and feet. Her toes wiggled unconsciously. He cleared his throat. "Do you need socks?"

She laughed. "It is too warm for socks."

"Perhaps some actual sleeping clothes would serve better. I can shout for one of the servants to grab some for you." She stopped him before he could go to the door.

"There's no need. This shirt is about as long as what I normally sleep in anyway." She chewed her lip. She felt a selfish desire to have time with Jae all to herself. Once the others arrived, she knew everyone would want his attention and when they made their return to King's Landing…

They laid upon the large bed, facing one another. "I know you have your questions. Ask them and I will answer." He told her.

There were a thousand questions that swirled in her head but there was one she needed to ask before the others. "Why haven't you asked about Daenerys?"

"I know that she is married. I came too late."

His answer surprised her. Maester Pylos told him. She reasoned. "Daenerys doesn't love Quentyn. Not in the slightest."

She thought her words would offer her brother reassurance, but they seemed to have the opposite. "Then why did she not come? We haven't seen each other in four years, 2and she did not want to come to see me. You did. Mother did. And I can understand why Father and Aegon were needed in King's Landing but not her."

"She did want to come," Visenya reassured.

Jae's eyes narrowed, and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze. "Did father forbid her from coming? Was there some matter in the city that was so pressing that she could not pass it off to another? Has our aunt suddenly contracted a fear of the water? Strange, since I remember how she would love to sail across the bay." Visenya could only shake her head. "I thought so."

"Just speak to her, Jae. Please."

"I will when we meet. When I am ready." She wanted to provide a retort, but Jae's face stopped her words before she could speak them. The light in the room quickly dimmed as the sun dropped below the horizon. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she could just see the outline of her brother's face by the moonlight that poured from the large windows. "Now, tell me of yourself, little sister. I want to know what you have been occupied with for these four years, besides not getting much taller."

She hit his chest playfully. "Asks your questions and I will answer." Visenya parroted his words back to him. And he did. For hours they talked. Well, mostly she talked, and Jae listened. Even Daenerys had the tendency to zone out when Visenya spoke of her books and the writings, yet Jae answered with his own opinions and counter-arguments. It reminded her of their father. Including the soft way in which her brother spoke to her. She could hear the smile in his voice. He was rougher around the edges than she remembered, with tragedies that clearly weighed heavily upon him, but Jae would always be her brother. I will help him heal. She vowed.

Sleep came to her before she knew. When she woke, Jae was not beside her as she expected. It was still dark. The vestiges of the day's heat warmed the stone of the room beneath her bare feet. She found her brother sitting in a wooden chair. His back was to her and his sword lay bare beside him on a table pulled close. An oiling cloth lay forgotten on the blade. Jae was as still as the dead.

"Jae." She called. He did not answer. Her fingers brushed against his bare shoulder. Quick as a snake, his hand grabbed her wrist and wrenched her arm painfully pulling her into his lap. Cruel dark eyes stared down. Slowly, they seemed to fill with recognition.

"Senya." He said in shock. The grip on her wrist was released immediately. "I'm sorry- I did not know it was you." He carefully examined her wrist; she gripped his own before he could pull away.

"You didn't recognize me." Fear still coiled in her chest but the concern for her brother reigned supreme. Jae's reaction had been instinctual. A need to fight that had been instilled by the tragedies that he had endured. "Were you having a bad dream?"

He turned away, shutting her out. "You can have the room. I thought-" He swallowed heavily. "It is not safe for you here. Not with me."

"Don't say that." She told him. He tried to remove her from his lap, but she resisted the motion and straddled him. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Now, he couldn't displace her without hurting himself or her. "You didn't hurt me. Not truly."

He didn't want to look at her. She ran her fingers through his hair. "Talk to me." She whispered. She could feel how tense his body was beneath her. The muscles in his powerful thighs seemed coiled like springs, ready to spirit him away if she released him. "You were having a nightmare, weren't you?" Jae nodded. "About the Shadowbinders?"

"No. It was about what they made me see." His voice was full of conflict. Sorrow and rage present in equal quantities.

"Elaerys?" She guessed.

Jae sighed. "And our children. We argued in the Dothraki Sea. Elaerys had a temper that was not easily quelled. I loved it and I hated it…"

Her heart ached for him. "She was pregnant, wasn't she?"

Silent sobs racked his body. His tears soaked her shirt. He spoke of Elaerys and the child that had been growing in her belly. Of the men that he had hunted who took them both from this world. Her anger swelled when he told of her of the Shadowbinders and the lifelike a dream they had subjected him to. What had been near a week in the real world had been almost a year for him. He spoke of Valyria and its history and destruction that he was forced to relive time and time again. Aemon, Daenys, Rhaenyra, and most importantly, Elaerys. She memorized their names as her brother recanted his beautiful yet imaginary life. The memories of it as real and as vivid as any true experience.

"There are times when I fear that one day, I won't know what is real and what is a dream. When I raise my sword to strike down a foe that is real or imaginary? If I lose my grip on my sanity who will I hurt? How many people would Syraxes kill if I ordered her to? What would father do if I could no longer control myself? The answers to those questions haunt me more than you could ever know little sister."

She clutched him tighter. "That won't happen." I will not allow it. It took her a long time to convince her brother to return to bed. She had to threaten to sit in his lap for the rest of the night until he finally agreed. Finally, as Jae rested on his back, her above him, staring down at his dark eyes, she traced words on his skin. "Guess what I am spelling."

It was a game that they used to play. The three of them - herself, Dany and Jae. Normally, they would lay on their stomachs while the others would trace their name or messages on their skin. Yet, her brother's ribs were too sore to lie on his belly.

Jae made a sound of amusement. "You know I am terrible at this."

I know. "I'll make it simple at first. Since you are so bad at it." She traced a single letter across his chest.

"I." He answered without difficulty.

"No peaking this time." Four letters this time. She traced them exceedingly slow. Lifting her hand at the end of each letter and pressing softly against the muscle.

"Love?" He asked uncertainly.

She giggled. "And I thought you were bad at this." With this longer word, her arches and sweeps were more contained. Jae's chest was wide enough for all eight letters to fit.

"Visenya," Jae warned.

"That is not what I spelled." She told him cheekily.

"I know what you spelled." This time his tone would not scare her away.

"Say it. That's the rules of the game."

"Maybe I don't want to play this game anymore." His stubbornness was infuriating.

"Little sister overrules you. Are you afraid of saying a name?" In the dim light, she could not be sure of his expression, but she saw his lips twitch. It might have been a smile.

"Daenerys." He said finally.

"Say all the words." A thought came to her. "In order."

"Daenerys love I."

She pinched his nipple, drawing a gasp. "I suppose that order works just as well." And then she kissed his forehead. "No matter how vivid a memory, your mind can't remember sensations. Not truly. We can play this game before you sleep and each morning you wake. If you ever get confused about which life is real, just remember that if your day doesn't start with this routine then it likely isn't real."

To her elation, Jae tentatively agreed with the plan and so they began the game once again. When her eyes grew heavy, she curled up to her brother, holding his uninjured hand in the hopes that he could not leave the bed without waking her. It seemed to have worked because in the morning her brother was still there, alert with his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

By the amount of light that penetrated the windows, it must have been well past dawn. A yawn slipped past her lips. "Did you sleep?" She asked him. Jae nodded. Her fingers traced a word across his chest.

Jae smiled wryly. "You know this game would work better if you don't keep repeating her name."

Visenya shrugged. "That one was just practice." They played the game until Maester Pylos interrupted. He was young, dark-haired and immensely embarrassed when he noticed her presence. "My apologies, my lord, I did not know you had a visitor. I was just coming to check your wounds and replace your bandages if needed."

Jae smiled. 'Relax Pylos. This is my baby sister."

Pylos had turned away but now his eyes widened as he looked upon her. Visenya smiled softly and leaned her head against Jae's shoulder.

"My apologies, Princess. I did not know of your arrival." Too tired to answer him, Visenya merely nodded. She watched carefully as the young Maester carefully examined her brother. He poked and prodded at her brother's ribs and examined the wound along Jae's leg. At her inquiry, Pylos assured her that Jae would make a full recovery, so as long as he did not overexert himself. The most gruesome wound by far was Jae's hand. Welts and scabs covered the angry red skin. Pylos carefully cleaned the hand with a cloth soaked in clear alcohol. Jae clenched his teeth. "Are you sure that you do not want Milk of the Poppy for the pain. Even a small dose would help." The Maester asked.

"I have endured worse," Jae said. Yet, he gasped in pain as the Maester applied a salve to his burn wounds.

Pylos saw the worry on her face. "Despite how his hand looks, your brother has healed quite remarkably. No loss of sensation or function and there has been no sign of infection. Whoever treated his wounds originally was quite the expert healer."

"Kinvara, a Red Priestess of Volantis." Jae told her.

The Maester smiled wryly. "I suppose princesses have a greater privilege to information." Jae's hand was tightly wrapped once again.

Visenya grinned. "Little sisters do."

Jae was made to stand and walk around the room as Pylos observed his gait. "How is your pain?"

"Minimal," Jae answered.

Pylos nodded. His face contorted in concentration as he made mental notes. "It might be months before you will be able to run at speed or plant your leg firmly. Until then, the cane would be best used to keep your balance." He gathered his supplies. "I will send for breakfast. For two now." He looked to her and then left the room after a hasty bow.

Jae settled next to her on the bed. "So, little sister, what do you want to do for the next two days?"

"You won't send Syraxes to grab mother or Arya?"

He shook his head. "It was hard enough to convince Syraxes not to throw you into the sea and you're my little sister." His eyes turned serious. "On that thought, never try to mount her without my approval. Syraxes may know you but she can hurt you just as easily. Do you understand?"

Visenya nodded. "Need your approval, got it." She stretched her arms over her head and pointed her feet. Jae's eyes followed her motion. She wiggled her toes, drawing a laugh from her brother. The warmth of the sheets reminded her of how drowsy she felt. Grabbing Jae's arm, she wrapped it around her and snuggled into his embrace. "First more sleep and then the library."

Jae chuckled and squeezed her tighter. "Sounds like a plan, Senya."

Daenerys Targaryen

For all the vaunted chivalry of the Reach, the valor of the Vale, the wealth of the Westerlands, and the many knights that hailed from the Crownlands, Rivers and the North, ultimately it was two Dornishmen who had survived until the final jousts. The two men stood in contrast to each other. Her knight, Ser Daemon was clad in plain grey steel, scarred and dented from use. Its only ornamentation was the surcoat of his father's house that he wore over his breastplate. Ser Gerold Dayne's armor was far more elaborate. Sharp edges, spiked pauldrons, a gorget engraved with a blazing falling star colored in all the shades of the sunset. His steel was a dark red, almost black, and a cloak of the same color billowed behind him.

The two knights met in a thunderous clash of wood and steel. Daemon's lance was well placed, striking Ser Gerold in the center of his chest and promptly shattering upon impact. Ser Gerold's lance merely grazed the side of Daemon's pauldron, its tip cracking but doing little to unsettle Daemon from his seat. In contrast, Ser Gerold nearly fell from his destrier but recovered at the last moment, to the elation of the crowd.

"That is nine broken lances for the bastard. There must be some sort of irony if the greatest tourney the realm has seen in a generation is won by a Dornish Bastard." Viserys mused. Her brother lazed in his seat. Leaned back, legs crossed with his right foot resting on his left knee. He had two golden loops through his ears and his silver hair hung loose. For the final day of the tourney, Viserys had dressed in some of his most lavish fineries. Bright blue pants, polished boots and a lashed tunic with voluminous sleeves that bared the top of his chest. A golden chain was clasped around his neck. His fingers bore two rings, one on each hand. Many maidens had been charmed by the sight of her brother and Daenerys had not failed to notice the lords who presented their daughters to Viserys, undoubtedly in the hopes of securing a royal marriage.

Her face twitched in anger. "It is a matter of skill that will decide the victor not the status of the birth. Otherwise, you would be ahorse competing and not uselessly commentating on the sidelines with me."

Viserys turned to her in surprise. "Did I touch a nerve, sweet sister?"

She flushed in embarrassment. "No, but you shouldn't dismiss someone just because they are not trueborn."

Viserys shrugged, noncommittally. "If only our nephew's leg hadn't been broken by our Kingsguard." There was an undercurrent of amusement in his tone. "It would have been more interesting to see who Aegon would crown, his soon to be wife or the sister who holds his heart? Now that would have been something worth betting on."

She shook her head. "You shouldn't jest about those things." Daenerys was grateful that such a controversy would be avoided. While there were whispered musings of the reasons behind such quick weddings, Aegon's and Rhaenys' illicit relationship remained a secret. The crown prince naming anyone other than his betrothed as the Queen of Love and Beauty days before their wedding would be the greatest controversy since Harrenhal. We do not need another Tourney at Harrenhal. Still, she worried just how the forced separation of Aegon and Rhaenys would affect their family. Neither Aegon or Rhaenys spoke with their father since the announcement of Jon's arrival to Dragonstone. Such silence was troubling.

"I am surprised those two did not put up a greater protest. If I was a betting man my coin would have been on them staging an escape."

"Neither of them would be so foolish." Or, at least Daenerys hoped they would not be. Perhaps Mace Tyrell could be quelled in the best of times, which these were clearly not, but Renly Baratheon was a concern as well. The Lord of Storm's End may have been childhood friends with Rhaenys, but such an insult would not be taken lightly. More troubling would be Rhaegar's reaction. Daenerys doubted Rhaegar would suffer such an embarrassment without doling out severe punishment in return.

Viserys lowered his voice. "Its Rhaegar who is the fool. So, Mace Tyrell's daughter whored herself out to Aegon and Rhaenys. Why should they be punished, and she rewarded? If I were king, I'd marry the Tyrell girl off to some landed knight and tell that fat flower to be done with it."

She could not help but laugh at him. "It is a good thing that you are not the king."

A smirk came upon Viserys' face. "Yes, I suppose it is."

The trumpets sounded again as Daemon and Ser Gerold took their places on opposite ends of the jousting lane. Squires rushed to arm the knights with fresh lances. Daemon's lances were made of plain wood, Gerold's were painted with dark purple and white streaks. They had ridden against one another eleven times today for the champion's joust. Daemon was ahead in points with the greater number of shattered lances and Ser Gerold would need to strike well for every remaining tilt just to tie Daemon's current score. To honor the Seven, the joust would end at fourteen tilts. If Daemon broke another lance, then there was no possible way for Ser Gerold to win by points.

Daenerys' heart beat like a drum. Anticipation coursed through her as well as an undercurrent of fear. She had not believed Daemon when he assured her that he would win the joust. Her doubt was not due to her lack of faith in his skill but a recognition of the stiff competition he faced. Daemon had ridden as if he was half centaur, unhorsing several knights of renown in his rise to the champion's joust. Now he would do the same with Ser Gerold.

The horn to begin was sounded. A scream of excitement rippled through the crowd. Daenerys' eyes did not stray from the field. Two large destriers raced to each other, their hooves beat against the earth like dulled thunder. She saw Daemon lean forward, lifting from his saddle while raising his shield to protect his flank. Gerold mirrored Daemon, the purple ribbons attached to his helm streamed in the wind. The tips of their lances struck each other.

"No points." Viserys commentated. "Now Darkstar needs to unhorse the bastard to win it."

Daemon and Gerold swapped their lances for fresh ones and then they were contesting again with little delay. Her knight seemed at one with the motion of his horse and they seemed to float over the ground. His lance was well placed, straight without sway and Daenerys knew that it would strike true. However, at the last moment Darkstar shifted his shield a few inches to the center causing Daemon's lance to splinter against the shield. Darkstar's struck the tip of Daemon's shoulder, his lance shattered but Daemon held true to his seat.

Daenerys found herself cheering along with the crowd. He just needs to hold on.

For the final time, the knights rode to the end of the list and swapped their lances. Daemon dug his spurs into his mount, urging into a full canter. The muscles in its long legs flexed with every step. This time, Darkstar's lance struck first. Near the center of Daemon's chest, sharp chips of wood flew in every direction. The force of the blow knocked Daemon clear from his saddle. He hit the ground in a great crash.

A deafening roar came from the crowd and Gerold Dayne discarded his shield, lifting his armored fist in triumph. Daemon sat up without aid. He slapped his helm in frustration. Daenerys watched him carefully for any sign of injury but there was none that she could see.

Gerold Dayne's squire removed his Ser's helm and Daenerys could swear she could hear the collective sighs from hundreds of women, both highborn and low. He was as handsome as his cousin, Lady Ashara Dayne was beautiful. Dayne's silver hair parted by a strip of midnight black was slick with sweat but it did little to reduce the man's beauty.

Resentment flared in her chest as Ser Gerold collected his wreath of roses. The knight's horse pranced beneath him and he made of a show looking to each stand to select his queen.

It was Rhaenys that he chose and by the murderous look on her niece's faces, it was clear that she was less than pleased. Renly Baratheon shifted perhaps in discomfort in his seat next to his soon to be wife. The Stormlords that gathered around him murmured in shock at the scandal. Ser Gerold was unperturbed.

"If the Queen were here then I would have surely crowned her for there is no woman more deserving! Yet in the absence of the realm's true queen then I crown her daughter! Princess Rhaenys is the jewel of both the Rhoynar and the blood of Old Valyria, it is a tragedy that she will not be the realm's next queen!" Gerold's voice rippled across the yard. The Dornish host was the first to roar its approval, the lords took to their feet and stamped their boots. In ignorance of the veiled insult, the smallfolk followed their example.

"Princess Rhaenys!" They cheered.

"Rhaenys! Rhaenys! Rhaenys!" The cries grew more spirited as Rhaenys accepted the crown of flowers and placed it on her head. Rhaenys stood and waved at the crowd. With her flowing raven locks and beautiful skin, Rhaenys was a vision in a dress of black and red.

Then a more disastrous cheer came from the Dornish. "Queen Rhaenys!" A smaller number of smallfolk took up that cheer as well. The rest must have been cognizant enough to realize that the Crown Prince would soon be wedding a different woman than his sister.

Daenerys chanced a look back at Rhaegar. The extent of his displeasure was hard to discern. The king was not a man of as few smiles as his Hand, but his face could be just as unreadable if need be. Next to Rhaegar sat their mother and Lucerys Velaryon and to the other side was Mace Tyrell whose face was as red as a tomato with anger. Margaery Tyrell sat a further away from the king. Yellow and white flowers were interwoven into her loose brown locks and she wore a dress of green and gold with pointed shoulders. Her garb was a measure more modest than Rhaenys' Dornish dress and gave her a more innocent appearance. Yet there was now a touch of anger on the girl's face, ruining the façade.

Aegon sat next to his betrothed, crutches lying beside him. Egg's handsome face was strewn with conflict. Since his injury, Margaery had not strayed far from her soon to be husband's side but the way he stared across the distance to his sister, made it clear to the woman he would prefer to be with.

The cheers only ended when Rhaenys bid Renly to stand beside her. She wrapped her arms around Renly's waist and stood on the tips of her toes to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "I am flattered Ser Gerold, but Lord Renly will make a most welcome husband."

Gerold Dayne dipped into a flamboyant bow. "As you say, princess." But, the way the knight looked at Renly seemed to convey that he thought otherwise. Dayne was not done with his bold actions and he rode from in front of the box of Stormlords to approach their royal box.

"I can't decide if he is bold or stupid. Perhaps both," Viserys muttered. Daenerys agreed with her brother.

"I would lean more to the stupid argument." She said in return.

Dayne bid his horse to stop just before the rail. This time he dipped into a lower bow. "I hope that I have not caused any undue offense my king?"

Rhaegar's voice was cold. "No, Ser Gerold. That is your opinion and we all are entitled to them. In another life, perhaps my daughter would have made a great queen, but I have no doubt Margaery will make as fine a queen as my Lyanna."

Dayne's smile was sardonic. "Of course, my king. You are a wise man and it would be foolish to doubt your wisdom. But as you say, we are all entitled to our opinions." The knight turned away after another almost overly respectful bow.

"Fucking Dorne is never satisfied," Viserys muttered. Daenerys sealed her lips less she agreed with Viserys.

All the regions of Westeros were represented in the cavernous throne room. Stark, Tully, Lannister, Tyrell, Arryn, Martell and more than a dozen of their respective vassal houses. Even the distant Greyjoys were represented in the lone Theon Greyjoy. For over a decade Theon had been the ward of Lord Eddard Stark; a punishment due to his father's failed ambitions to crown himself King of the Iron Isles in the early years of Rhaegar's reign. Lord Balon had lost two sons in his failed rebellion and the third and final son had been raised a thousand leagues from the Iron Isles, deep in the heart of the North. If what Sansa whispered was true, then Theon sought to beseech the King for his leave to return to the Iron Isles.

Daenerys' eyes briefly traveled over the lone kracken. Embroidered upon his black doublet was the Kraken of his house. He was lean and dark haired. His face could have been considered handsome if it were not for the cocky smile that was perpetually on his face. Still, Theon had a few admirers, girls who had been most impressed by his showing in the archery competition. He hadn't won, that honor had been bestowed upon Jalabhar Xho, an exiled Prince of the Red Flower Vale. Currently, the Kraken was amongst with the few Ironborn houses that had braved the long journey. Theon noticed her attention upon him and winked at her. Daenerys turned away in complete dismissal. The Greyjoy may have thought himself as charming but from what little of what she had seen of him, Daenerys was inclined to agree with Jon's assessment of Theon. It was not a glowing one.

Tiered seating had been arranged in a wide oval for the lords while the royal family was seated upon benches placed at the base of the throne. The Starks sat nearest to the throne and amongst them were the Lannisters and Tullys. She knew her mother had arranged that seating. Two of those three families had sought to overthrow their dynasty in the Usurper's War but with a single marriage, Rhaegar would circumvent the Stark-Tully-Arryn power block entirely and tie the Riverlands, the Westerlands and the North to Jon and their family. Arianne Martell was seated with her husband, Dorian Hightower, and his family. The two represented a possible end to the timeless disputes and bloodshed between the marcher lords and the lords south of the Red Mountains. Such an arrangement was a symbol of the peace that the king sought to attain.

The Alchemists' Guild had taken to the center of the room. They were the last of the performers that showcased their arts. Certainly, they were not the least. There had been fools and jugglers, acrobats and beast handlers. White-furred lemurs had charmed the crowd with just how adorable they were, hopping upon the shoulders of women, children and even knights. The trick of that show had been that while they were certainly adorable, the lemurs had been trained to be expert pickpockets. Earrings, rings and coin purses had been divested from the person of their victims without their knowledge until the lemurs' handler had revealed his new horde of treasure, drawing a round of raucous applause.

These sorcerers were a step above such tricks. Real magic had was being worked before their very eyes. Creatures of living flame were born from the pyre that the Alchemists had rolled into the throne room atop a cart made of iron. Winged serpents rose into the air, slender and agile, and with them dragons, larger and roaring tiny flames of their own. There were other beasts that were born and died in moments. Manticores and basilisk, great reptiles and a large horned serpent rose from the flame only to dive beneath the waves of flames as if they were made of waters of the sea.

When the alchemist ended their performance, Rhaegar stood. All conversation ceased as the king descended the steps of the Iron Throne. Even without words, her brother made a commanding figure. He wore a high-necked crimson tunic gilded at the shoulders. Stitched on his breast was the three-headed-dragon of their house, colored a deep onyx. Scarlet and gold flame spewed from their mouths to dance across the other side of his chest. His boots were polished to a sheen and his pants were made of the same fine velvet of his tunic, with black stitching tracing down the sides. Rhaegar was nearing twenty years of enduring the immense burden that that was the mantle of the King of Westeros and yet his shoulders were unbent and broad, his belly flat and his strength of mind and body undeniable. Wordlessly, his indigo eyes scanned the throne room, taking in the sight of the hundreds gathered before him. Daenerys straightened her spine as his gaze brushed over her and their family. The king nodded to himself as he completed his inspection.

Most of the black skulls of their dead dragons were mounted high on the walls. Their hollow eyes and long teeth reminders of the power their family once wielded. A power that would soon return. The largest of the skulls were arranged beside the throne. Balerion's skull was unmistakable. So large that Daenerys could stand inside it with her arms outstretched and still not touch either side. Vhagar's skull was not much smaller and Meraxes' and Vermithor's competed for the third, each larger than an oxen cart.

Rhaegar's arms rose, splayed wide in welcome. "My Lords. My friends. I wish to thank you all for joining my family and I for this great tourney. For many of you, the journey to King's Landing was a great one. Whether by land or sea, the distances of our kingdom are immense. For some the promise of glory drew you here. For others the promise of new alliances formed by brotherhood or marriage. For House Targaryen, the reason behind this tourney was simple. A celebration of family, for our family is now whole again. There has been much talk about my youngest son, I am sure. Well, I will dispel those rumors here and now. Prince Jaehaerys has returned to Westeros and with him the first dragon the world has seen in a century. He rests from his long journey at Dragonstone and I have sent our Queen and my daughter to welcome him."

The lords applauded loudly. Rhaegar allowed them several moments before he spoke once again, this time his voice was more solemn. "Unfortunately, these weeks have not been without a few tragedies. Fourteen souls were lost in a senseless rampage, a rampage not caused by a rabid animal but by foul sorcery." The king held up a hand to quiet the murmurs. "I know many of you have questions and they will be answered in due time, I assure you. However, I can tell you this… my son has repaid those who sought to do us harm with dragonfire. Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister were dispatched to Volantis when news came to us that my son had been captured by a faction related to the Volantene Triarchy, the same faction that engineered the attack by my son's direwolf. Their original purpose was to rescue my son but Prince Jaehaerys was more than capable of freeing himself. In his escape, he was forced to unleash the power of his dragon. Portions of Volantis burn as a result."

Daenerys looked to Princess Arianne then, watching the emotions play across the heiress' face. She knew other than the Redwynes, the Martells were the greatest worry. Arianne looked shocked by the news. There was a fierce whispered exchange between her and her husband before she grew silent. Her dark eyes looked fierce. They will need more than those words to satisfy them.

The whispering dissolved into shouted questions. Ser Oswell banged the butt of his halberd against the stone floors. "Order!" The knight shouted. Ser Loras did the same and order was restored in a few moments.

"These are the answers that we have now. When there is more it will be shared with you all in due time. I can assure you however, those responsible for the attack in this castle and the harm caused to my son, if they are not already dead then they will wish that they were." The King's eyes held a certain fire to them, and everyone present in the throne room knew his words were no empty promise.

The king descended to the base of his throne. The lords stood from their seats. Absent of his queen, her mother left Lucerys Velyaron to take her place by Rhaegar's side. "And now for the ball!" Rhaella said with a beaming smile. Many of the older lords had not been shy in telling Daenerys just how welcome her mother's return to court was. In the depths of her father's madness, Queen Rhaella had been one of the few sources of cheer in the court of House Targaryen. Now with the promise of Rhaegar as king in full bloom, her mother's radiance was even more pronounced. Lyanna may have held Rhaegar's heart but it was Rhaella the realm favored. While her mother had spent most of the past decade on Dragonstone and then Driftmark, it was not done in complete exile. Many of the lords neighboring the Blackwater had made the journey to Dragonstone with their wives and daughters. Rhaella had more than a few friends.

They exited the Throne Room and the lords formed a procession behind their family. Rhaenys walked arm in arm with Renly Baratheon just behind the king. The two made a striking sight, tall, dark-haired and both full of smiles. Aegon was behind her and Viserys. Rather than be wheeled around in a chair, he moved with his crutches. She had not failed to notice the lack of a smile on her normally cheerful nephew's face.

Viserys' twins more than made up for the Crown Prince's dour mood. The little girls waved at the lords as they passed. They were both dressed in identical white dresses with opposing red and blue ribbons in their silver-gold hair. Rather than walk, the two held hands and skipped. A stern backward glance from their grandmother prevented them from drawing too far ahead.

Connected to the Throne Room was the Great Hall. Its ceilings were near as high as the Throne Room's with tall and narrow windows decorated with painted glass that spanned high above their heads. Two long rows of marble columns held the weight of the slanted roof and from it hung a hundred crystal chandeliers that illuminated the hall with the light of more than a thousand candles. Large red banners emblazoned with the sigil of their house hung from the rafters and the high box seating. Ornate suits of armor stood sentinel every few yards, the armor of ancient kings and princes. Towards the end of the hall, the room widened considerably, and a short flight of wide stone steps led to the inner chamber. Above a chandelier larger than the rest hung, the bright light that emanated from it drove away all shadows. Minstrels sat in the box seating and their instruments filled the hall with sweet music.

Rhaegar and Rhaella were the first to take the floor. The king and his mother moved with an equally well practiced grace. They seemed to glide across the stone, mesmerizing all in attendance. Instead of the colors of their house, Rhaella wore a long-sleeved sea green dress trimmed with silver. Her hair was done in a loose yet elaborate silver bun and the smile she wore made her look decades younger. It was a rare but welcome sight to see a smile that touched his eyes on the king's face.

Rhaenys and Renly were the next to join them. Renly was a tall and well-made lord with hair as black as coal and laughing blue eyes. The two may have been a new couple but they were as in sync with their movements as a couple that had spent decades together. Daenerys knew that Renly had spent considerable time in court and had even visited Sunspear while Rhaenys had paid a few visits to Storm's End. In that time, the two had formed a fast friendship. Perhaps they will make a happy marriage. Or at the very least, a marriage that brought Rhaenys more joy than Daenerys' own ever did.

Soon, more lords were joining in the dancing. Margaery Tyrell's brother, Ser Garlan looked splendid with his heavily pregnant wife, Lady Leonette. Despite her condition the lady seemed to move unimpeded, matching her husband's steps. She saw a young knight of House Lannister approach Sansa Stark, only to be declined in favor of a solemn-looking Northern youth who had claimed her first dance.

Daenerys looked to Viserys for his reaction, but she could not catch sight of him in the crowd. Undoubtedly Rhaella or Aerea were fighting for their father's first dance. The little twins liked to share everything except their father's attention. Rhaella separated from Rhaegar in favor of Lord Lucerys' arms.

She had been slightly wary of the Lord of Driftmark despite his prolonged history with her mother, but the man was of upstanding character. In the long history of their houses, House Velaryon had produced some of the closest friends of House Targaryen and it seemed Lord Lucerys was of the same vein as many of his ancestors. Her mother may have been resistant to be married again for reasons understandable, but Daenerys had a feeling that Lucerys was not a man to be denied. And if Rhaegar approved of him then so did she. Even Viserys had a sort of grudging respect for him.

She herself was asked several times to dance but declined politely. Instead, Daenerys approached her nephew. Aegon was seated near the back of the room. He was usually charming enough to have dozens of admirers but on this occasion, his dour face must have been enough to ward away those who would normally approach him. Aegon had cut his hair several inches shorter and he had not shaved in several days. The facial hair made him look older, more dignified and far moodier.

"Hello, Daenerys," Aegon regarded her. His voice was without inflection.

"At least pretend that you are happy to be here." Daenerys scolded as she settled next to him. She would have asked where Margaery was until she saw the girl in the midst of dancing with Robb Stark.

"Oh, I am pretending." He said with the slightest grin.

"You don't wear the face of a man that is happy to be wed in a week." Rhaegar had wanted the wedding to commence sooner as likely did the nobles who were not wanting to miss a two-for-one royal wedding but were stressing their household funds in such an extended visit however appeasing the traditions of the Seven was something they could not ignore. Seven more days of praying and celebrating before two great houses were tied to House Targaryen. Perhaps it was a good thing. The city was flush with gold from so many present in the city and the more merriment meant less attention to Ghost's attack.

Aegon did not answer her. She followed his stare and found Rhaenys firmly in his sight. Her niece had changed from her beautiful black dress from earlier to another equally striking crimson gown. Rhaenys' shoulders were entirely bare as were her arms while the dress held to her body by a thin black choker. As usual, the dress hugged her body, flattering her curves and full bosom. She had yet to switch dance partners from Renly and the smile she wore could only be genuine. A heavy sigh emanated from Aegon.

"She looks happy." Daenerys ventured. "That is a good sign is it not?"

"Is it?" Aegon questioned, his voice terse.

"You are happy with Margaery, or at least you were." Daenerys reminded.

"I'd be happier with Rhaenys," Aegon said without hesitation. Daenerys winced.

"Keep that comment to yourself." She scolded under her breath.

He shrugged. "It is the truth. I care deeply for Margaery but Rhaenys was always meant to be my queen."

"Will you mistreat your wife just because she is not your sister?" Daenerys asked. Visenya may have turned her heart entirely against Margaery with the recent news (not that she had ever liked her very much in the first place) but Daenerys had been in the presence of Margaery enough to know that she was not an evil person. Smart and more beholden to her ambitious family than her niece and nephew anticipated but Margaery seemed to have the makings of a good queen.

"No." Aegon scoffed as if the notion was ludicrous. She prayed it was.

"Then stop staring at your sister and pay attention to your soon to be wife. Just because you don't speak unkind words or raise your hand to her, does not mean you are not mistreating her."

Aegon turned a fiery gaze on her. "Why are you here, Daenerys?"

She flinched at his tone. "What do you mean? I was trying to help you."

He shook his head. "I do not mean here. I mean why are you not at Dragonstone? Besides Visenya and Lyanna there is only one other person that Jon would want to see first above all others." His voice softened. "Don't tell me Myrcella scared you off."

Daenerys ignored his last comment. "I did not want to crowd him."

"Really? That is your answer? I am sure you are one person he would not mind crowding him."

"Perhaps I mind." She let the implications of her words settle in his mind.

Aegon frowned. "You cannot mean that."

"I do," She told him and herself. There was an undeniable part of her that wanted to see Jon, but it was tempered by pragmatism. It had been four years since she had last seen her nephew. A long four years. Daenerys was no longer the princess waiting for her rescue and she sincerely doubted that Jon was looking to sweep her off her feet. How could he? In their time apart, Jon had found love from someone else. A love strong enough to take vengeance on a Dothraki Khalasar, to risk torture and capture just to deliver her remains to Volantis. If this Elaerys had lived would he have even returned? The question had been an incessant thought in the back of her mind ever since she had learned of the reason behind Jon's delayed return.

A look of introspection came upon Aegon's face. He grew quiet for a moment and then spoke. "Father is only able to separate me and Rhaenys because he holds my inheritance over our heads. If I chase my sister, then I could lose my crown. Jon does not have that problem."

"Because he is the second son, not the Crown Prince." Daenerys pointed out. There was more she meant to say but Aegon's intense gaze paused her words.

"No, because he has a dragon. Father could rage, could threaten but he cannot disown the only dragonlord in our family. My brother has far more leverage than I. Leverage he may very well use."

This time it was Daenerys who turned away. Her face twisted into a look of rue. "Do not be a fool, Aegon. Even if Jon would want to pursue…" The word "me" stilled in her throat. She cleared it. "A dragon does not make our problems disappear. You are more than smart enough to realize the importance of all the betrothals Rhaegar has made."

Aegon scoffed. "And has your marriage made you happy? What is the point of dragons returning to the world if we cannot use them to ensure our happiness?"

The words Aegon spoke were dangerous. "Our first duty is to the realm not to ourselves. You are the Crown Prince and should know that better than anyone else." She stood and stalked away from him. She loved Aegon, but he was being far too idealistic. Even the Conqueror and the Conciliator had to weigh the wants and ambitions of the nobility against their own. Balerion and Vermithor had been far larger and more powerful than Syraxes as well.

To her surprise, Quentyn intercepted her. He was dressed in fine orange and red silks that parted in a deep V along the middle. A gold sash was tied along his waist and his feet were encased in slippers patterned with vipers and embroidered with gold along their buckle. His dark hair was combed and slicked to one side. "Can I have this dance?" Hope was plain on his face.

Daenerys nodded. "Of course." She said to placate him. The minstrels played a lively tune and Daenerys took the lead in their dance. She started at a slow pace mindful of the memory of their wedding and their first dance. Her toes had suffered.

"Have you been avoiding me?" The boldness of his question was surprising.

"Not on purpose," Daenerys answered. Her words were a stretch of the truth. She had been wary of Quentyn's arrival, not that he had ever abused her, but she feared that she would be expected to entertain him or even lay with him during his stay. Perhaps it was her mother's doing but Rhaegar had given her a sufficient number of duties to keep her time well occupied and while the king's time was in short supply, the nobility was more than happy to host the attention of any member of the royal family. Visenya was far too introverted and reserved to speak to anyone outside of their family, save for a select few and Rhaenys had focused her attention on the Stormlords that she would soon be the lady of. Daenerys was more than happy to pick up the slack and there had been charity events during the tourney. Boons given to the smallfolk to remind them that they too had a place in the king's worries. With Lyanna gone to see Jon, Daenerys had been placed in charge of those events as well. "I have been busy."

"Too busy for your husband. I have not seen you in months." Quentyn's voice contained the slightest edge.

Daenerys resisted the urge to shrug. Instead, she spun with the other dancers and her long sleeves slapped against Quentyn's face when he fumbled in his steps. In contrast she was light on her feet. One thing that Dorne had not lacked for was dancing. "I wanted to see my family."

"When we wed, I am became part of your family. Have you forgotten? All of Dorne notices your absence. Do you know the whispers that your lack of presence invites? Come home with me after the tourney."

Her eyes narrowed. "I am a Targaryen. This is my home." Her voice was harsher than she intended and Quentyn's eyes fell. When she looked upon him, Daenerys knew that she could never love him. Every moment that she had been forced to spend with him was a lesson in endurance. A reminder of her duty to her family. Now she could prove to Rhaegar that she could serve their family in other ways. With my mind not, my womb. Let me go, Quentyn. She wanted to tell him. I will not give you an inch.

The music flowed through her and her body seemed to come alive. She fell into cadence with the other dancers and linked arms with Elinor Tyrell. The willowy girl smiled in delight at Daenerys' presence and the tempo of the music sped up. They spun and parted, she fell in line with Margaery and many of the ladies of the Reach. Their merriment was infectious, and laughter spilled from her lips. Her husband was soon forgotten.

She danced with Ser Garlan Tyrell, Lord Quenton Banefort, and even the champion of the melee, Ser Rolland Storm. Up close he was even bigger, his pox scars deep on his cheeks but his smile was endearing. A collection of admirers seemed to swarm around the knight when they parted. Ladies who would have likely paid the bastard knight little to no attention in normal circumstances.

"You look like you're having a great time." Her mother teased as Daenerys emerged from the dance floor, glistening with sweat. She joined her mother and delighted in the breeze generated by the large fans two servants waved directly towards the Dowager Queen.

"I am." Daenerys smiled warmly at her mother. Rhaella was a picture of elegance and grace, even in the way she was seated. Legs crossed with a glass of wine in her hand. The diamonds of her earrings glimmered in the light cast by the chandeliers.

"I saw Quentyn approach you. Are you well?" Rhaella asked worry colored her voice.

"Quentyn is harmless mother. No doubt he wants out of this marriage as much as I do but he needs to make an attempt to salvage it to appease his father." Months after their wedding night Daenerys would learn of the affection Quentyn had for Lord Yronwood's daughter. She hoped once Quentyn realized his cause was hopeless that he could reconcile with that girl and soon forget her. I wish him no ill will.

"A man spurned can always be a danger. Wounded pride can turn even the best of men cruel. Never forget that Daenerys."

Daenerys stole a sip from her mother's wine glass. She grinned cheekily. "I won't, mother."

Rhaella playfully swatted her shoulder. "Such a bad daughter you are!"

"Sssh." Daenerys whispered conspiratorially. "Don't deny that I am your favorite."

That drew a hearty laugh from her mother, and she leaned against Daenerys' shoulders. "Don't tell your brothers."

Then they walked the room and talked to several of their lords. Daenerys smiled and laughed along with the many jokes and stories shared. There were several inquiries about Jon and a half a hundred about his dragon. Lord Jonos Bracken was bold enough to ask just how many people had been killed in Volantis.

"If those responsible for the attack are not dead then not enough people," Rhaella answered. Her words drew a wary look from the men gathered around Jonos but then her mother followed with a disarming smile.

Older ladies who may have been present in her father's court toasted to Rhaella's health and made comments of how jealous they were of her enduring beauty. The words were not empty compliments. One would need to take a fine comb to find a grey hair in Rhaella's long locks and the few lines on her face did little to dull her beauty. The Dowager Queen accepted the praises with grace and returned them with equal measure.

Daenerys admired her mother. Even the fiercest lords seemed utterly captivated by her. "You are quite good at this." Daenerys told her mother. "Why did you ever leave King's Landing?"

"The smell," Rhaella joked. "In truth, Lyanna needed to shine on her own without the commentary of those who would compare her with myself or Elia. Back then, there were many who wanted to place the blame of the war on Lyanna."

"Lyanna?!" Daenerys asked. The wine in her system made her words come out louder than she intended.

Her mother tweaked her nose. "Yes, she is a woman from the far lands of the North. Not a single soul knew her in the south and it is much easier for some to believe that Lyanna seduced Rhaegar rather than the other way around. From the moment your brother crowned her, I should have known that he had to have her."

"How could you?" Before her mother could reply a tall, thin man approached. He had a long hooked nose and a solemn face with dark eyes the color of mud.

"My Queen." The man bent his head. A bald spot was visible through his thin brown locks.

Surprise played across Rhaella's face. It was as if she had seen a ghost.

"Mother?" Daenerys asked, and her voice seemed to snap Rhaella out of her stupor.

"Ser Bonifer, it has been years." Her mother greeted the knight after her prolonged pause. "This is my daughter Daenerys."

Ser Bonifer pressed his lips against Rhaella's knuckles and then Daenerys'. "The gods have blessed us with the Maiden given flesh once again. You have your mother's beauty Princess Daenerys." He looked to Rhaella a wistful smile was on his face. "And what spells do you know my queen for it seems that time holds no power over you?"

"You are too kind, good Ser. I assure you that I feel the effects of time just as much as anyone else." While they spoke, Daenerys tried to place the knight. She was familiar with most of the realm's heraldry, but Ser Bonifer wore no identifying garments. His plain dull colored tunic and pants offered little insight. His face was unfamiliar, and she was sure she had never met him before. He lacked the jewelry that most proudly displayed to showcase their wealth save for a necklace of the seven-pointed star made of iron that hung from his neck on a thin banded chain.

Her mother seemed almost disappointed when the knight took his leave only after a few minutes of conversation. "Who was he?" Daenerys asked.

"Someone from my past." Her fingers ran through Daenerys' hair. "Now you have spent enough time entertaining an old woman. Go and Dance." Daenerys wanted to protest but then Lucerys appeared and in a display of intimacy he placed his hand on the small of Rhaella's back.

"There you are." Lord Velaryon said to her mother. Daenerys smiled warmly at the look that was exchanged between the two. If Lucerys continued making her mother this happy then she would gladly welcome a new step-father.

The ball stretched on. To everyone's delight, the minstrels paused their playing as Rhaegar seated himself with his silver-stringed harp laid before him. The harp was as dark as onyx with a large three-headed dragon wrought into its stem. Inlaid rubies shined in their eyes. Rhaegar's long fingers played a note, heightening the anticipation of everyone in the room. A smile touched his lips and then he played. Unlike the tunes played by the minstrels, Rhaegar's notes were ones full of melancholy. Music so beautiful that Daenerys swore there was not a woman with dry eyes in the Great Hall. Rhaegar was a wonderful king, a skilled administrator and a great warrior but his true talent was his music. In that, he had no equal. When his fingers finally stilled, the applause was thunderous.

Mace Tyrell lifted his cup above his head. "To King Rhaegar!" He exclaimed. His cheeks were scarlet red from the copious amount of wine he must have consumed.

"TO KING RHAEGAR!" Their lords shouted. Daenerys was shouting alongside them and drank deeply from her cup.

"To three hundred more years of House Targaryen!"

The minstrels resumed their playing but with Rhaegar playing alongside them. She had never heard her brother play such lusty tunes, but he fell in sync with the others without any difficulty. If the merriment of the gathering had been great before, then it had reached its zenith now. She returned to her dancing, but this time Daemon caught her eye. They shared a look and smile that was their own secret.

Daenerys danced with a dozen partners but somehow always found her back to Daemon. They spoke no words, that would be far too bold, but they danced close. He was everything her husband was not. Tall, comely with piercing blue eyes and a grace that made his body seem to flow across the dance floor. She shivered as their fingers touched and he led her to join the line of dancers. For hours they danced until she felt drenched in sweat. Chilled wine kept her cool and hydrated.

The night air was a welcome reprieve for her overheated skin. Still brimming with energy, Daenerys made her way to the Godswood rather than retire to her chambers in Maegor's Holdfast. A Red Guard steadied her as she stumbled.

"Do you need an escort to your room, princess?" The man asked.

Daenerys smiled and shook her head. She kissed the man's cheeks in thanks and laughed at his blush.

Under the canopy of trees and afforded the privacy of the woods, it did not surprise her that Daemon was quick to follow her. She hoped at least that he did not make his destination so obvious.

"Daenerys?" He called out, blind against the darkness. She watched him fumble amidst the trees for a long minute before revealing herself. A thrill traveled up her spine as she watched Daemon take in the sight of her.

She crossed her arms. "You broke your promise." The words were meant as a jest, but Daemon's face fell as though she spoke with ill will.

His jaw tightened. "I know. Ser Gerold should count himself most fortunate. If I hadn't-"

The brush of her fingers against his beard quieted him. "I was merely jesting, Ser Sand." She studied him, watching as his eyes widened in response to her touch. It reminded her of their early days in Dorne. Back then she would never have been so bold. But now…

Daemon's breath hitched as she stepped closer. Perhaps he was a lovesick fool for coming all this way, but she would be lying to herself if she did not admit his devotion had not pleased her. A thread of guilt rose in her chest as she backed her knight up against a tree. For years she had waited for Jon to return home, to find her and every moment she shared with Daemon had been spoiled by guilt. Guilt not born out of devotion to the husband she was forced to marry but the boy she had wanted. She burned that guilt. If Jon had come for her in Dorne she would have gladly run away with him. Yet he had spent his years in self-imposed exile in love with another and she doubted he would refuse Myrcella. Why would he? Even mother speaks of the danger of angering Tywin Lannister and Jon has spent four years with the man's brother and two of his sons. She imagined her nephew welcoming the beautiful Myrcella with open arms.

"Kiss me," Daenerys told Daemon. She wouldn't be played a fool again. Not by him. Their lips touched, and it was as if all their months apart had disappeared in an instant.

Daemon flipped them around to press her back against the tree. "You're fucking perfect." He breathed into her neck. She smiled at his praise.

"Truly?" She asked him. Her dress pooled at her feet a moment later. The brush of the night's air stiffened her nipples. Deep in the Godswood they were free from the prying eyes and ears of the Red Keep.

"Most certainly," Daemon whispered reverently.

Lyanna Stark

She could see them standing on the docks as their ship sailed into the bay. Visenya was there next to her brother, standing close, hand in hand. Guards separated the two from the rest of the town which had come out in its entirety, lining up along the road to the docks in order to witness their arrival. A cheer rippled through the crowd when Lyanna waved. The day was late, and the sky blazed red and purple, reflected by the deep dark waters.

Arya stood beside her, bouncing from one foot to the other. Her impatience was plain. "He looks so different."

"He is taller." Gerion responded. The Lannister slid next to her niece. "Or maybe it's the beard. It does make him a bit more dignified, doesn't it? He stroked his own beard. Long, blonde and pointed, the hair complemented his narrow face. His smile reminded Lyanna of Ser Jaime's. Confident to the extreme.

Arya stared across the water. Her face scrutinizing. "Maybe."

To Lyanna, her boy was both familiar and a stranger. It was a man standing in place of her fourteen-year-old son. She had always thought her son took after his late uncle Brandon but the years away had aged him into a near splitting image of his father, save the shadow of a beard that graced his face the likeness was uncanny. It made her eyes water. Jon even had the same pensive, thousand-yard stare of his father.

Fear and excitement flared in her chest. She had worried endlessly when her daughter disappeared on the back of the dragon. Even with Marwyn's reassurance, Lyanna's apprehension had not ceased. Her worst fears had played a mantra in her head.

It had been a great leap of faith to allow Visenya to go on such a journey alone but Lyanna did not know the damage that would be done if she tried to stop her daughter. Visenya was a sweet girl but she could be as willful as her older sister at times. Lyanna could only imagine how much more difficult to control her daughter would be when she had a dragon of her own. Not even Rhaegar could stop her from climbing on top of that dragon. Though, Lyanna doubted her husband would have even tried.

Seeing her children so close warmed Lyanna's heart. Visenya looked beautiful in a grey and blue dress that had once been Lyanna's. The dress had been altered to fit her daughter's smaller figure and two white flowers were placed in her hair. Jon was a commanding figure next to his sister. Tall, his dark hair loose with a dark short-sleeved tunic and matching pants. While he stared ahead, Visenya seemed focused on her brother. Their hair was in sharp contrast. Visenya's, the same silver-gold as her father's, while Jon's was the same dark brown as was the customary look of the Starks. Two dragons with the blood of the First Men and the Kings of Winter. Father would be proud. That she knew.

Their ship glided under the power of its oars to a stop at the dock. The port hands moved with haste to secure the vessel. Arya was the first one across the gangplank. She leapt from the top deck and rolled to her feet as nimble as a shadowcat. Lyanna knew such a sight would mortify Catelyn but she could only smile. Arya was such a free spirit, in some ways more than Lyanna had ever been. I wonder how father would have handled that one.

Visenya halted her cousin's hasty approach before she could leap into Jon's arms. Lyanna could not hear what her daughter said but the words caused Arya to carefully hug Jon instead.

The Kingsguard preceded her approach. Ser Walder's massive form briefly hid her son, daughter, and niece from view until the White Knight stepped to the side. Jon's dark eyes arrested her. They were a grey so dark that they seemed almost black. For a brief moment, Lyanna feared that her son had no desire to see her, so intense was his stare. And then a smile touched his lips.

"Hello, mother." His voice was deep and rich. Strong arms wrapped around her. She buried her face into his chest. The tears came unbidden.

"You've grown so tall!" She cried. The son she had last seen had been so proud to see eye to eye with her. Now he towered over her, muscular and coming into the prime of his masculinity. Such a stark difference in appearance was a reminder of just how much time had passed.

"Ah, mother my ribs." Jon groaned.

She released him immediately.

"He is a bit fragile at the moment but the maester says he will heal," Visenya told her and Arya. Lyanna smiled at her daughter's protectiveness. The concern for her older brother was cute.

"And here I thought I was the one growing old. Yet, the dragon prince can't be hugged by his mother without wincing." Gerion grinned. Her son embraced the older man warmly.

"I left my cane up at the castle if you need to borrow it. We know that hip of yours might give up on you at any moment." Jon japed.

Gerion laughed heartedly. "I'd challenge you to a duel for that, but it looks like Arya might offer better competition."

Arya returned Gerion's smile. Her grey eyes flashed in the light of the dying sun. "I will be Jon's champion."

That drew a smile from her cousin. Jon squeezed Arya's shoulder. "Then I am well protected." He addressed Gerion's little girl who hung close to her father's leg. "Hello, Joy."

Joy smiled shyly. "Hello, Prince Jaehaerys." She curtsied in greeting. A blush bloomed on her cheeks. Lyanna had a feeling a similar reaction would be shared by the women of the realm when they caught sight of her son. He had his father's face, but the smile was all Brandon's. He is as handsome as Brandon ever was and he is a Prince with a dragon. She could only hope his morals still resembled Ned's and he had not been too corrupted by the Lannisters.

Marwyn and Samwell were the next off the ship, accompanied by the Maester's acolytes. "What are you all doing? Back on the ship and gather the books. I will not have careless ship hands ruin anything. Go back all of you!" The five acolytes rushed back across the gangplank. "Release the wolves while you are it," Marwyn called after them.

Arya bit her lip. "I should help." She sprinted away before anyone could reply. Lyanna thought her daughter might follow Arya but she saw Visenya tense.

Atop the gangplank stood Myrcella. She was a vision. Sunlight illuminated her golden locks, making them glow as bright as strands of sunlight. A headpiece of woven gold sat on her brow. In its center, a single round sapphire, the same color of her eyes. Her shoulders were bare save for the thin golden straps that attached to her white dress. Myrcella looked like the maiden given form and flesh.

Gerion moved to help his niece from the ship. Hand in hand they descended the gangplank. Myrcella held her head high. On her feet were jeweled sandals with straps that wrapped around the ankle and a raised heel. Her dress parted with each step, baring her lean calves. She could have borrowed that outfit from Rhaenys. Lyanna observed.

Myrcella's bright blue eyes were a different shade than Cersei's emerald greens but they held a similar confidence. The girl was undeniably beautiful, and she knew it as well as anyone else. Her full lips were turned into a smile.

A smile was returned by Jon. Lyanna had three brothers, raised two boys and had seen knights court their ladies countless of times. She knew the type of smile when a man was taken by a woman's appearance. Myrcella had just been a little girl when Jon left Westeros. Now, she was a young woman quickly coming into the full bloom of her beauty. If Cersei was any indication, then that beauty would last for a long while.

Her son was tactful enough to keep his appreciation discreet but Lyanna had noticed his eyes wander over Myrcella's form and so did Myrcella. "Lord Prince, it is good to see you well." Her smile turned to tease. "And taller."

Jon placed a kiss across the knuckles of her offered hand. "Thank you, my lady. It seems the years have been even more kind to you." It seems he's become a bit of a charmer in these four years. She wondered which Lannister he had learned that from.

Rhaegar would have been pleased with her son's reaction. It should not have surprised her that her husband had leaped at the opportunity to further press his marriage plans for Jon. Yet, Lyanna hadn't wanted Myrcella here. Nor her uncle. The man who had reigned her son into a suicide quest. Lannisters all around. This should have been a time for her son to heal. Not to be preyed upon by Lannister ambition.

The two shared a long look, appraising one another. If Myrcella held any ill will to Jon for his abrupt departure four years ago she did not show it. In fact, her study of Jon's form lacked the same discretion her son paid to her. Something vindictive stirred in Lyanna's chest. It reminded her of the blatant looks Cersei was fond of giving Rhaegar.

Visenya interrupted the two. She tugged on her brother's good hand. "Let's go see Ghost." Her daughter's smile was the picture of sweetness and Jon seemed powerless against her charm, letting his younger sister lead up them the gangplank to the ship. Myrcella's face briefly fell before she turned her attention to Joy.

Lyanna could only stare after her children, wondering. Has Visenya told him of the marriage her father wants? She knew her boy was smart enough to discern the meaning behind Myrcella's presence, but she also wondered if he knew that his father intended for him to wed his baby sister as well. The prospect of incest shouldn't have been a problem for her, she knew the history of the family she married into, but the thought of her two children falling for one another was disconcerting.

Perhaps if Rhaella had not given birth to Daenerys then that bridge may have been crossed sooner. Jon while close to his sister had clearly favored Daenerys. She was older and was considered profoundly beautiful, even as a little girl. Visenya in contrast, went through an awkward phase like most girls though now her beauty was beginning to bloom, even if she had not yet noticed. The only boys her daughter ever tolerated were her brothers and she had not been half as close with Aegon as she was with Jon. What does Jon see when he looks at her? His baby sister that would cry if he didn't spend time with her or a woman flowered who idolizes him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a commotion on the ship. A fierce snarl rippled in the air. Ignoring caution, Lyanna raced across the dock and up the gangplank. Ser Arys shouted after her, but she was too quick for the knight to grab her arm.

She came upon the scene and paused, heart hammering with fright. Visenya was behind her brother as he faced down Ghost. The massive albino direwolf bared its fangs at his master. White hair rose like pinpricks and the muscles of Ghost's legs were tensed. Arya and Nymeria stood off to the side, the girl surprised and frightened, the wolf ready to spring between Jon and Ghost if needed.

All activity paused as the deck hands and sailors watched with bated breath. Only Ser Arys moved. The knight stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. Jon halted him before he could take another.

"Stay your sword Ser or I will cut you down myself." Jon did not spare the Kingsguard a look. His commanding tone was enough. Her son held his injured hand up to Ghost's muzzle, regardless of the direwolf's growl. Ghost hesitantly sniffed the bandaged hand. His low-pitched growl ceased.

Jon whispered words to Ghost that Lyanna could not hear. He knelt before the wolf and Ghost pressed his massive head against Jon's chest. Both man and wolf bore visible wounds, but it seemed their bond had been mended.

Jon weathered their storm of disapproval with a firmness to his spine. His lips were set in a thin line and his dark eyes were filled with determination.

"You've only just come back!" Arya whined. The Stark girl shoved away her plate of food and affixed Jon with a fierce glare. Their grey eyes clashed.

Visenya reached Jon's lap to squeeze his uninjured hand. In the hours they had spent on the isle, Visenya had not left her brother's side. "Pylos says you need to rest if your wounds will ever heal. Please don't go."

Her daughter poured on the sweetness and a crack appeared in Jon's stern visage. Lyanna silently watched the exchange between her two children with a certain amount of amusement. Some things never change.

"A Goldenheart ship travels most swiftly, Prince Jaehaerys. The Kingsguard are somewhere in the middle of the Narrow Sea and even your dragon cannot fly forever." Maester Marwyn spoke. Lyanna could have kissed the man for it seemed his words brought Jon to reason.

He settled deeper into his seat at the head of the table though his face looked far from pleased. Lyanna did not add her voice. She had made her disapproval plain but that had only seemed to inflame her son's resolve to find the Kingsguard and bring them back home before they could reach Volantis.

"Worry not, Jon. If there is anything my nephew is good at then it is hitting things with that sword of his." Gerion joked. The Lannister lazed in his seat, beside him was his daughter and niece.

"By the time the Kingsguards arrive to Volantis, the destruction of the city will make it obvious that you are no longer present. They will know that a rescue attempt and any risks associated with one are completely unnecessary." Marwyn spoke once again.

"The three of them going to Volantis is risk enough. I would rather there be no risk at all," Jon spoke.

"My uncle, Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan are the greatest knights in the realm, who could harm them?" Myrcella asked. Lyanna was surprised to hear her voice. The girl had tried to make conversation with Jon, but his attention was dominated entirely by Arya and Visenya. The two flanked him on either side, forcing Myrcella to sit further down the table. As pretty as Cersei Lannister's daughter was, she was still could not steal Jon's attention from his little sister and favorite cousin. A part of Lyanna felt pleased with that notion.

"Syraxes is greater than any knight is and can be and the Shadowbinders nearly killed her. I do not doubt the Sers skills, but I do know their limits." Jon's voice was stern at first, but his eyes seemed to soften when he noticed Myrcella wither slightly under the strength of his voice.

"The Kingsguard know how to use discretion. Your father will need spies who can report on the response of the city and more importantly its aristocracy and Volantis is a city of more than a million people, more than enough for three men to hide within. By your account, most of the casualties are those of the Old Blood. Maelyx is born of the Old Blood and his brother is a Triarch of Old Volantis. Guest Right was broken when he acted against you. A tradition that is as sacred there as it is here in Westeros. Let us see how this Triarch and his brother react when their scandal becomes public." Marwyn's wisdom reached her son's ears once again.

Jon scowled. "Daelyx had nothing to do with the attack."

Marwyn leaned over his plate, the ends of his beard were stained with grease. "Can you be certain of that?" The look on her son's face said no but Lyanna knew he wanted to be. Whoever this Elaerys girl had been, Jon did not want the enmity of her entire family. "Then his response will be telling. Even if Maelyx was acting against the will of his brother their fates are now intertwined. Just as if a son of a noble house acts poorly then it would reflect as much the same on his entire family, the same could be said of the nobility that rules Old Volantis. Daelyx may disown his brother and attempt to weather any unrest that befalls him and his family or he could attempt to place the blame of the attack firmly on your shoulders."

"Let us hope the man is not a fool," Lyanna said. That drew a smile from her niece and daughter.

Jon grumbled, still clearly unhappy but he could not argue against their logic. He is a single-minded as his father. It always took a great effort to sway Rhaegar from a position if he had already committed to it. Fortunately, Lyanna did not need to persuade her son alone.

The days on the isle passed quickly. Her son's time was mostly spent with the four young ladies that had accompanied her to the isle. While her son could not train himself, he was fond of showing Arya and Visenya the martial arts he had learned in Essos. Joy had come out of her shell in recent days. She had made fast friends with Arya who had made friends with just about everyone in the castle: the stable boys, kitchen staff and the like. To Arya, it did not matter if the person was highborn or baseborn, so as long as she liked them then Arya would treat with as much respect as could be given. Such a sight put a smile on Lyanna's face. Visenya had always kept too much to herself and had shown little interest in prospective playmates save for Daenerys. Her blossoming friendship with her outgoing cousin would be a good influence.

While Visenya and Arya were Jon's constant companions, Myrcella was far from absent. She was present on the training ground, always immaculately dressed and preening in such a way that Jon would have to be blind not to notice her. And her son did notice her. Myrcella would flirt openly with him, liberal with compliments and praise. Her words drew smiles from Jon, yet to the girl's dismay, his responses were always polite and short.

Lyanna had not failed to notice just how lax an escort Gerion proved for his niece. It had only taken three days for the man to sail with Aurane Waters to Driftmark. She wondered if that was Tywin Lannister's plan all along. If Jon sampled his granddaughter, then their engagement was all but sealed. Precautions had been taken. Myrcella had been settled in an entirely different tower than the high quarters that Jon resided in (to her ire Visenya had taken to sleeping in her brother's bed every night but Jon had assured her he would not take advantage of his sister) and placed on the far side of the main keep from Lyanna's own chambers.

The more time she spent with her son, the more she became sure that he would not make the same mistakes that Aegon had made. Aegon may have not wanted to admit it but the Tyrells had played him like a fiddle. She had tried forcing her son into a marriage that he did not want and for four years he had been lost to her. Lyanna learned from her mistake. She did not want to lose him again.

If only Rhaegar could see that. Lyanna mused. Her fingers brushed against the railing of her balcony. The western sea was obscured from her sight by the Dragonmont but she could help but stare in the direction her husband resided. They had quarreled fiercely ever since it was revealed that Rhaegar planned to marry Jon to both Visenya and Myrcella. She had experienced the challenges of a polygamous marriage and while she loved Aegon and even Rhaenys just as much as her own children, she did not want her daughter to endure the troubles that she and Elia had endured. Nor did she want Visenya in conflict with the schemes of Lannister ambition. Rhaegar may have placed great trust in his Hand but Lyanna knew where the man's true loyalties lie. Not with the crown but wherever his family's legacy was best served.

She stepped away from the balcony and pulled her sleeping gown over her head. The silk sheets were a welcome embrace against her bare skin and by instinct, Lyanna took her place on the right side of the bed while she nuzzled her nose in the pillow that lay to her left. It is no use. Rhaegar has not slept in this room in ages. Instead of her husband's scent, her nose was only greeted with the smell of soap the washerwomen had used to clean the sheets.

It was frustrating just how much her body wanted her husband. Especially since he was hundreds of miles away. She had stubbornly refused his advances, even when he came to her chambers and curled silently next to her. Rhaegar was far from the type of man who would forcibly take his rights, but he had a certain persistence in pursuing what he wanted. Even his silent stare was seductive. And the way his long fingers would run through her hair only to gather the strands in a fist. With only a tug he would place her where he wanted and then his other hand would come into play…

A knock at her door interrupted her musings. "Who is it?" She asked, her displeasure plain. The hour was late enough that whoever was behind the interruption better have had a good reason.

Ser Walder's deep voice came through the door. "Maester Pylos, My Queen."

Lyanna wiped her damp fingers on the sheets and grabbed a nearby robe. She tied the sash tightly around her waist before bidding her visitor to enter. The young maester shuffled hesitantly into the room and averted his eyes when he noticed her bare legs. "My Queen." He bowed deeply.

Her eyes noticed the flash of white in the wide sleeve of his grey robe. "A letter?" Her eyebrow arched. She beckoned him forward and he deposited the unopened note in her palm. The envelope was sealed with Rhaegar's personal seal. Different design from the formal seal used for royal proclamations and instructions. Instead of a red three-headed dragon, this one was merely a silver dragon with red eyes. Yet the note was not addressed to her but to Jon. She turned her gaze back to Pylos, "When did this arrive?"

"The raven just arrived, My Queen." He swallowed. "Maester Marwyn informed me that I should be aware of any suspicious letters. He did not say why but I suspect this is one that falls under that category."

She shared his suspicions. It would take a raven at least a day or more of flying to reach Dragonstone from King's Landing, likely closer to two. What could Rhaegar have to say to Jon this close to Aegon's and Rhaenys' wedding? Lyanna had already sent a letter to her king with an update about their son and his reply had yet to come. To send a letter directly to Jon without first replying to hers was most strange.

With a quick decision, Lyanna broke the seal and read. It was not a long note, but she had to resist the urge to burn it in the candle that the maester held before her. The anger on her face must have been plain.

"Is there something amiss, My Queen?" Pylos asked.

"Just one thing. This is not my husband's writing." Rhaegar's calligraphy was as beautiful as his music and in the eighteen years that they had been together, Lyanna could recognize the flowing loops and lines of his scripts better than her own. This note was written by someone else though they had attempted to emulate her husband. And they had access to his seal. Only someone who could enter his solar would have access to that.

Her lips pursed, and she gathered her slippers. Lyanna had her suspicions as to the source and reason behind this letter but she first needed to speak with her son. Easier it would have been to burn the letter and pretend it had never arrived, but she feared Jon's ire if he ever learned of its existence. I don't want to lose his trust.

The night air was a warm kiss against her skin. It was cooler on the isle than King's Landing courtesy of the sea breeze, but the heat of summer could still be felt. A thick fog had descended from the peak of the Dragonmont to settle amongst the walls and towers of the fortress. Her line of sight was restricted to only a few feet in front of her and the thousands of grotesqueries sung into the black walls of the fortress seemed to appear out of nowhere in the mist.

Lyanna had always misliked this fortress much to Rhaegar's dismay. The Valyrian stonesingers must have been strange men for often the creatures carved into the stone were often in stances of perpetual ecstasy or agony depending on one's perspective. This castle was a remnant of an ancient and fouler time and it had never truly felt her home.

The massive form of Ser Walder next to her offered some comfort. He easily kept pace with his long strides as they strode across the high arching bridge that stretched across an empty chasm that effectively cut the castle grounds in half. Lyanna felt pity for the armored man as they ascended the tall spiral stair to the upper level of the Windwyrm tower. Yet Ser Walder climbed with little protest.

Her knuckles rapped against the door of her son's room. Even the doorways of the fortress were elaborate works of art. The doorway to her son's room (and Visenya's she supposed, seeing as her daughter had not a spent a single night in her own chamber) was sung into the shape of a great dragon doing battle with an even more massive denizen of the deep.

When there came no answer Lyanna considered entering the room without invitation but instead, she hesitated. Visenya's words on the ship echoed in her head. Her daughter was flowered and beautiful and while Visenya had not been made aware, there had been several formal offers for her hand in marriage. Part of her was sure the nature of Jon's feelings for his little sister had not yet changed. Yet it would be a lie to say that Lyanna was entirely sure of that. What had prompted Rhaenys to take Aegon? She was sure her step-daughter was the pursuer in their initial encounter; Aegon had always been quick to follow his sister's suggestions. The same could be said for Visenya with her brother. Was there something that suddenly changed in their relationship or were Targaryens born wanting each other? She had missed the initial signs between Jon and Daenerys, had she done the same between her son and daughter? Rhaegar would be most pleased, in fact, her husband was sure their son would not be perturbed by the prospect of marrying his sister. Lyanna remained apprehensive.

The ramble of her thoughts was interrupted when the door opened. "Mother?" Jon questioned. His face was framed by the light of the two scones that burned on either side of his door. He was dressed for sleep, loose silken pants and his torso bare save for the bindings around his ribs and his hair was loose. It grew longer every day as Jon had listened to the spirited protests of Myrcella and Visenya when he threatened to cut it. That beard of his was gone now and the sharp clean-shaven line of his jaw was revealed to the world.

"Where is your sister?" She asked, the letter momentarily forgotten.

Jon's lips pursed. "Sleeping." He responded shortly. Still, Lyanna pushed past him to check on her daughter. It was dark in Jon's bedchamber, the only light emanating from the doorway and the windowed wall that opened to his balcony. Visenya's silver-gold hair made her visible in the gloom. She was in the middle of the large bed. The gentle patter of her breath made it evident that Visenya slept.

"Satisfied?" Jon asked. She could hear the annoyance in his voice. She nodded.

"Follow me." She told him. Jon grabbed his cane and slid his feet into his slippers and followed her out of the door. Lyanna thought he would question her immediately, but he remained silent as they prowled through the dark corridors.

The underlying smell of dust assaulted her nose as they stepped past the threshold of a long-underutilized bedchamber. Lyanna moved to light additional candles placed around the room before seating herself at a dust-laden table. She handed her son the letter. "For you."

Jon sat across from her and silently read the note. His brow furrowed. He looked up at her in confusion, "This isn't father's writing."

Lyanna was surprised. "How did you know?"

Jon laid the note before her and pointed at three-minute symbols on the bottom of the parchment. "These are codes, they speak of a message in a message." A smile touched his lips.

Lyanna frowned. They looked like mere pen strokes to her as if one was checking the amount of ink on the quill. Jon noticed her skepticism. "Watch." He said and then held up the note to a candle flame. Before her eyes, more words appeared beneath the original message in faded text.

"Aegon." Jon breathed his brother's name. "He wants me to come to King's Landing to provide a distraction so he and Rhaenys can sneak away during the commotion and wed. "

Ah, so that is the truth of it. Lyanna had suspected as much but it was nice to have her suspicions confirmed. Aegon and Rhaenys would wed their respective spouses in a day's time. He must have sent the letter by raven at least two days prior to give the bird time to reach the castle. Only a dragon had enough speed to make the journey back to the city in time. And a dragon in the skies might give the two of them enough time to sneak away from the guards Rhaegar put in place. "May I?" Lyanna asked. Jon nodded and slid the note to her. She carefully scanned the letter. "Rhaenys may not be aware of Aegon's schemes, he could be acting alone."

"Visenya says Rhaenys was upset at father's marriage decisions."

"Upset does not mean your sister is contemplating treason. That is what this is Jon, make no mistake and your brother wants to implicate you in his plotting." She meant to stress the importance of her words, not antagonize her son but his reply was as sharp as a sword.

"And why shouldn't I help my brother wed the woman he wants? Aegon is asking for a favor not demanding, something that Father has shown he does not understand."

Lyanna held her son's piercing gaze. "Aegon is well aware of your father's ire. Rhaegar made it plain that if he does not wed Margaery Tyrell then he will be disinherited. Your brother seeks your support in order to call your father's bluff. This is not just about who your brother wants to marry but the responsibilities of the crown. Not only would Aegon's betrothal be broken but Rhaenys' as well. That is two kingdoms my son and Mace Tyrell is one major reason why the Redwynes are still in line. Do you think he will calm Lord Paxter's temper if his daughter is spurned? Not to mention the old wounds that such an act would most certainly open among the Stormlords."

Jon was quiet for a moment. His wrapped fist clenched and then released. "You're saying they would start a war if they don't get what they want?"

"I am saying it is a possibility." She let her words sink in for a moment. "Mace Tyrell is not a man prone to rash action but what your brother proposes would make the word of the crown effectively meaningless. How could anyone trust us? And your father cannot disavow both of his sons so in all likelihood it might very well come to a war."

Jon turned away from her. He bowed his head in contemplation. "And if Aegon must wed his Tyrell bride and Rhaenys the heir to the Stormlands, father expects me to wed Myrcella, a daughter of two kingdoms." And your sister. Those words went unsaid.

"Jon-" Lyanna started.

"And what would father do if I refused? Disinherit me? Banish me?" Jon's laugh was bitter and without humor. He stared at her once again, awaiting her answer.

Lyanna swallowed. "I do not know what your father would do. I do know that he wants what's best for our family."

"And I am sure he thinks this is what is best." Lyanna could see the underlying anger beneath the surface of her son's visage. Perhaps it was best that I came here first. Jon and Rhaegar were too similar, too strong-willed to do anything but clash if they were at odds. Like Aegon, Jon was no longer a boy compelled to listen to his father's commands but a man in his own right. A young one. Lyanna reminded herself. He still needs direction. Unlike his brother, Jon had a fire breathing beast that might embolden him to refuse or even antagonize Rhaegar if he so wished. She could not let their relationship deteriorate after such a long absence.

She reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "I have been in your place before though at the time I did not know the full consequences of my decision."

"I know the story, Mother." He said.

"Do you?" Lyanna asked, her brow raised. Jon paused. "When I ran away with your father, I never anticipated that it would cost the lives of both my father and brother. How could I have known that Brandon was reckless enough to challenge the Crown Prince to come out and die? How could you father have known that a few months without hearing from us would plunge the realm into all-out war?"

Jon looked at her uneasily. "I don't see how this has relevance."

Frustrated, Lyanna pressed onward. "The relevance, my son, is that your father and I chose love and thousands died for it. Somehow, we were rewarded with you and your sister but there is not a day that goes by that I do not wonder how many lives would have been saved if I had merely done my duty. How old and grey would your grandfather have been now? How many children would Brandon have had?" The tears came to her eyes unbidden. Her vision blurred. "Those are the types of questions that you cannot dismiss. And in your case, it is your brother who his asking you to support him in his decision to choose love over duty. Aegon is no fool and neither is Rhaenys and if she is part of this scheme, then they both are well aware of the consequences." She pointed at him. "Yet you have the dragon. Who do you think will do most of the killing?"

The light of the candle was reflected in her son's eyes, making the dark grey irises appear almost crimson. "I have killed before." The matter of fact nature of his tone made her shiver.

"This is not Volantis or the Dothraki. When a lord calls his banners, it is not just knights who answer the call but also farmers and their sons." She wondered if her son was merely being difficult or if his trials in Essos had truly made him so callous at the notion of taking another life. It worried her that she was unable to discern the truth.

Jon's eyes were akin to black ice, hard and cold, his jaw set in a firm line. The tension in his shoulders was plain. "I have been away for four years, yet my brother trusts me enough to request my help and you are asking me to betray his trust. Is a failed betrothal enough to justify a war? And if it is for Mace Tyrell then why should I not crush him for his disloyalty? Without our family, the Tyrells would still be stewards and if they have forgotten that then perhaps, they need a reminder. How much of the Reach do you think will follow them when they see Syraxes? When they learn of the Dothraki Sea and Volantis?" His last sentence was full of spite. Spite directed at her.

Realization struck her then. "This is not just about Aegon." Jon remained silent, but the truth was on his face. "Daenerys." She whispered.

"Every argument you put forth against Aegon pursuing Rhaenys applies tenfold for Daenerys and me. She is already married, Myrcella is Tywin Lannister's granddaughter and tied to both the West and the Rivers. Two Kingdoms. More than eighty thousand men for Syraxes to burn if Lord Tywin or Lord Edmure decides to take offense. And even if not, then I suppose Tywin resigns as Father's Hand and the relation between the crown and two paramount houses is irrevocably damaged. But is all for the good of the realm." He spat.

"Jon-" She started.

To her surprise, Jon held the letter above the flame. "I want the truth. Did father speak to Daenerys privately and forbid her from coming? Did he think that I would take sight of Lady Myrcella and fall blindly into his fold?"

Lyanna shook her head. "No, Jon. Your father wouldn't." Her son's glare said he did not believe her. No, that is not it. He does not want to believe me. He wants to believe the opposite. "The letter came during the feast at the end of the melee, Rhaegar and I read it at the high table and then we immediately called a family meeting. I was with your father the entire night there was no opportunity for him to speak with Daenerys." She smiled sadly. "It was her own decision not to come."

The hurt that played across his face made her heartbreak. His hand lowered and the letter caught light. They watched as the flame consumed the parchment. "Why would she not want to see me?"

"I don't have the answer." She had not thought to ask before they had set sail. There had been so little time. Perhaps she could have gotten answers from Rhaella but that was doubtful as well. Despite the closeness of their daughters, Rhaella held little warmth for Lyanna. It was Elia she preferred and Lyanna had never been able to match her favor.

Jon's face was solemn. "Then I have truly come too late." He sighed. "I suppose Aegon will hate me too. Will Father see that as for the good of the realm?"

They don't hate you. It was an impossible notion for her to imagine. Ned had not hated her after the rebellion and Aegon and Jon were closer than she and her brother had ever been. And Daenerys… her concern for Jon's wellbeing had been palpable. "You can always say the letter did not arrive or it was delayed. Ravens are not completely infallible."

"No, I will not lie to him," Jon said with conviction.

Cold hard truth. The way of the Starks. "And your father?" She chanced.

Jon's sword hand clenched. "Father needs to learn that I am no longer a political pawn for him to use. Nor is Visenya."

"Your father merely wants what's best for you." For our family. Lyanna thought. She may not have agreed with all of her husband's plans, but no one could deny that he loved his children.

Her words drew a scoff. Lyanna persisted. "If your father had the luxury of dragons then he would have been perfectly content allowing you children to marry whoever you wished." She squeezed Jon's hand, hoping he would come to reason. Lyanna knew that she could not let her son grow to despise his king and father. Her throat grew dry. "It wasn't him who made the decision to deny you Daenerys. He was prepared to give his blessing." She lowered her gaze to the table, unable to meet her son's eyes. "I convinced him not to."

Jon stood suddenly, startling her. Instead of shouting like she expected, like she wanted (for any words were better than silence) he stalked out of the room.

Jaehaerys Targaryen

Jon laid a calming hand on his dragon's snout as the Grand Maester and his acolytes poked and prodded along her form. Syraxes released an obligatory warning growl and acrid plumes of smoke rose from her nostrils. "You'll be fine," Jon whispered. He was sure to send reassuring thoughts.

Marwyn's acolytes moved swiftly but with great respect for the dragon. They were young men, a dozen of handpicked acolytes from Old Town with only a few links on their chains. Though each of the men weathered Marwyn's insults and competed fiercely for his favor it was Visenya who was clearly Marwyn's favorite student. Save for Jon himself, only Visenya could look Syraxes in the eye without fear of drawing the dragon's ire. Perhaps it was the blood of the dragon or Jon's own affection for Visenya bleeding over their bond, but the dragon enjoyed Visenya's touch and her soft words.

Visenya stood next to him, her hand linked with his scarred but healed sword hand. Despite her status as Marwyn's most promising student, his little sister was content to let the others do the dirty work for her. The acolytes took measurements of all they could of Syraxes: her wingspan, body and tail length, the size of her teeth and claws and the length of her spines. It was not the only measure taken. Every morsel of food that Syraxes ate was cataloged and of course, Marwyn had his students collect every steaming dung sample they could get their hands on.

While Jon was amazed by Syraxes' growth rate there were more reminders on this isle than anywhere else of just how tiny she was compared to their dragons of old. Targaryens burned their dead but the bones of their dragons were impossible to cremate. The skulls of the great beasts resided in the Red Keep, but their bodies were entombed in venerated resting grounds near the summit of the Dragonmont. For reasons yet unexplained, Marwyn had begun to unearth the bones of the greatest of their mounts (of those that were returned to them). Balerion's ribcage alone was large enough that three dragons of Syraxes' current size would be engulfed entirely by its span.

"All for a good cause big brother," Visenya said. Her grey eyes peered up at him and there was a pleasant smile on her pink lips. Her silver hair was bound in a braid though a few locks hovered above her brow. Today his pretty sister wore riding leathers with a rich blue tunic that made her eyes all the more striking.

He returned her smile. "Is my annoyance that plain?"

"You shift your feet when you're bored." Her gaze shifted to his boots and sure enough, he was alternating his weight between his right and left feet. Jon laughed and tweaked her nose.

"Should you not be paying more attention to the dragon than me, little sister?"

She shrugged. "It is called multitasking, Jae. I can pay attention to her and you." She made to tweak his nose, standing on the tips of her toes to do so. Jon caught her fingers with his teeth and gave them a light nibble. She pulled away shocked.

Jon grinned down at her. "Who are you paying attention to now?"

Visenya flushed and turned away. He tugged her back to him and wrapped his arms around her. Her body relaxed almost instantly. "You don't have to be here if you do not want to. Syraxes trusts me."

Jon squeezed her waist and kissed the top of her head. "When you have a dragon of your own and truly understand the dangers then I will be comfortable leaving you alone. Until then you will need to suffer my presence." It would break him if anything happened to Visenya due to his negligence or her overconfidence.

"Do not forget that dung pile!" Marywn boomed. Hiding his distaste, the acolyte moved to follow his order. The piles were great heaps of shit that could rise above the ankle. Fresh they emerged from Syraxes' body hot enough to singe the sand they were laid upon. In the acolyte's hand, the dung pile dissolved into clumps of ash.

"Fool," Marwyn grumbled. Not silently either. The Grandmaester cracked his knuckles and spat a red glob. He extracted a fresh sourleaf from the pouch tied around his waist.

"Remind why again you choose to make your acolytes suffer through this? I'm sure a piece of dung is as much the same as any other." Jon asked.

Marwyn shook his head. "Barth wrote the key sign of a dragon's health was the heat and consistency of their dung. A healthy dragon's gut will turn most substances to ash, even bone. The hatchlings who died both here and the Dragonpit produced significantly dung of significantly lower heat. Granted Syraxes is far from a hatchling. Her growth rate has been incredible. We only possess an incomplete copy of Barth's writing but there are few dragons at her age that match such a growth rate. Only Caraxes from our accounts. Granted there were quite a few dragons that came before Barth began his writings." The Grandmaester took his place beside them. His eyes gleamed with admiration directed at Syraxes. Included in the measurements of Syraxes was the polishing of her scales. They gleamed as bright as a fresh cut jewel, so magnificent she almost hurt to look upon.

"Then I suppose the dung collecting must continue if it ensures Syraxes health," Jon spoke.

Marwyn nodded. "There is so much knowledge that was lost when Barth's writings were burned. He spent a lifetime acquiring it and now it all will need to be replaced." He scratched at the salt peppered beard that lined his jaw and shook his head in rue.

"Baelor the Blessed was a mad man," Visenya said fiercely. Jon chuckled.

He whispered in her ear. "Careful sister. Those words would anger the more devout."

Visenya turned to look upon him. Her eyes were playful. "You should have seen the knight who won the tourney. He had stars on his armor and a hair shirt underneath like the old knights of the Faith Militant. I think he would be quite wroth if he heard my criticism of Baelor the Befuddled. Luckily I have you to defend me and." She rolled the word on her tongue. "Syraxes. I reckon I could take my grievances with Baelor to the High Septon and be quite safe."

Jon shook his head. "I'll protect you from anything or anyone, but I do not want you taking unnecessary risks."

"The Princess speaks truly. Baelor was a fool though the archivist at the Citadel were even greater fools. As they remain now." The look in Marwyn's eyes was intense.

"What do you mean?" Jon asked.

"Even before Baelor got the idea in his starved brain that Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns was heretical the maesters had already declared the book unsound," Marwyn muttered. "The respect for the higher mysteries has been waning for some time in Old Town. When Baelor gave that order, they were all too eager to burn something that challenged their sensibilities. Dragons, Wyrms and Wyverns have no place in the world that the Archmaesters wish to build."

"You were an Archmaester, Marwyn." Visenya pointed out.

He grinned, flashing a row of stained red teeth. "Something my colleagues in the conclave have likely been regretting for the past decade. I am a rare breed princess, a man whose mind is truly open. One who understands the world is not exactly as it appears. If your father had thought to listen to the conclave then he would most certainly have one of my more traditional colleagues on his council. Gifted perhaps, but utterly unprepared for this new age we are entering."

"New age?" Jon questioned.

"Surely you know. The man who has been to Valyria, contested with Shadowbinders and the like. This is the coming of an age long since thought passed. Age of gods and monsters."

Jon scoffed. "Syraxes may be a monster to some but where are these gods you speak of?"

Marwyn merely shrugged. "Perhaps they have yet to reveal themselves or they have always been here acting in ways we cannot understand. No one knows for certain. Certainly not the Maesters."

Jon smiled slightly. "You have a mighty bias against the Maesters Marwyn."

"Just a healthy skepticism, Prince Jaehaerys." He grinned once again. "Skepticism never hurt anyone."

Jon nodded. "Aye, skepticism never hurt."

They were there for another hour or more. The sun was nearing its zenith when a plume of dust rose over the sloping hills that shouldered Syraxes' cave on the Dragonmont alerted them to the approach of riders. Syraxes alternated between the multitude of caves that were burrowed into the Dragonmont and various locations by the dragons that came before. Her cave of today was only ten miles from the castle, only accessible by a few high narrow roads with sweeping views of the land and sea below. Most would ride them with caution, but his family was far from most.

The wolves were the first to appear over the knoll. Grey Wind, the swiftest of the direwolves won their race. Close behind him came Nymeria, the smallest of the three. Graceful even in defeat came Ghost, his wounds healed and his gait loping. Ghost greeted Jon first, a brush against his body and then Visenya. Greywind and Nymeria waited for their masters who emerged on horseback moments later.

Robb and Arya were not alone. Theon Greyjoy and Samwell Tarly trailed behind them. The latter pair's clothes were coated in dust while Jon's cousins' faces were clean save for a light trickle of sweat.

Syraxes stirred at the coming of riders and her molten gaze sent the four horses into a panic. Arya, Robb, and Theon quickly calmed their mounts, but Samwell only narrowly avoided being thrown from his horse. One of Marwyn's acolytes leaped into action and directed the four to where they had left their horses behind a large boulder.

Jon and Visenya strolled over to greet the newcomers. Robb and Theon both looked thunderstruck at the sight of Syraxes. They had arrived by ship a fortnight ago and this was their first time seeing Syraxes up close.

"By the Old Gods and the New," Robb muttered, his eyes never leaving Syraxes.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" Visenya beamed. "And Jae brought back ten more eggs. Imagine when they all grow old enough to ride, what a sight it will be."

"When will I get my ride, Jon?" Arya questioned impatiently.

Jon ran a hand through her brown locks. "Soon little wolf."

She bit her lip. "You promise?"

Jon laughed. "No need for the puppy eyes, I promise." Time had mended his ribs though a soreness lingered. It was not his injuries that had prevented from taking Arya out on a flight. The Valyrian steel sword meant for Arya remained at King's Landing and Jon meant to present the blade to his cousin as well as petition her father to allow her to remain in the south with him and Visenya. A new sword and a flight on dragon's back would make for a day that could not be forgotten.

Jon introduced the newcomers to Syraxes though after sitting still for so long with the acolytes poking and prodding along her scales, the dragon's patience was at an end. She took to the sky quickly, rising in altitude with powerful beats of her wings. Jon could feel her hunger through their bond. The need to kill, to burn.

"Are you sure you don't want to ride with us?" Visenya asked Jon. As if to sweeten the offer she added, "Mother is coming too." His sister worked hard to end the silence between him and their mother. Jon appreciated her perseverance, but he still had no desire to speak with his mother more than anything absolutely necessary.

Jon pointed to his ribs. "I'd only slow the three of you down. Though I'd enjoy watching mother humble you both."

Visenya stuck her tongue out at him and then hugged him tightly. Jon found it amusing how loathed it seemed his sister was to be separated from him. At times it seemed Visenya feared he would suddenly disappear and so she watched him like a hawk to ensure he never had the opportunity. Rather than be annoyed at his sister's attentions Jon was delighted by them. They had been separated for far too long.

"Not a chance Jon. You haven't seen me ride in years." Arya sat astride her horse and peered down at them. As if to prove her point, she guided her mount into a tight circle and then had her horse lift a hoof to wave. Jon felt a shift in his subconscious and knew that Arya's third eye was in use.

"It seems the gauntlet has been thrown Senya." His little sister had the advantage of age, their mother even more so but Arya was a powerful warg, perhaps she would be even better than him or Robb when she came of age. "No cheating." He told Arya, for good measure. She bit her lip and nodded.

Visenya climbed into her saddle with practiced ease. "Bye, big brother." Then her pretty face grew a determined looked. "Race you back to the castle." She told Arya and then raced away before the other girl could agree. Ghost and Nymeria followed after the girls, and Grey Wind lingered until Robb nodded at him then the direwolf became a streak of grey in quick pursuit. Finally, Marwyn and his acolytes made a much slower journey back to the castle. It was just the four of them now.

Jon ground his boot heel in the dust and turned to face Theon. His eyes narrowed. "You have something you want to ask me." It was not a question. The side glances that Theon had been sending him over the course of his stay were telling enough.

Robb spoke, "Jon, Theon wishes-"

Jon interrupted, "Let Theon speak, Robb. It is his request, not yours." Robb's lips thinned but he went silent.

"I asked the king to allow me to return to the Iron Islands and assume my rightful place as my father's heir." Theon began.

Jon nodded. His face gave away nothing. "And my father refused your request?"

Theon's face was rife with conflict. "No, he said that I need to seek your blessing first before he can pass judgement."

Jon was surprised but he did not let it show. Instead, he turned to Robb. "What did uncle Ned say to this?"

Robb looked bashful. "He said it was the king's decision not his. That is all."

Jon did not need to ask what Robb thought. Theon may as well have been Robb's brother. They had grown up together and were closer in age than he and Bran. Theon's brothers had died in his father's rebellion and so Robb was very much the closest thing he had to a blood brother. They are not blood though. Jon knew that was a detail that could not be forgotten. "What makes returning to the Iron Islands now so important?"

Theon scowled. "I have been in Winterfell since I was ten years old. I need to return to the Iron Islands if I am ever to assume my rightful place as heir."

"You were not in Winterfell for no small reason. Your father committed treason and mine showed him mercy." Jon replied in a matter of fact tone.

"Then I am to remain a hostage of the crown for the rest of my life? What if my father takes another wife, has another son?" Theon exclaimed.

"He hasn't yet." Jon pointed out.

"My father is old. It will make things much more difficult for me to inherit Pike if I haven't set foot on the Islands since I was just a boy."

Jon flexed his sword hand. The scarred skin was much tighter than his left. "Your father is of an age with mine and I have heard no ill news about his health. Difficult but not impossible. The crown will support your claim so as long you remain loyal."

Theon gaped at him. "Are you joking?"

"Am I laughing, Greyjoy?" Jon shot back.

Robb swallowed. "Jon, Theon is loyal you know that. Do not let your biases cloud your judgement."

Jon turned on his cousin. "Do you know that for certain? If his father returned to the notion that he should be King of the Iron Islands again with his heir returned to him, do you think Theon would protest? Or would he throw in his wholehearted support?" He turned to Theon. "Tell us Greyjoy, what would you do?"

Theon trembled with rage. "Our rebellion was crushed, and we swore our fealty. Rebelling again is not a possibility."

"Your father has already broken one vow when it suited him, why should I believe he would not break another?" Jon questioned, eyes narrowed.

Theon looked as if he wanted to shout but Robb interceded. "Theon cannot speak for his father just as we cannot speak for ours, but he can speak for himself."

Tension was visible in Theon's shoulders. "If I swear a vow of loyalty before a Heart Tree will you believe me?"

"The Old Gods are not your gods as you were fond of reminding us in Winterfell. How will that vow be binding in any way?"

Theon shook his head in disbelief. "You may hate me, Jon but I am far better than my uncles. Every moment I am not on the Iron Islands securing my place gives them more incentive to oppose me when it is my time to rule."

This intrigued Jon. "Tell me more of your uncles and why you fear them?"

"I do not fear them." Theon spat. "Uncle Aeron is a jokester and has always been kind to me. Victarion is a big dumb brute. He commanded the Iron fleet in the rebellion, but you know how that turned out. If I have the chance to speak to him and gain his trust, then he will be as loyal to me as he has been to my father. It is only Euron that is an actual worry."

"What is so concerning about Euron?" Jon asked.

Theon exhaled audibly. "Euron does as he pleases. He killed the Lord of Grey Garden and claimed his Valyrian steel sword by the iron price. Would have killed his son, Harras, if Uncle Victarion had not intervened. Father finally had to exile Euron when he had his way with Victarion's wife but that has not impeded him in the slightest. A dozen captains followed Euron's Silence and they have raided and reaved everywhere from the Stepstones to Qarth. I spoke to the few Ironborn at the tourney and if you believe the tales, Euron has raided as far as the Jade Gates and has a dozen salt wives including a priestess from Asshai. When my father dies, what is to stop Euron from challenging my claim?"

Jon took a moment to ponder Theon's words. He had no love for the Greyjoy but at the very least he knew Theon. The same could not be said of his uncles. Does father merely want my advice, or does he want my deliberation? He did not know the answer, nor could he ask him. "A vow will not be enough. You will need to marry as well."

Theon's eyes widened. "Marriage?" The leer on his face betrayed his impure thoughts. "For an alliance yes. Who better than to show the crown's favor with me than Visenya? The heir of the Iron Islands with a Targaryen bride, even Euron would think twice of trying anything with such a visible symbol of-"

Burning anger rose in Jon's chest and his reaction was sudden, almost instinctual. One moment he was listening to Theon, the next he was driving his palm into Theon's nose.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Theon exclaimed. He clutched his nose in an effort to stem the blood flow. Jon wondered if it was broken.

"You forget your place Greyjoy." His voice was harsh. "As if I would ever consider marrying my sister to the likes of you. I'd burn your islands before that happened."

"It was just a suggestion, Jon." Robb had moved quickly between them. Samwell recovered from his shock and moved to check Theon's nose. The Greyjoy heir slapped his hands away.

"That was my response to his suggestion." Jon paced back and forth to calm his rage. "You will marry a daughter of a loyal lord. Preferably one from the Rivers, Reach or the North; the lands your ancestors have raided since the Dawn Age. In addition, upon your return, there will be Septons who will also journey to the Iron Islands who will be placed under your protection. Your father was crowned by the priests of the Drowned God, now they will need to suffer another religion for their folly. Finally, I suggest you keep your eyes away from my sister if you have any expectation of my endorsement."

"You could have just said you wanted her for yourself," Theon grunted and climbed to his feet. "Fucking Targaryens." He muttered under his breath as he stalked towards his horse.

"Tell him I still need his answer before I speak to my father."

Robb sighed. "Was that really necessary?"

Jon watched as Theon dug his spurs into his spotted horse and sprinted away. "Perhaps not. It did feel good though."

He could feel the weight of Samwell's stare as they rode back to the castle. Robb had spurred his horse into a gallop to chase after Theon leaving Jon and Sam to travel alone at an unhurried trot. "What?" Jon asked.

"That was rather violent," Sam said gently.

Jon shrugged. "The last person Theon should focus on is my sister." I wonder how mother will react? She did not particularly like Theon either, but he doubted she would approve of his volatile reaction. Theon's grin had set him off. His years in Winterfell had been filled with watching Theon grin as he described his conquests of whores, washerwomen, the miller's wife any serving girl he could get his hands on… Jon had an idea of what ideas were running through Theon's head when he thought of Visenya. He flexed his sword hand. Now Greyjoy would be far too worried about whether his nose would heal crooked.

Samwell sighed heavily. "You do not worship the Seven, why have you insisted that Theon returns with Septons?"

"I remember Visenya speaking of how one of our ancestors made the mistake of allowing the Septons to be ousted from the Iron Islands. That condition sounded like something my father would demand." Jon spoke.

That drew a nod from Sam. "King Aenys made that mistake. The Faith was most wroth when he did. Now, I am sure they will celebrate such a boon."

Jon wore a sardonic grin. "Surprisingly astute for a mad prince, wouldn't you agree?"

His friend paled. "You know I did not mean any harm. I was… am worried about you Jon. Your family had a right to know."

"So, you say," Jon said dismissively. Visenya had been the one to tell him of Samwell's words to first their father and then to the rest of the family. Part of Jon was angry with Samwell, for now, he wondered if the speculation about his mental fortitude was part of the reason why Daenerys stayed away. He wondered what kind of mad man she feared he had turned into. The thought produced a bitter taste in his mouth. Still, there was part of him that wondered if Samwell was correct. He had come so close to losing himself in Syraxes' desire to burn Volantis, perhaps one day he would not have the strength to resist. What kind of man would he be then?

Samwell tried to engage him further, but Jon ignored his efforts. They had been through too much together for Jon to truly hate his friend, but the forced silence was all that kept Jon from striking him.

Volcanic vents dotted across the Isle filled the air with the smell of Sulphur and Brimstone. The day was clear with only a few wisps of clouds in the sky. To his left was a steep embankment that dropped away to rocky hills and black sand beaches. Much of the island was vertical with most of its landmass dominated by the Dragonmont but nearest the main village was where the island extended into flatlands suitable for farming. Beyond were tiny fishing boats. At dawn, a small fleet of them would pour forth from the day to compete for the day's catch.

A life driven by routine was almost alien to him. Disconcerting even. He felt restless and hungry. It had been too long since he had taken to the skies with Syraxes. Too long since he had taken to the yard armed with a training sword or Judgement. Each time he held the sword he could feel a certain restlessness emanate from the blade. It had gorged itself on blood in Volantis and now it was being starved.

An ache emanated from his ribs and Jon was forced to slow his mount. Frustrated with the fragility of his human body Jon's mind slipped into Syraxes. Euphoria reverberated through him at the sudden rush of power. Syraxes had sustained injuries in Volantis that would kill any other creature, but her healing rate was incredible. The dozens of wounds inflicted by spears and arrows had closed and scales regrew to cover the gaps in her natural armor. The tears in her wings had long since mended. On warm air currents, Syraxes soared, exploring further and further each day. Some nights she would not even return, resting in lands further North, Jon assumed Cracklaw Point. He wondered if the other dragons would explore as far as her or if the abundant curiosity was a trait unique to his dragon.

Jon's focus returned to his own eyes when his mount slowed. Jon blinked away his confusion, realizing that he had passed under the portcullis of Dragonstone without realizing. A stable boy rushed to take his reins while another stabled Sam's horse.

Robb was waiting in the courtyard waiting for them, accompanied by several ladies of the Riverlands. Three of Myrcella's companions had traveled by sea with Robb and Theon. The two sisters Barbara and Jayne Bracken, apparently childhood friends of hers and one familiar face in the form of Rosamund Lannister. The last girl was much wider than Jon remembered from his time at the Rock though he did his best to hide his surprise.

"I heard you broke Theon's nose." Came the bold voice of Barbara. She was the eldest of her five sisters and presumptive heir of her house unless her father decided to legitimize her bastard brother. Her smile was wide and inviting, her blue eyes filled with playful intent. Barbara was shorter than her sister and Myrcella with a wide mouth that never seemed to shut.

"Is it broken?" Jon asked Robb instead. Listening to Barbara's raucous laughter over the past few days had soured his opinion of her. The woman's vivacious personality was charming in short bursts but now her charm had expired.

"There was an awful lot of blood for a nose that was not broken," Barbara answered instead.

"He went to see Maester Pylos now," Jayne said. Taller, slender and quieter than her sister, the two made a contrasting pair. She pressed herself against Robb's side. "I hope he does not keep us waiting too long."

"They want to sail to Driftmark," Robb answered Jon's unspoken question.

"Driftmark?" Jon asked.

It was Myrcella who spoke. "It is only a few hours sail between the islands and Aurane Waters has assured us that House Velaryon will be ecstatic upon our visit." She smiled a half smile, and the action stilled Jon's heart. "I am sure you could use the practice of playing the gracious guest when you are reintroduced to the realm at large." With the sunlight that streamed through her blonde curls and her blue eyes, her half smile was eerily reminiscent of the thousands that Elaerys' had sent his way. He had to blink away the effect. Each day Jon found it harder and harder to draw his eyes away from her. Today it was even more difficult as she wore a form-fitting crimson dress with white Myrish lace on the shoulders. A golden choker was clasped around her thin neck capped by a gem of swirling green and blue.

He swallowed. Despite his best efforts to treat her at a distance in an effort to spite his father's plans, Myrcella had been the picture of grace and beauty. She had not withheld her smiles nor her witty commentary. She was growing on him.

Jon flexed his sword hand and glanced at Robb. Jayne Bracken seemed entranced by his cousin and Robb had done nothing to dissuade her flirting. Theon certainly had not. While Barbara was loud, Jayne was nothing if not ambitious. Her eyes gleamed with the possibility of being the next Lady of Winterfell or Pyke.

"Very well." He said. Myrcella beamed at him.

Myrcella Tully

"He is rather fascinating for one who barely speaks." Barbara Bracken whispered into her ear. They sat on the deck of Aurane's Seawyrm. The ship stood as a testament to the naval focus of House Velaryon that such a splendid vessel belonged to a bastard.

"He speaks, just not as much as you," Myrcella responded. Rosamund smiled along at the insult.

Barbara merely pouted. "Well if I didn't know any better then I'd think you are not happy that I am here."

Myrcella shrugged. "I just find it unexpected that my mother would send you and your sister of all people. We are not exactly the closest of friends." She had an idea of why her mother had chosen to send the Bracken girls. Neither was exactly known for being especially attached to their virtue, quite the opposite in fact, to the chagrin of their father.

Barbara leaned back into her cushioned seat. A fabric shade above them protected them from the bright sun. "I don't presume to speak for Cersei Lannister, but I assume she was worried about your lack of progress concerning your betrothed."

"And she thought you would help?" Came Rosamund's haughty reply.

"Did I not?" Barbara motioned to the ship they were on. "Whose idea was it to sail to Driftmark? Now you need not to worry about the watchful eye of the Queen nor a possessive Targaryen little sister. Quite the accomplishment."

"I suppose you are wanting a thank you?" Rosamund asked sarcastically.

"Only if our friend capitalizes on such an ample opportunity." Barbara grinned. Myrcella flushed at the implied meaning. It was bad enough that she had to deal with her mother's scathing letters reminding her of just how important the betrothal was to their family and how every effort needed to be expended to ensure that she had Jon's affections. Now her mother had her underlings encouraging her to whore her way into a royal marriage. There is power between your legs, my daughter. You just need to learn to use it. The parting words of her mother rang in her head. Even if she wanted to follow her mother's advice, there had been little opportunity. Between Jon's mother and sister, and even Arya, there had been no opportunities to be alone with him.

"Myrcella does not need your help." Rosamund had always been quick to defend her. She laid a hand on her friend's thigh to calm her.

"Need and want are two different things. Your beauty is undeniable, but I don't exactly see the prince over here admiring your beauty." Barbara wagged her finger. "Your problem is that you are too beautiful. Boys…men take one look at you and want. They pursue you but the one you want is a Targaryen Prince. He was raised with the most beautiful women in the world. Beauty isn't meaningless to him, but I imagine he is less blinded by it than other men or he could be just a bit of a cold fish. I do hear his brother is a bit of a lecher." She grinned widely. "I wouldn't mind finding myself under him. The point I am making is that you have never been the pursuer and instead of taking a proactive approach, you still expect the prince to come over and woo you when you should be wooing him. Just look at Jayne."

A glance across the deck revealed Barbara's sister all but in the arms of Theon Greyjoy. Describing the girl as a flirt would be an understatement. Jayne had integrated herself amidst the four men though it was Theon who was the current target of attentions. She playfully batted away Theon's wandering hands but did nothing to distance herself from him. Myrcella felt a measure of relief that Jon largely ignored Jayne's flirtations. Instead he sat in conversation with Robb and Theon.

"I think my sister is aiming to be the Lady of Pyke." Barbara made a face. "It is a shame, I preferred Winterfell."

"Robb is too good for her." Rosamund snapped.

"And you're a bit too big for him, Lady Piggy."

"Enough." Myrcella hissed. She remembered why Barbara and Jayne were no longer her friends. They had both teased Rosamund mercilessly all to win the favor of Joffrey. It seemed age hadn't broken their childish habits. "Rosamund is my friend, I don't care what my mother promised you I will not tolerate you speaking hurtful words to her."

Barbara withered under her ire. "Sorry." She offered to Rosamund. The apology was hardly sincere but Myrcella did not want to cause a greater commotion to press the issue. Myrcella looked over to the boys to see if they had noticed the argument. Jon's eyes met hers and she fought the urge to look away. Instead she smiled. To her delight Jon smiled in return. "There is your opening." Barbara said. She grabbed Myrcella's hand unexpectedly and pulled her from her seat.

"I can't let my sister have all the fun. Hope we are not interrupting?" Barbara asked.

"Not at all." Robb responded. He slid across the bench to make room for them. The shade they sat under was closer to the fore of the ship against the starboard rail. Above them the sails bearing House Velaryon's colors swelled with the wind. The deck shifted under her feet as they crested a wave and Myrcella all but fell into Jon's lap. Her face burned with embarrassment, but Jon merely looked amused. His strong hands helped steady her and she settled next to him, close enough that their thighs were pressing against each other. Barbara flashed her a secret smile and glanced at the hand that still clutched Jon's thigh. Rather than remove her hand, Myrcella squeezed his leg in thanks.

"So, what did we miss?" Barbara asked.

Jayne smiled and leaned against Theon. "This one was telling me about the ship he will command once he returns to the Iron Islands."

"The ships of the Iron Islanders are the fastest in the world." Theon grinned. "Perfect for making away with Salt Wives."

Jon snorted in distaste. Even Robb rolled his eyes. Yet Theon's confidence remained unaffected.

"Oh? And how would your future ship compare to this one?" Barbara asked.

"Easily thrice as large. It would make this one look like a fishing boat. After all, I am the heir to Pyke not a bastard."

"This bastard has sailed to Ib and back. To White Harbor, dealt with pirates in the Stepstones and made dock at Sunspear, tell me Lord Greyjoy where have you spent your years as a ward? Last I checked, Winterfell bordered no sea." Aurane glared at Theon for good measure. Theon face grew red and he struggled for a reply.

Their captain wore a wide-brimmed feathered hat with a sea green tunic and a white wide-sleeved shirt that billowed in the wind. In his hand, he held an unopened bottle of wine. "You all looked rather thirsty. Compliments of the Captain."

The wine passed between them. Aurane settled next to Rosamund and directed a grin at Jon. "I hope you are ready for my family's unbridled enthusiasm. Though they may be a disappointed Syraxes is not joining us."

"Next time." Jon joked. Myrcella watched his throat bob as he swallowed a drink of wine. Their fingers brushed as he passed her the bottle. She took a sip and her eyes widened at the flavor.

Aurane noticed her reaction. "From an old Sealord's personal stock."

"I sense a story there," Myrcella replied.

The journey between Dragonstone and Driftmark was measured in hours. Aurane's wine flowed freely between them and even the enmity between their captain and Theon was erased as the boys joked with one another. Myrcella leaned heavily against Jon. His hand was wrapped around her hip. It was the closest she had been with him since… ever. Best of all, there was no glaring Targaryen Princess to unnerve her.

Driftmark grew larger on the horizon. Several smaller isles sat between Driftmark and Dragonstone, the largest of these minor islands formed a sort of cove that partially hid the island's port from the sea. Hundreds of fishing vessels floated in the deep waters and the fishermen upon them waved at their vessel.

Their group gathered at the aft of the vessel, watching as the town of Hull nearer. Even from a distance, Myrcella could see the town was larger and more ornate than Dragonstone's main village. The port extended for over a mile with several wharves dedicated to receiving merchant's vessels. Ship sails and bright banners gave the isle a great amount of color. It reminded her of a smaller Lannisport; cleaner and less chaotic than King's Landing. Behind the town, the dark walls of Castle Driftmark were visible. It was a grim castle made of dark stone covered in lichen. Its curtain wall was stained by the spray of salt.

"Have you ever been here?" Myrcella asked Jon.

He nodded. "When I was a child, Aegon and I paid a visit here with my father. Not much has changed it seems."

Under Aurane's guidance, they glided to the dock. She walked arm in arm with Jon across the gangplank. Her betrothed was a man of simplicity, he wore brown boots and pants, and a short-sleeved green shirt that showcased the lean muscularity of his arms. They were clothes more fitting for a well-off sailor rather than a prince set to meet his lords. There was not a strip of gold nor silver upon his person. Instead, he wore dragonbone hilted sword on his waist in a sheath of Ironwood. It must have been his northern upbringing showing through as her cousin Robb wore a similar outfit.

Myrcella and Jon were the first to meet the members of House Velaryon who came to greet them. Aurane took the liberty of making the introductions. "Cousins, this is Prince Jaehaerys. And before you ask, all the rumors about him are true. I've seen his dragon with my own eyes and let me tell you it is magnificent."

There was a dozen Velaryons present. Half of them had silver hair, pale blonde or golden hair like her own. Three of them were clearly from the senior branch, evident by their demeanor and how they approached to greet her and Jon first. Myrcella held her head high and straightened her spine. It was the first time that she would be presented by Jon's side. Word spread quickly among the lords of the realm and she meant to make a good impression.

"Aerion Velaryon, it is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Jaehaerys." Myrcella had to blink when she took in sight of the man. He was simply put, astonishingly beautiful. Above full lips sat an aquiline nose and vivid sea-green eyes contrasted by purple eye shadow. His skin was pale, complimented well by the pale blonde curls that fell past his sculptured chin. A lock of his curls had been dyed green to frame his face. Were it not for his clothing and voice, she would have mistaken him for a woman.

Jon returned the greeting, entirely unaware of the look of appraisal Aerion gave his body. When her betrothed introduced her, Aerion smiled politely but may as well all but ignored her. He showed similar enthusiasm in meeting Robb and the same indifference in meeting the Bracken girls and Rosamund.

"Driftmark is yours, Prince Jaehaerys," Aerion said after he made his greetings.

Next to meet them was Aerion's sister. Like her brother, Elaena Velaryon possessed a profound beauty this time accompanied by a womanly figure. Her full hips and bosom were evident beneath the brightly dyed fabric of her dress and her pale blonde curls fell to her midback. Two curls of blue framed either side of her face. Rather than wait for Jon to initiate a proper greeting, the woman pulled him into an entirely too familiar hug.

Myrcella stiffened at the brazenness. Jon seemed just as surprised as her and he patted Elaena's back awkwardly.

"Excuse my sister, like you Prince Jaehaerys, she has spent considerable time in Essos. So much so that it seems she has forgotten proper Westerosi etiquette." Aerion looked contrite.

Elaena pulled back from her hug. "Oh hush, Aerion. The Prince is practically family now… or at least he will be in a few months' time." She saw Jon's look of confusion. A wide smile touched her pretty lips. "Oh, you haven't heard! Our father is going to marry your grandmother." Her Lysene accent made the words almost musical, with her voice so pleasant to the ears.

"She hasn't said yes yet, Elaena." Aerion scowled.

"Why would she say no? They have been dancing around each other for years." Elaena turned away from her brother to address Jon. "Just you wait, there will be a wedding before the year's end."

Then the Velaryon woman turned to Myrcella. "Oh, wow you are so pretty." Her finger's ran through Myrcella's hair without permission. "I love these curls." The hug she gave was just as enthusiastic as the one she gave Jon, though this time their embrace was accompanied by a kiss on Myrcella's cheek.

Myrcella would have frowned at such an unorthodox greeting from anyone else but Elaena was quite simply, disarmingly beautiful. Instead, she felt charmed. It seemed such a reaction was shared by Robb and Theon. Jayne sneered at the girl as Theon's attention was captured. Even Aurane looked perturbed, though only when Elaena lingered near Robb.

"Robb Stark, I believe this is a moment of history. To the best of my knowledge, there has never been a Stark who has paid our humble island a visit. I hope it is to your liking. More water here than snow I am afraid."

Robb laughed. "From what I have seen your island is quite beautiful." None of them failed to notice how his eyes never left Elaena. "I hope someday you can return the favor and make history by paying a visit to Winterfell. The North has more than snow, I can assure you."

Jon chuckled under his breath.

"What?" Myrcella asked him.

"If Visenya were here she would have lectured him about Prince Jacaerys and the weeks he spent at Winterfell negotiating for Cregan Stark's support."

Myrcella forced herself to smile. The less she needed to hear about Visenya, the better. Weeks had been spent in an attempt to find common ground with the princess. All to no avail. Not even their shared friendship and cousinship with Arya had warmed Visenya to her. While not outright hostile, it was clear that if Visenya had any say in the matter, Myrcella would have never set foot on Dragonstone let alone come within ten feet of her beloved brother. Whether the source of the princess' antagonism was due to the girl's own possessiveness of Jon or a mistaken notion that her glares would scare Myrcella away in favor of Princess Daenerys, she could not say.

The last of the Velaryon siblings was utterly unlike the previous two. He possessed the body of a warrior. His neck was thick as a bull's with broad shoulders and a barrel-like chest to match. Unlike his siblings he wore his hair short with the sides of his scalp shaved bald. Those sea-green eyes of his were similar to his brother and sister but he lacked their beauty. Pox scars marred his cheeks and he had a stern and commanding face.

"From the stories they are telling about you, I thought you'd be seven feet tall." The man addressed Jon.

"Maekar!" Elaena scolded, aghast.

Jon grinned. "On a horse, I am taller. On a dragon, I can be as tall as I want."

Maekar chuckled. "You squired for Ser Jaime Lannister. Tell me, is he as good as they say he is?"

"Better," Jon replied.

"Then we have to spar sometime."

Driftmark's Dining Hall was unlike Riverrun's; smaller and darker with a distinct lack of heraldry and color to liven the place. The lack of windows reminded her of Casterly Rock, though there was far less gold and the furnishings were comparatively plain, lacking the gildings and signs of masterful craftsmanship. Light came only from the chandelier that hung directly above their table though only half the candles were lit lending their setting a more intimate vibe.

Despite being introduced to the dozens of cousins that resided on Driftmark, their hosts had kept their party surprisingly small. Other than Aerion, Elaena, and Maekar there was Aurane and his brother Monford, accompanied by his young son and heir, Monterys. Myrcella smiled at the six-year-old who had affixed a wide-eyed stare at Jon as if he was a figure of legend.

She sat next to Jon who was placed at one head of the table with Aerion at the other end. Robb sat to Jon's right though his attention was entirely devoted to Elaena who sat beside him. Occasionally Jon's eyes flickered over to their shared cousin, filled with approval and amusement.

Theon was seated between the Bracken girls though Jayne primarily held his attention. Too often Myrcella caught Barbara staring at her. She is too invested to simply want to gain my mother's approval. A thought came to her then. Joffrey was in no rush to marry but as the heir to Riverrun, he was the ultimate prize for any River Lord. Would mother really promise Joffrey's hand just to see me wed? The thought of her brother's reaction to learning that he was a mere concession caused a giggle to slip past her lips.

"Is there something funny my lady?" Jon asked her. She looked up, startled, but those dark eyes of his were filled with mirth.

Feeling bold, she replied, "Perhaps I will tell you later." Under the table, she squeezed his knee. Suggestive but not vulgar. His eyes lingered on her face before dropping to the choker around her neck. The gift had come from her uncle, apparently reminiscent of jewelry worn by Jon's deceased paramour. It left a poor taste in her mouth to use such a trick, but the results spoke for themselves. Jon had not stopped glancing at the item once he had noticed. The low cut of her dress was certainly not a hindrance to his view either.

She had feared his seeming indifference would doom any attempt to engage him, but it seemed without the interference of his pretty sister, Jon actually had the time to pay attention to her. This recess to Driftmark would not last forever. Before they returned to Dragonstone or larger Westeros, she knew she needed to endear him to their betrothal. Frustratingly, Jon revealed none of his thoughts about the matter. If he discussed their situation with Robb, then her cousin was also tight-lipped. She was sure Visenya knew but doubted the princess would tell her anything. And she has only grown happier with Jon the more time passes. Did that mean Jon was amiable to wedding his sister and not her?

"Robb here tells me that you only plan to be here for the day? Surely you can stay longer?" Elaena looked directly at Jon. Her pale curls gleamed in the low light and she leaned her elbows against the surface of the table.

"I agree. You have not been here in years and I have not had the chance until now to see all that Driftmark has to offer." Myrcella added. She smiled for good measure. When Robb added his voice, the matter was sealed.

"I'll have the Maester send to a note to Dragonstone. Perhaps Princess Visenya can join us on the morrow? We haven't had the opportunity to meet her." Elaena questioned.

"Visenya was sick on the ship to Dragonstone, I don't think sailing agrees with her," Myrcella told Jon. She was well aware her betrothed had the power to send for his sister with his dragon, but she hoped it would not come to that. Visenya would survive a few days without her brother and with any luck, it would be Myrcella who would ride behind him astride Syraxes.

Jon looked disappointed. "If I had known we were staying longer then I would have brought her with me." He sighed. "Perhaps another time."

Elaena made a dismissive gesture. "No matter. It has been a long while since I have seen Princess Daenerys as well. Now she is the one who most certainly needs to visit. Father promised that I could plan the wedding and I'd love her help, I hear she planned the feasts for the tourney. How is she?"

Jon sipped his wine. "I wouldn't know." His face was somber.

"Truly beautiful." Theon began with a sardonic smile. "No offense to any of the lovely ladies present but Princess Daenerys lives up to her reputation as the most beautiful woman alive. What a shame she's already married. I wonder if there are any kids on the way?" His eyes landed on Jon.

Unaware of the subtext, Elaena beamed. "Oh, that would be delightful! Another member of the royal family is always cause for celebration."

"Except the child would be a prince or princess of House Martell, not Targaryen, little sister," Aerion corrected.

Robb shifted uncomfortably and glanced towards his cousin. Jon's face was a placid mask.

Elaena shrugged. "Babes are always cause for celebration. Prince Aegon has been married, Princess Rhaenys as well, I think the realm would be blessed if all three couples found themselves with child. Wouldn't you agree, Prince Jaehaerys? You'd be an uncle thrice over." She tilted her head to Jon.

He nodded, the smile across his lips almost looked genuine. "Yes, my family and the realm would be most fortunate."

"Excuse my sister. I think she's spent too much time in Lys, any mention of babies and she gets stars in her eyes," Aerion said between bites of smoked salmon. Elaena looked hurt by her brother's dismissal.

"I like children," Robb said quickly. His cheeks reddened at his outburst. "My brother reckon is much younger and with Bran away he follows me around everywhere. It is essentially practice for when I have a son of my own."

Elaena's exuberant smile returned, brighter than before. "Oh, I would love to meet him!"

Myrcella chanced a look at Rosamund. Her heart filled with sympathy for her friend who looked as if her heart had been stepped on. Repeatedly.

"Do you want children, Jon?" Myrcella knew it was a loaded question, perhaps with an answer she did not want but she needed to know what motivations he betrothed had.

"Someday perhaps." Not soon. She gathered. Is it the death of his paramour that still troubles him? Or the mention of Daenerys? Instead of questioning him further she squeezed his hand and flashed what she hoped to be a reassuring smile. This was a mystery she hoped he would unveil himself.

With so many women at the table, their conversation flowed smoothly. Aerion entertained the Bracken girls with tales of Braavos. Maekar ate and drank. Robb and Elaena were utterly engrossed with one another. Aurane brooded. Monterys listened intently as his father and Jon spoke.

"Ah, the Lyseni have been in an uproar lately. Disastrous campaigns against Tyrosh and Myr in the disputed lands and piracy and fighting in and around the Stepstones have started to impact trade." Monford told Jon. She had learned that Monford was Aurane's elder brother, though while Aurane was a bastard, Monford was true-born.

Maekar snorted. The big man had servants refresh his wine glass several times, but his eyes looked as clear as ever. "When have the three whores done anything else besides war? This conflict will be over by summer's end."

"I'm surprised you aren't out there warring Maekar." Aerion smiled to the rest of the table. "There is no woman my brother loves more than his sword."

"Unlike women, my sword has never been a source of disappointment," Maekar said evenly.

Elaena rolled her eyes. She turned to Robb. "Aren't you glad the North doesn't have to worry about pirates?"

Robb shook his head. "Not often but the North has two coasts. In the past we dealt with Ironborn to the west and Skagossi and Slavers from the Free Cities on the east."

"The Ironborn threat will fade firmly into memory when Theon becomes Lord," Jon said. His eyes flicked to Theon. It was less of a statement and more of an order.

Theon's cocky smile lessened somewhat, rather than reply he turned his attention back to Jayne. During their conversation, it had been mentioned that Theon was actively searching for a bride before he returned to Pyke. If Jayne had worked to charm Theon before the news, her charm had increased tenfold now.

"Do the stories about Skagos have any truth to them or are they just hyperbole?" Elaena asked Robb.

"Well with normal pirates you have to worry about being robbed or sold into slavery. With Skagossi, the worry is that you'll become dinner." Robb joked.

"I'm sure they would hesitate to make a move now with your father as lord and such a son as his heir." Elaena's bright smile brought a blush across Robb's cheeks. She already has him wrapped around her finger. Myrcella observed. Perhaps it was easier with Robb. Where her cousin was generous with his smiles and full of laughter, Jon was comparatively silent with a stoic face. She knew his silence was by choice, rather than a lack of ability. While he was a man of few words, it seemed his dark eyes missed nothing. Such a trait reminded her of her grandfather.

Jon caught her stare, but she did not look away. She tilted her chin and gave him a heated look. He wants me, I know it. All you need to do is marry me.

As time went on their conversations splintered. Myrcella made sure to keep Jon's attention focused squarely on her. A task made much easier without the presence of Visenya, she noted. Jon returned her affections… or at least he made no protest when she leaned against him or touched his arm.

When it came time to retire to her quarters, Jon escorted her. Their rooms were positioned directly across from on another (something she would be sure to thank Elaena for) with Robb's chambers directly to Jon's right.

"See aren't you glad you agreed to come? If you didn't Robb may have never met his future Lady of Winterfell."

Jon chuckled. He is more handsome when he smiles. "Very true. I'm not sure if Robb knows it yet but Elaena will need to impress Lady Catelyn and she is rather protective of her firstborn."

"All mothers are." She thought of her mother and Joff. She and Joff were separated by less than an hour but it may as well have been ten years for all the attention Cersei paid her. I will not be like her. My children will be treated equally.

"I'm sorry for my mother's coldness," Jon began. "She means you no ill will but like always life has its complications."

Myrcella agreed. "Yes, life is complicated though I think your mother's moniker as a she-wolf is well earned. You are aware that she executed Ser Gregor Clegane herself for the killing of Ser Addam Marbrand? They are calling your father's sword Mountain's Bane as a result."

That drew a smile from Jon. She had discerned there was some contention between her betrothed and his mother, though the reason was another mystery. Whatever the cause for their distance, the visible pride Jon had at a single mention of his mother made it clear that the distance would not be permanent.

"She is a Stark. The saying goes 'Whomever passes the sentence must swing the sword.'"

Myrcella cocked a brow. "Oh? And here I thought Starks only reminded us of the coming of winter. I hope that is not a requirement of joining the family." She lifted an arm in front of her. "I fear these arms would make for a poor swordsman."

Jon took the liberty of grasping her arm in his hand. He acted as if he was inspecting the amount of muscle beneath the skin. She flexed her bicep for good measure. That drew a laugh from both of them. "Yes, maybe so, but then again Valyrian Steel is very light. Are you planning to execute anyone, my lady?"

"I hope not. If there is any need then I will have a prince to help me."

"Only if you ask nicely," Jon told her.

"Please my Prince. I need your sword." She breathed while staring him directly in the eyes. The words were so blatant, so charged that she wondered where they had come from.

Jon swallowed heavily. For a moment she thought he'd kiss her but then he arrested himself. "That's a start." He stepped back from her. "We should get some rest. Elaena hinted that she has a full day for us planned tomorrow."

Disappointed at the end of their banter, Myrcella considered inviting Jon into her chambers. That is what my mother would suggest. She wondered if Jayne or Barbara were trying to listen from their rooms. Barbara would tell me to follow him into his.

Before she could make a decision, Jon lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. "Good night, my lady."

Her words felt heavy leaving her lips. "Goodnight, my Prince."

She opened her door but waited by the frame to see if Jon would glance back at her. To her disappointment, he entered his room without sparing a look. Myrcella closed her door, dejected. All of her confidence that had been steadily building as the day went on, turned to dust. Hours spent together and he didn't kiss me.

Her eyes scanned her room, mildly disgusted by what she saw. It was smaller than her chamber at Dragonstone, with bare walls and aged but sturdy furniture. The sheets smelled cleaned, but they were cotton not silk. With a sigh, she sat down on her bed. Worse yet, the room was far more humid than what could be considered comfortable. Sweat already began to gather beneath her dress.

She stripped and donned a silk nightgown. Another gift of her mother's. The straps were merely strings and the Myrish lace all but bared her breasts. The bottom of the gown reached just past her buttocks leaving her legs entirely bare. Fortunately, the room while sparse still had a vanity with an oval mirror. Despite all her mother's shortcomings, Myrcella had to thank her for her own beauty. While her father was certainly handsome, her mother's beauty was still heralded as legendary. While many heralded her as her mother come again, her Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna were fond of reminding her just how much she resembled her late grandmother, Joanna. Dozens of suitors seeking her hand from both the Westernlands and the Riverlands had been turned away. A royal marriage would be the only thing that satisfied her grandfather.

The nightgown she wore was a deep crimson, a Lannister color but the black lace atop her breasts made the brief outfit almost Targaryen. Grabbing a comb, she set to remove any tangles from her honey curls. The strands possessed no shade of silver, but she knew there had been Targaryen Princesses born without the customary color. Not the princesses of today. She reminded herself. Perhaps I should consider myself fortunate that it is Visenya he is set to marry and not Daenerys. Visenya was certainly pretty, with parents like hers it was impossible not to be, but Daenerys was on another level entirely. The princess's skin was pale and flawless. Her eyes amethyst and her silver-gold hair was the very embodiment of the blood of Old Valyria. If there was any woman whose looks made her question her own, then it was certainly Daenerys.

Every man and woman of the Seven Kingdoms knew that Targaryens married each other to keep their bloodlines pure. It was why she would need to share her husband with his sister. Jon possessed neither his father's hair nor his eyes but as a dragonlord, he would need heirs able to claim mounts for themselves. She hoped she could give him a son of obvious dragon's blood. An heir worthy of him. His sister likely would.

A knock on her door interrupted her musings. Barbara entered her room uninvited, followed by her sister and Rosamund. The three of them were also dressed for sleep though in much plainer nightgowns. Barbara carried a small leather satchel.

Jayne whistled at her appreciatively. "Oh, Cella is quite determined to secure this betrothal."

Barbara frowned at her sister. "As she should be."

Rosamund was the most appreciative. "You look beautiful Cella." And then in an appreciative whisper she said, "and ravishing. When Jon sees you, he won't know what to do."

"Theon tells me Jon had a lover in Essos, so I'm sure he knows where to put it." Jayne said. The girl flopped on the bed.

"Well that is quite fortunate, though it might have been easier if he was a maid. I'm sure you would have had fun learning together, Cella." Barbara made a vulgar gesture without her mouth and fingers.

"Don't call me that." Myrcella bit out.

"What, Cella? Rosamund just said it."

"Rosamund is my friend, she has earned that privilege, you have not."

Barbara's lips thinned. She glanced towards her sister who merely shrugged. After a pregnant silence, she asked, "Have you forgotten that I am here to help?"

"Do not pretend that you are not motivated by your own ambition. What did my mother promise you in return? Joffrey?" Myrcella's voice was sharp.

"And why does it matter if I am to be the next Lady of Riverrun? We will be family tied together by marriage. As far as I see it your hostility towards me and Jayne is misplaced. We are here to help."

"I don't need your help. Nor did I ask for it." Myrcella said through gritted teeth.

Jayne scoffed. "If you didn't need us here then your mother wouldn't have sent us. Have you forgotten the prince took the first chance presented to him to run away on a suicide quest when he found out he would have to marry you? Frankly, I am surprised he hasn't sent you back from whence you came. Heavens knows that he has the power to."

'You take that back!" Rosamund whispered harshly.

Myrcella affixed a sharp glare on Jayne. "You forget yourself. Let me remind you that your father owes my grandfather a rather large sum of gold. It would be a shame if that loan were to be rescinded." Jayne paled. The Brackens were not the only Riverlords who had borrowed gold from House Lannister. The Usurper's war had come at a heavy cost to the Riverlands and with the union of her mother and father came an influx of her father's wealth to help the Riverlords rebuild and prosper. More favorable rates, greater ease of access and the comfortability of treating with a Westerosi Lord rather than the greed of the Bankers of Braavos had swayed nearly half the Riverlands into borrowing from her grandfather. Lord Tywin's reputation ensured that none of those lords would ever think of not repaying those debts.

"Only your grandfather has the power to do that. Do not pretend he would invoke something over a meaningless argument." Barbara retorted. "Besides, while my sister speaks too harshly there is reason behind her words. We all know what happened the last time you were supposed to court the prince."

A bitter feeling rose in her chest. She had tried not to remember the sting on her cheek from her mother's palm, the scorn visible in her grandfather's eyes, Joffrey's hurtful words and Rosamund's pity. "I was a child then and we were strangers." Her voice sounded small.

"Well, you are not a child now, but you may as well be a stranger compared to his aunt and sister. His father already promised him one, what is stopping him from taking the other?"

"Daenerys is already married. Even if he wanted her, he can't have her." Rosamund protested. She came to stand beside Myrcella with a comforting hand laid on her shoulder.

Jayne rolled her eyes. "Tell that to his dragon. Theon said he burned Volantis over some dead woman, Dorne could be next. Or at least her frog prince of a husband."

Barbara reached into her satchel and produced two small vials. "The only way you can ensure your betrothal is honored is to endear yourself to the prince."

"What is the quickest route to a man's heart?" Jayne asked. Her dark brown eyes fixated on Rosamund.

Myrcella's friend flushed and stuttered. "H-his stomach I suppose."

That drew a mocking look between the two sisters. "The answer is his cock. Men rarely think without it."

Myrcella shook her head. "No, Jon isn't like Theon. He doesn't whore." Her uncles had assured of that. Despite being in the company and influence of her uncle Gerion and Tyrion, Jon hadn't partaken in their vices. His honor had not allowed him. She had seen such in their limited time together, not once had he made a visit to the brothel on Dragonstone.

To her surprise, Jayne smiled. "Precisely. He shares such an honorable outlook with his cousin. Do you not what happened when Robb Stark's favorite serving girl thought herself pregnant with the future Lord of Winterfell?"

"Robb wouldn't." Rosamund protested feebly. Even Myrcella had to resist rolling her eyes. Let him go.

Jayne grinned. "Robb would. They may pride themselves on having more discipline than their southern counterparts, but hot blood still flows through their veins. Anyways, Robb thought the only honorable solution to such a problem was to marry the girl. Could you imagine? The Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North married to a kitchen maid, sounds preposterous, doesn't it? Well, his mother thought so as well. So that serving girl was served a healthy serving of Tansy Tea and sent a thousand miles away from Winterfell with a sack of silver for her troubles. "

"How do you know all of this?" Rosamund asked.

"Theon lips get rather loose when I…" Jayne trailed off for dramatic effect.

Myrcella resisted the urge to scowl. My mother found the perfect minions. "I don't see how this has any relevance."

Barbara tilted her head. "Don't play dense Cella, it is unbecoming of you. Unlike that girl in Winterfell, you are not some simple serving girl. Tywin Lannister is your grandfather, you're the daughter of a paramount lord, not some girl that can be dismissed by some lordling's mother. Not even the queen. Our Prince's Stark honor guarantees that he will marry you after he beds you. Your task is to make that bedding happen. From what I have seen today that should not prove too difficult."

Myrcella stood. "You are mistaken if you believe I have come here to whore myself."

Jayne laughed. "The best wives are whores for their husbands. At least that is what mother says. Jon is meant to be your husband and I doubt a dragonlord wants a septa as wife. Consider this practice for your many tomorrows." Then she leaned in close. "Perhaps he'll enjoy fucking you more than his little sister."

Then Barbara dangled the two vials she held in front of Myrcella's eyes. "This should help clear the Prince's inhibitions. It is likely overkill if you show up in his bed wearing what you have on now, but you can never be too sure."

"What is it?" Myrcella questioned without taking the vial from Barbara's hand.

"Love potion blessed by the Priestesses of the Lysene Love Goddess." Myrcella's skeptical look did not dissipate. Barbara continued, "A glorified aphrodisiac. The whores in Lys' pleasure houses dose their patrons so they stay longer. Hence spending more coin and left with the urge to come back for more. A few drops and the prince's sword will be as hard as the one he carries on his waist for a few hours. That whole vial and we will be here for several days and I doubt you'll leave his bed."

Myrcella swallowed. She knew the answer to her question before she asked it. "Where did you get it?"

"Your mother thought you might need some extra assurances. She cares about you." Barbara answered. Her words were sincere. Mother only wants to impress grandfather. Myrcella knew the truth.

"Cella doesn't need tricks and potions. Jon already appreciates her beauty and he will see how clever she is." Rosamund's fury was plain. She has more faith in me than I do myself. Myrcella closed her eyes and took a breath.

"If the potion is so potent then why do I need two?" She asked.

Barbara's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Another assurance by Cersei Lannister." She wriggled the other vial. "This is a fertility potion and the Lysene swear by it. Drink this now and in nine months you'll give your husband a son or maybe even twins."

Myrcella could feel the weight of Rosamund's disapproval. The shame she felt herself was nearly overwhelming. Still, there was a voice in her head that urged her on. Family. Duty. Honor. This is what her mother and grandfather wanted. How could she disappoint them? Disappoint them again.

The fertility potion was bitter on her tongue, viscous down her throat and settled awkwardly in her belly. She gratefully accepted the glass of water Jayne offered her. Visenya will be a dragonlord herself as will Daenerys. Your children will need to be born first as to not be overshadowed.

"The love potion will be a bit easier to ingest. It's tasteless and has no discernable effect on women. Slip it into his wine while your alone and he will be none the wiser." Barbara stroked Myrcella's face. "Don't look so guilty, you'll give the prince such beautiful children that he might even thank you."

"Did you sleep?" Myrcella asked her betrothed. There were bags under his eyes that were not present the night before.

Jon smiled at her reassuringly. "I slept enough."

Despite his appearance, she was inclined to believe him. Jon was up at least an hour before dawn and by the time she awoke he had concluded his sparring session with Maekar. At such an early hour, few had seen their spar, but it had become the talk of the castle. She was sure more would rise early tomorrow in hopes of catching sight of a repeat.

"Your cousin fights like a Demon!" Maekar Velaryon had told Robb, with his booming voice. The two must have been well matched for Myrcella spied a fresh welt across Jon's forearm. The flesh around it was an angry red. She wondered if his shirt hid more bruises. At least his ribs are fully healed.

They sat side by side on a medium-sized ship captained by Elaena Velaryon. The woman named the vessel a scow. It was a long ship with a shallow deck and a single mast that rose more than thirty feet in the air. Their single sail was a bright purple and swelled with the wind.

Elaena made a most impressive sight. Gone was her beautiful dress, replaced instead by breeches rolled to the knees and what had to be a man's blue shirt rolled to her elbows. Her dainty feet were bare, and she moved across the deck and sometimes up the mast with practiced ease. A leather thong bound her pale-blonde curls in a simple tail though the two blue curls she sported were allowed to blow freely in the wind.

To navigate Elaena used a strange device she called a compass. Apparently, it was a device rather recently developed by the Myrish that allowed its user to determine true North at any time of the day. Myrcella was only briefly familiar with naval technology but it seemed to her that the curious device completely negated the use of a sunstone. She wondered if her uncle Gerion had already acquired one for himself. Jon was so intrigued by the device that he launched into a passionate discussion with Elaena. The common tongue had failed the woman in her explanation and so their conversation switched to High Valyrian, a language to which only the two of them were fluent.

Robb Stark had become Elaena's willing assistant. He moved quickly to adjust a rope or help manage the sail according to her orders. For the rest of them, they were not completely idle. Elaena's vessel, Daggerfell, was a carefully balanced knife that sliced through the waves. To maintain that balance their weight was carefully distributed across the ship. Myrcella and Jon sat near the rear of the vessel with Rosamund a few paces to her right. Theon was on the other side of the mast while the Bracken sisters sat on either side near the middle. They had all listened to Elaena and had abandoned their shoes back at Driftmark. The boys wore shorts with short-sleeved shirts while she and the other ladies wore sundresses with wide-brimmed hats to shield them from the bright sun.

"I'll make a sailor out of you yet, Robb!" Elaena called out over the waves. Her smile was bright and perfect. She was made for the sea. Myrcella observed.

"It won't do him much good back at Winterfell," Rosamund grumbled under her breath.

They had left Driftmark more than two hours ago with the promise from Elaena that their destination was well worth the journey. More than a dozen fishing boats had been passed in their wake. Now there was not a single ship that could be seen on the horizon.

A sense of determination seemed to settle upon Elaena as they made their approach. The island that sat before them was large enough to support a dense forest of tall trees surrounded by thick shrubbery. Myrcella spied a white sand beach sequestered in a cove made by tall dark rocks covered in moss. The waters around the island churned and frothed against the rocks. As they drew closer it seemed Elaena fought to maintain control of the ship.

"There is no place more beautiful this far north in the Narrow Sea." Elaena called out as she adjusted the sail. "We Velaryons lay claim to this isle as we are the only ones brave enough to navigate these waves!" They passed so close to a rocky cliff face that Myrcella swore she could stretch her arm and touch the rocks. A wave impacted near them, spraying water dozens of feet in the air and soaking their clothes.

"There is a shallow reef that borders the beach. Unless you know exactly where to place your ship then you're more than likely to scrape against the reef and sink." Elaena told them with a smile. Her beautiful sea-green eyes were bright, and her confidence was palpable.

"You do know where you are going?" Robb asked her. The slightest hint of uncertainty was present in his voice.

Elaena flashed him a pretty smirk. "Of course, I do." Then almost as an afterthought, she added, "But I hope they taught you Northmen how to swim!"

That drew nervous laughter from the rest of them. Elaena continued unperturbed. "I need two of the strongest men to hold the oars. Jon if you wouldn't mind." Robb made to grab the other oar, but Theon reached it first.

Robb's back straightened in challenge. "She said strongest, Theon."

Theon's cocky grin was present in full force. "Exactly, Stark."

"Quit the cock measuring, they'll be plenty of time for that when we get to the beach. I need those oars in the water so I can drop the sail," Elaena ordered. The girls were beside themselves with laughter.

Jon shook his head and angled the long oaken pole into the water. It was so clear that the sea floor was visible, covered by a reef that formed a natural maze. Beneath them swam schools of brightly colored fish along with small sharks. The beauty of the reef with its brightly colored plants threatened to take Myrcella's breath away.

"Our balance is off with so many people on the ship. When you see a reef call it out. If we get too close Jon and Theon, I want you to give the reefs a light shove. Try not to snap the oars."

Myrcella stood to help Elaena lower the sail. A step later and she slipped on the wet deck. Jon caught her before she could topple backward. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she was pressed flush against him.

"Someone doesn't have her sea legs it seems." He teased. Myrcella blushed.

Elaena winked at them. "Good catch Jon. She's too pretty by half to cut herself on the reef."

Myrcella loosened but did not release her grip on Jon. He seemed perfectly balanced even as the waters churned around them. She could feel the muscles in his back and arms bunch and loose as he guided the oar.

Under Elaena's guidance, they emerged through the maze soaked but their ship unscathed. Jon and Theon propelled their ship until the water became too shallow. The boys hopped out of the boat to push it the rest of the way to shore. It seemed the reefs created a waist-deep sandbar that extended more than two hundred yards from the edge of the beach.

Myrcella dipped her fingers in the water. "It is so warm."

"There is a string of underwater volcanoes between Driftmark and Dragonstone. Their vents heat the water between the islands, making it a perfect temperature for swimming." Elaena explained.

The words drew a frown from Rosamund. "I didn't know that we would be swimming."

Elaena cocked her head in confusion. "Is that a problem?"

"We didn't bring the right clothes for swimming." Rosamund looked at Myrcella and then the Bracken sisters for support. The ladies remained silent. Theon grinned at the implication.

"Why would you need clothes for swimming?" Elaena questioned. She seemed genuinely confused by Rosamund's discomfort.

Rosamund waved her hand at the men as if the answer was obvious. "There are men here. It isn't proper for them to see us."

Elaena giggled. "Says who? They have bodies just like us, just with a few different parts."

Rosamund reddened further. "S-says everyone. Modesty is a virtue."

The Velaryon woman shrugged noncommittally. "In Lys, our bodies are not seen as sinful. After all, you were born without any clothes, why is it wrong to want to be free on a day like this? I know children often parade naked, are they seen as immodest?"

"They are children, so no. It is different," Rosamund all but hissed.

Elaena arched a perfect brow and then looked to Robb. "Would it make you uncomfortable to see me or the ladies swim naked?"

Robb grew as red as his hair and stammered, "N-not at all, my lady."

Elaena smiled in return. With her beauty, it was difficult for Myrcella not to label it as seductive. She then looked to the other women. "And ladies do you mind the men seeing you? Or you seeing them?"

Barbara laughed, clearly, she did not mind at all. Jayne was surprisingly more brazen. "It depends," She said and then slapped Theon's bottom. "Do you have something to hide, Theon?"

Theon responded to the challenge by pulling off his shirt. Before he could undo the ties to his pants, Elaena halted him. "Relax Theon. Let us eat first and then we can swim."

Rosamund looked at Myrcella with pleading eyes. In any other situation, Myrcella might have agreed with her friend. The only man that had seen her nude was her brother and that had been when they were only children. But Barbara and Jayne weren't concerned with their modesty. Jayne, in particular, seemed enthused evidenced by her continued teasing of Theon. More importantly, Jon had raised no protest. She chanced a glance at him from the corner of her eye. To her surprise, he was staring at her with intrigue.

She cleared her throat, "You can swim with your dress if you like Rosamund."

The heat of the sun came paired with a fierce humidity. By the time they had finished their meal, her dress had dried of seawater but was now damp with sweat.

Elaena was the first to strip. When her shirt hit the sand, all eyes were upon her. By no means plump, there was a distinctly feminine softness to her body. Her hips were wide, her breasts large, capped with peach colored nipples and her thighs thick with a tapering shape that led to slim calves and dainty feet. The downy hair between her legs was darker than the pale-blonde curls on her head. Myrcella found it difficult not to stare.

The Velaryon woman beckoned them forward. "Come the water is warm."

Unsurprisingly Robb was the first to join her. Myrcella took a cursory glance of the heir of Winterfell. He was more heavily muscled than Jon or Theon, the shortest of the three by inches with an arse as white as freshly fallen snow. Theon and the Bracken girls were quick to follow. Laughter rang out across the sands of the secluded beach.

Jon stood and removed his shirt. Scars and a fresh bruise across his right side covered lean muscle. He was slimmer than his cousin, more built than Theon with a body that seemed utterly lacking in softness. His dark eyes captured her own, perhaps noticing her hesitation. "You don't have to swim if you do not want to."

She gathered her courage, conscious of Rosamund's eyes upon her. The strapped of her dress slipped down her shoulder baring a breast. Her nipple stiffened under Jon's gaze. Green fabric soon pooled around her ankles. Jon was not shy in his appreciation of her form.

His smile emboldened her. "Your turn," she told him.

She did not look away either even as she felt her face heat. His thighs and calves were powerfully built, with all the muscularity that she imagined a warrior should possess. His cock was long and thick. Erect for her. Her mouth felt dry and unconsciously she wet her lips. An embarrassing thought came to her mind. He has the cock of a king. Long ago her mother had lamented over Myrcella's betrothal to Jon rather than Aegon. Aegon was the heir after all, and the son who more closely resembled his beautiful father. Her mother considered it a slight for Myrcella to settle for the mongrel prince. She wondered how her mother would react seeing this dragonlord before her in all his glory.

After a time, Jon took her hand and led her into the water. There were furtive glances shared between their group with the exception of Theon who was blatant with his leering. Myrcella noticed Jon's eyes linger on Elaena's body much longer than the Bracken girls. With her Valyrian blood, she shared an obvious resemblance with Daenerys and Visenya. Myrcella wondered which one came to Jon's mind. Or is he imagining them both?

Once the original intrigue of their shared nudity faded, they frolicked in the water. To Myrcella's disappointment, Rosamund remained on the beach and watched with a sullen expression on her face. She did her best to ignore her friend. The task was made easier with her company.

Theon clearly delighted at being the center of attention of the two Bracken sisters was the first to break away from their group. Myrcella spared a cursory look at Barbara. Mother may thank you for your help but if she ever found out about this, you wouldn't be allowed near Joffrey. To call Cersei protective of her firstborn was an understatement.

Robb and Elaena were enchanted with each other and swam some distance away where their words could not be overheard. That left Myrcella and Jon. She could not say who lead and who followed but they soon found themselves near the edge of the sandbar where the water deepened enough that she needed to tread water to stay afloat. Jon in contrast was tall enough that his head and the top of his shoulders remained above the water line.

"You float much better than your uncles," Jon joked.

Myrcella laughed. "Really? As far as I can recall, Uncle Jaime is an excellent swimmer and Gerion's made his life on the water." She had never seen Tyrion swim but assumed his disability made such a task more difficult if not impossible.

"They are fine swimmers sober but imagine three very drunk Lannisters getting thrown out of a brothel into the Rhoyne, clothes and all."

Her eyes widened. This was one story her uncles had not shared. "Did you rescue them all?"

Jon shook his head. "I had a hard enough time with Tyrion nearly pulling me under water. The other two would have drowned if Elaerys wasn't half mermaid." His smile lost some of its luster when he spoke the dead woman's name. It was the first time Myrcella heard him mention her. Her uncles occasionally spoke of the deceased Volantis girl but never in any great detail. Myrcella knew she had been some great beauty that enchanted the prince as well as won her uncles' approval but that was largely all. Elaerys' death weighed heavily on the group but none more so than Jon.

Myrcella patted his shoulder in comfort. "House Lannister is in her debt."

Jon gave a chortle. "Aye."

To lighten the mood she asked, "What did my uncle say to get you all thrown out?" For some reason she suspected the culprit was Tyrion.

Vigor seemed to return to Jon. "It is not a story a lady should hear."

Myrcella rolled her eyes. "Pretend I am not a lady then."

"Tyrion and Gerion ran up an enormous tab. The owner doubted they could pay it, no matter how many times the two repeated 'A Lannister always pays his debts.' On another, you all are entirely too fond of reminding everyone of your house's words."

She smiled widely. "Hear me roar, is our house's words. Commitment to our debts is just a reminder and I am Tully, you know?"

Jon played with a strand of her blonde hair. "This could have fooled me. As I recall you look a lot more like your mother than your father."

"And everyone who looks upon you would think Stark, well that is until they saw Syraxes." She batted her eyes. "But don't worry, I like brunettes more than blondes."

Jon grinned. "Personally, I prefer blondes."

Her heart quickened but the cynic inside of her was quick to remind that included the Targaryen women as well. To save face she asked, "And then what did the owner do? Make them show the gold?"

Jon shook his head. "Oh no, your uncles were well short. Between Tyrion's whoring and Gerion's gambling, it is a wonder that we made it up river. So, short of gold and with Jaime too drunk to fight our way out, Gerion made a wager."

She hit his chest when he paused. "Well go on, what was the wager?"

Jon was laughing before he spoke. "He bet that Tyrion's cock was bigger than the owner's. Keep in mind that this man was well over six feet and nearly as wide."

Myrcella gaped. "So, my uncle hedged your lives on a silly bet?"

Jon waved her concern away. "Don't tell my mother."

"So, did they compare-" She made a motion with her hand.

"No, Tyrion whipped his cock out in full view of everyone. One of the whores said, 'that's definitely bigger' or so Tyrion claims. Either way, the owner was too embarrassed to prove otherwise and the three were thrown in the river."

They shared a long laugh. To save herself energy Myrcella gripped Jon's shoulder. His hand came around her waist and then she was pulled flush against him. The strength of his body was even more apparent as he pulled her to shallower waters. Myrcella bit her lip and took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself.

His lips pressing against hers negated that effort. They were soft but the action behind them came with a demand. She yielded for his tongue. He's a good kisser. She thought as their tongues played. When they parted the desire she felt was strongly reflected in Jon's eyes. A desire aimed at her.

The next time Myrcella was the one to initiate the kiss. Her hands stroked the sides of his face while his quickly traveled from her hips to her bottom. Rough fingers kneaded her cheeks. She hissed as her heated core came in contact with his abdomen.

"Jon." She moaned. He kissed the line of her jaw and then her neck. She tilted her head to grant him greater access. Jon palmed her buttocks and then lifted her from the water. A hiss escaped her mouth when he sucked on her nipple and then played with the bud between his teeth. His cock pointed skyward, the fat tip nudged between her cheeks.

All of her reservations were abandoned. If he wanted her here and now, then who was she to deny him? Let him claim me. I'll be his wife and give him strong sons. The thought made her core pulse. Septa Eglantine would have a heart attack if she could see me now. A delighted laugh slipped past her lips.

Jon paused to gaze upon her. His dark eyes were heavy with desire. It gave his face an almost predatorial look. "Is something the matter, my Lady?" Despite all his years in Essos, his accent still contained elements of that endearing Northern drawl.

Myrcella brushed away the wet locks that clung to his face. She kissed his lips once again. "Quite the opposite in fact. And you can call me by name you know, we are to be wed."

To her dismay, the words seemed to remind him of the reality of their situation. "I am sorry for taking too many liberties." She resisted his attempt to distance himself from her by wrapping her legs around his waist. A small groan of delight escaped his lips.

She nuzzled his neck and then pressed a kiss to the column of his throat. "Are they liberties if I am to belong to you?"

No one could say her prince lacked discipline for when he closed eyes and took a breath, a calm seemed to come upon him. With a firm resolve, he said, "There is no harm in waiting until our union is official." He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and then carefully unwrapped her legs from his waist.

Rather than argue, Myrcella nodded and tried to hide her disappointment. She should have been ecstatic, most often a woman needed to protect her virtue, yet she suspected the reason for Jon's hesitation was not for concern of her virtue. She remembered him telling her he did not believe in the Seven nor any of their teachings back at Casterly Rock. Four years spent in the depths of the Godless Essos would have hardly changed his perspective. Thoughts of his aunt or sister plague him. With his back turned to her he could not see her scowl.

She glanced across the water. Theon and Jayne were nowhere to be seen. A flash of silver and auburn revealed Robb and Elaena. The two were entirely too close to be truly virtuous though they were too far down the beach for her to discern the extent of their passion. Do they place such high value on a girl's maidenhead in Lys as they do here in Westeros? If Elaena still has hers it might guarantee her Winterfell. Myrcella snorted in derision. It would be the quickest betrothal in history. If only we all could be so lucky.

Barbara and Rosamund stared at Jon with wide eyes when he emerged from the water. Both gave Myrcella a gesture of approval when Jon looked away to pull on his shorts. Rosamund was still clothed and sweating while Barbara lounged naked. Her skin glistened from the oil she applied. Barbara gave her a pointed look. As if to say, well why aren't you on your back?

Myrcella flushed and grabbed the vial of oil and then sat next to Jon. His eyes were fixated on her as she applied the oil. He lazed back beneath the shade they constructed over their nest of towels. "You remain a temptation," He said with a groan.

She wrapped his arm around her and pressed against his side. Her leg she placed over his so that she was curled around him. The oil made their skin glide together. Jon's fingers rested low on her spine at the beginning of the curve of her bottom. His chest she used as a pillow and his heart hammered beneath her ear.

Her own desire made her want to press the issue. She was almost sure he could not stand to refuse her again. There is power between your legs. The truth of her mother's words was evident in how tense Jon was. Do I know how to wield it? A rejection here could be disastrous. He could think her a harlot if she was too forward.

Robb and Elaena returned before she could decide upon her next course of action. They both wore wide almost satisfied smiles though Robb's turned abashed in response to Jon's light teasing. Myrcella had to suppress a laugh when Robb pulled on his shorts before sitting next to Jon. Elaena didn't bother with clothes. Her wet skin pressed against Myrcella's side.

"Do you mind oiling my back?" The beautiful woman asked her. She laid upon her stomach before an answer was given. Elaena's skin was unsurprisingly soft beneath Myrcella's fingers. Dutifully she massaged the oil across Elaena's back. Her skin had taken a light bronze due to the sun but thankfully showed no signs of redness. A soft sound escaped Elaena's lips. Myrcella leaned down to hear her better.

"I wager they are staring at us," Elaena whispered. She was turned away from the boys. Myrcella glanced at Jon and Robb. They had indeed paused their conversation to stare. Elaena giggled when Myrcella told her. "You two would make cute babies. Robb tells me that he is a stubborn one though so look out for that. Pretty though, I didn't think the North made men like that."

When they made their return to Driftmark Jon seemed determined to work off his frustrations in the training yard. A Targaryen Prince with a sword in hand drew a crowd. Maekar was present still as if he had never left.

"Ah, so the princeling is back for another arse-kicking. This morning wasn't enough?" Maekar questioned loudly.

Jon's response was measured. "As I recall, I gave you some bruises as well though they may be hidden under all that fat."

Maekar laughed bodily. "You'll have to hit a bit harder to bruise me, princeling." Guardsman, knights and their squires filled the yard and arranged themselves in a semi-circle around the pair. Myrcella and her ladies sat on the small stands that overlooked the grounds. There were even passing servants who paused to watch the impending duel.

And then their duel began. Maekar was older, stronger and incredibly fast despite his size. Myrcella winced each time Maekar pressed the attack with his greatsword. They wore steel helms and padded gambesons with plates to protect their shins and feet but the two fought with a ferocity that resembled real combat. Aegon's leg had been shattered in a melee, she did not wish the same fate for Jon.

The first two rounds ended in Jon's sound defeat. Theon cheered loudly for Maekar as did most of the yard. Rather than grow frustrated, Jon calmly swapped his blunted longsword for a spear.

Maekar laughed. "I fancied you a swordsman?"

Jon spun the spear deftly and took a wide stance. "I fancy myself a warrior." He replied. Maekar grunted and lowered his faceplate. They met again in a clash of steel, but this time was different. Her betrothed kept Maekar at a distance with the spearhead, punishing him with quick stabs aimed at the gaps in his armor whenever the man tried to close the gap.

Maekar grew visibly frustrated at such a tactic and on the next thrust aimed for his faceplate he parried and lunged forward. Jon must have anticipated such a move for his feet shifted and he brought his spear up to block the blow. Maekar pressed the advantage. His greatsword moved at speed colliding with the wood of the spear haft with an audible thwack.

Jon was thrown off his feet when Maekar's shoulder barged into him. He hit the dirt hard and Maekar's sword point was at his throat before he could recover. Elaena applauded loudly for her brother.

"Yield," Maekar demanded.

Jon groaned in pain. "Yield," he answered. The big man helped him to his feet.

"Next time, Princeling," Maekar said with a fair amount of respect.

Jon nodded. "Aye, next time."

Her betrothed pulled off his helm. His hair was slick with sweat and he looked exhausted. Yet the light of the low sun reflected off the sea beyond the walls framing him in a light of red and gold. Myrcella thought he never looked more handsome than he did now. His eyes almost looked indigo.

"I don't think I have another one in me today," Jon admitted.

Maekar laughed and patted Jon's shoulder. "Neither do I, so now we drink."

Drink the men did. Jon may have matched Maekar in the training yard, but it was clear her betrothed was not built to be a heavy drinker. Maekar's booming laughter filled the hall. "The dragon can't hold his drink!"

Jon's fist slammed against the table. "I-I caaan!" He slurred.

Maekar shook his head. He looked to Robb. "Stark! Redeem your cousin. "

Aerion who sat at the other end of the table rolled his eyes. "Give it a rest Maekar. You outweigh everyone at this table by at least a hundred pounds."

Maekar glared at his older brother quelling him into silence. Once Maron returned his attention to his cup of wine, Maekar turned his head towards Robb once again. "Don't think I haven't noticed you staring at my little sister. If you want my blessing, I need to know what kind of man you are. The worst ones I find can't swing a sword for shit and are lousy drinkers."

Elaena rolled her eyes. "He doesn't need your blessing for anything."

The look Maekar gave his sister was much softer than the one he sent Aerion's way. "Quiet you."

Jon laughed. "Robb is good with a sword. He'll put you on your back with a lance, however."

Maekar slapped the table. "An endorsement from the princeling. Don't prove him wrong now Stark! And you Greyjoy, I'm sure I fucked your sister in the Stepstones. Yes, I see the resemblance now. Drink!"

Barbara pulled her away while the boys had their fun. The two exited the dining hall and walked a fair way down the connecting hallway. The Bracken girl pushed Myrcella into an alcove. Above them hung the silver seahorse of their hosts' house.

"Tonight is your perfect chance," Barbara whispered. "You haven't misplaced that potion I gave you."

Myrcella frowned. "No, it is in my chambers where it will remain. I don't need it."

Barbara stared at her as if she had grown a second head. "You cannot be serious?"

Myrcella's face twisted into a glare. "And if I am? You saw how he was with me today." He likes me. She would have spoken the words if they hadn't sounded so childish.

"Truly?" Barbara began with a mocking look. "Today I saw the two of you share a few laughs, flirt and smile endlessly. Perhaps there is already something there or a promise of something that could grow. That is good. We do not want either of you to be miserable for the rest of your lives but if you don't want him to abandon your betrothal on his first visit back to the capital then I suggest you start being realistic."

Myrcella winced. The words shouldn't have hurt but they did. "That won't happen."

Barbara agreed. "Yes, it will not happen if he takes your maidenhead. The reason why he stopped himself from going too far is because he is well aware of the consequences. If he was fully committed to marrying, you then he would have fucked you on the beach. You may not like it, but you know I speak the truth."

Myrcella sighed. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. "It just feels wrong using such methods."

Barbara patted her shoulders. The girl may have intended it to be a comfort but Myrcella found such a gesture to be condescending. "Today it may feel wrong, but you do it still will when measured against your mother's and grandfather's pride? Or how about when you see your son take his first flight on his very own dragon? This is for the best of your family and the realm. Remember, Family. Duty. Honor."

There was no honor to be found tonight, of that Myrcella, was sure. Barbara's plan was simple. The servants restocked each of their rooms with a flagon of water and wine. It was simple enough to slip into Jon's room and pour a few drops of the potion into his wine. Her mother's minion assured the concoction was potent enough that Jon would be unable to resist its effects. To push aside her reservations, Myrcella focused on the duty to her family. Still, she wondered if her grandfather was aware of what her mother expected of her. Much to her dismay, she could not be certain whether he would disapprove.

"I'll make sure the Prince isn't too drunk to perform, no that it matters with that potion, but I imagine you want a conscious partner. All you need to do is be there when we guide him back to his rooms."

And so Myrcella sat on Jon's bed in her silk and lace nightgown with a nearly sheer robe atop of it. She had bathed before dinner and had the time to brush her hair till it shone like gold and apply her finest perfume. On her neck she bore the emerald choker. To calm her nerves, she had a glass… or three of Jon's wine preceding the addition of her chemical helper. A fourth nearly full glass sat on the bed stand beside her, just in case it was needed. Briefly, she considered forgoing clothing all together but abandoned the notion nearly as quick as it came. Much too forward. If possible, she would secure her betrothal without the use of the spiked wine.

The sun had already descended below the horizon so now the room was lighted by several small candles that filled the chamber with a soft light. Jon's bed was canopied with drapes the color of plum and sheets as black as the midnight sky.

In order to give pretext as to why she was in his room before she sat an ornate board game called Cyvasse. The game had been a gift from her Uncle Gerion and she had played both him and Tyrion half a hundred times since their return. Jon isn't particularly good at the game, but he does enjoy it. Tyrion had told her. She hoped it would be enough for him to not send her away immediately.

Jon's eyes widened comically when he stepped into the room. "Myrcella?" He questioned, his voice colored by surprise. "Barbara said you had already gone to bed."

Myrcella had practiced her response several times in her head. "Just a nap." She gestured to the board set before her. "I hope you are not too tired to play a game of Cyvasse."

A smile came across Jon's face. "I did not know you played."

"I am just a beginner," she lied. Tyrion was a better player than her though not by much. She patted the bed in invitation. "I am sure you have much to teach me."

Jon lingered at the door. For a few moments, he looked less assured than his usual self, torn between accepting her offer or turning her away. Myrcella said nothing. She knew from watching her mother that often times the best way to entice a man was to simply wear a smile and let her beauty do the rest. His eyes scanned her body, lingering for a long moment on her bare legs.

"You look beautiful," he told her. The bed dipped as he settled across from her.

"Thank you. You are not so bad yourself." She grinned.

Jon looked to the Cyvasse board. He ran his long fingers over an ivory dragon. "What type of beginner are you? Tyrion claimed himself a beginner in Volantis and was soon running the parlors."

Myrcella batted her eyes and feigned innocence. "I guess you'll just have to see, won't you?"

A screen separated their sections of the board. Cyvasse contained ten different types of pieces of varying number and power. It was meant to be a game representative of war and strategy and so each piece represented the type of forces that a field commander might have at his disposal. Rabble were both the weakest and most numerous. They represented the common folk; farmers and peasantry that might be conscripted into battle. Next were spearmen and crossbowmen and then cavalry, light and heavy. Siege weapons, the catapults, and trebuchets, were vulnerable to the weaker forces on the board but were also the greatest threat to the most powerful pieces as well. The elephants were the most powerful of all mounted forces but were vulnerable still to the dragon. Finally, there was the king, only as powerful as a single heavy horseman but also the most valuable piece in the game. If he was killed, then the game was over.

Perhaps underestimating her or the very least wanting to make a quick end of their game, Jon began with an entirely too aggressive strategy. He led with his dragon, flying over the mountains that separated their forces and incinerating a vast portion of her rabble and light cavalry. Myrcella allowed him this, cognizant that his cavalry lagged behind his dragon. She even sacrificed an elephant so that his beast would slow to feed. And then she spun her trap. Two of her trebuchets were just in range to strike. Jon watched in quiet shock as his dragon was felled.

Myrcella tilted her head and flashed him a small, triumphant smile. "Sorry, Syraxes," she said cheekily.

Jon's stare was appreciative. "It seems your ability was a bit understated."

"Oh, I am sure there is more you can teach me," She replied smartly.

Despite his newfound handicap, Jon was not a simple opponent to defeat. Her invasion into his territory was heavily contested and each advance she made was not without sacrifice. Still, after nearly an hour of play, her dragon feasted upon his king. Triumphant, Myrcella sipped from her glass of wine. It was too bitter for her to enjoy but she could not afford for the night to be ruined because her nerves got the best of her.

"Another game?" She asked him. They were both stretched across the bed facing one another. The strap of her dress slipped low on one shoulder nearly baring a nipple. She could see the desire plain in Jon's eyes. Still, he does not act. It was not due to fear. Myrcella had become well accustomed to boys who blushed, stammered and stumbled in her presence. Jon acted nothing like the sons of the Riverlords or her uncle Kevan's boys.

Jon sighed and ran hand through his hair. The loose brown locks hovered near his shoulder. "Perhaps it is best if we do not, the hour grows late."

Myrcella pouted. "I did not know we had a curfew to abide by." By now her glass was near empty. The wine made her limbs feel light and it took an effort to not smile constantly. Almost unbidden her foot rose, and her toes caressed Jon's thigh. To her surprise, Jon gripped her ankle and pulled her closer.

Dark eyes peered down at her. First studying her face and then fixating upon her lips. His rough hand left her ankle to travel up her leg. This close to him and her heart threatened to beat a hole through her chest. "I say this with honesty. You are beautiful Myrcella. Very much so. And how you tempt me, but I know what game you are playing. The question is did your grandfather alone put you up to this or does my father have a role?"

Myrcella swallowed. "I do not know what you mean."

Jon cocked a brow. "Truly? This gown and waiting in my room, on my bed? The girl I remembered from Casterly Rock would have never been so bold."

"The girl from Casterly Rock would have thought you had forgotten her. Especially after you absconded to Essos with her uncles," she countered with more zeal in her voice than she intended.

Jon closed his eyes in regret. "I owe you an apology, though my flight was not because I found any fault in you. Quite the contrary. You were… you are a woman that any man would be proud to have on his arm. Your beauty, your intelligence… it is a rare and pleasant combination. Your husband would be made all the better with you standing beside him."

"But," she provided.

His dark eyes were filled with sadness. For her or his own, she did not know. "I am sure your uncles have told you what happened in Essos. I had a lover there despite my promise to stay committed to Daenerys. Many would have labeled her my paramour, but she was more than that. Yet I could not let Daenerys go. How could I? I've loved her from the first moment I saw her. That commitment ultimately ruined any happiness Elaerys and I had. If she had lived, I would have been forced to choose between her and Daenerys. I don't know what choice I would have made." "

"You have been away for four years; how do you even know she feels the same?" Myrcella questioned sharply.

Jon nodded. "I do not know for sure, but I do hope. Daenerys and I are both the blood of the dragon, our love for each other is not something that is fleeting or frivolous."

Desperation and anger drove her. She kissed him with all the passion she could muster. Her body molded around his. Despite his words his desire for her was evident. Instead of pushing her away, his hand gripped her waist while his lips responded to her own. "Daenerys is married, and she did not come to see you. It has been nearly two months since you landed on Dragonstone and you have not heard a word from her. I am here and I want you." She kissed him again and again. Between kisses she said, "You do not need to pretend to love me. That will come with time." Her hand brushed his cheek. "And I know it will come. Marry me and let us join our houses. Targaryen, Stark, Lannister and Tully who could challenge us?"

Jon kissed her to silence. He sat up and pulled her into his lap. Her bare core came in contact with his turgid length. She was sure she was soaking the fabric of his pants. His hands palmed her breasts through her nightgown. A moment later her outer robe fell to the floor.

Myrcella would not allow him the time for second thoughts. Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt while her tongue dueled his for dominance. Still, Jon paused for a breath. He craned his neck backward, staring at the ceiling. "We should stop," he said. She was sure he meant to convince himself.

"Why?" She asked pointedly. "Our union was agreed upon years ago. What difference does waiting make now?"

Jon swallowed heavily. "Daenerys is not the type to share."

That bitch does not deserve your devotion. Then she thought of Visenya, and at that moment Myrcella knew she had the key to win. "Then you will be breaking your sister's heart." Jon's eyes turned sharp at the mention of Visenya. It cautioned Myrcella on how careful she needed to be. This dragonlord was incredibly protective of his baby sister. "She's in love with you. That much is clear to anyone who has paid any attention to you two."

He tried to deny it. "Visenya is just-"

"A jealous Targaryen sister who fears that I will steal her brother from her when he has only just returned after for years away. Do you think I am blind to the glares she sends my way? Perhaps part of her ire is due to her guilt at desiring the man she was supposed to protect for her best friend." Myrcella combed her fingers through Jon's hair. "I've seen the way you look at her as well. The little girl that was there four years ago is gone now replaced by a young woman you now desire." The latter half of her statement was simple speculation. Jon's affection for Visenya could be seen as brotherly but the two were closer than any siblings should be. If mother had married the king would I have a brother like Jon instead of Joffrey? Her betrothed did nothing, said nothing to deny her words. She whispered in his ear, "I don't mind, I've known for months that I would need to share you. I am not Margaery Tyrell; my sons can wed Visenya's daughters and we can be a family. It is for the good of the realm."

Shirtless, Jon rose from the bed and padded over on bare feet to the pitcher of wine atop the nearby table. Myrcella watched him pour a glass and then proceed to take a long drought. He turned to stare at her. His dark eyes arrested her of all movement as if he was staring past her skin and gazing into her soul. Finally, after what seemed a small eternity Jon said, "Aye, you must be nothing like her."

She made to lift the nightgown above her head, but Jon stopped her. "Leave it," he commanded. There was no hesitation present in the way he kissed her. His tongue did not ask to slip past her lips. It demanded. She yielded to him. He pulled her from the bed, his hands dipped below her waist to play with her bottom. "No small clothes I see," Jon chuckled. A gasp escaped her lips when his thumb stroked her rosebud.

He smirked against her lips. "No one has ever touched you there?"

She shook her head. A portion of her confidence left her. "You are the first. First for everything."

"If you are to be my wife then I will have you every way a man can have a woman."

Myrcella licked her lips. She wondered if such a statement was meant to scare her away. "A good wife does many things to please her husband. I mean to be a great wife."

Jon's eyes flashed. His rough hands danced across her back and up her spine before finding her shoulders. He guided her to her knees. A flush spread up her neck and across her cheeks. Prove it, his eyes said.

Her fingers worked at the laces of his pants all the while his fingers played with her curls. His cock sprang into view, long and fat. The bulbous tip wept a clear fluid. She helped him step free of his pants and small clothes. He stood before her gloriously nude. A battle-hardened warrior and soon to be her husband. And with luck the father of my children.

She kissed his tip, smearing the clear fluid across her lips. Curious at how he tasted, her tongue swiped across his cockhead, teasing the slit until she could taste her prize. His groan pierced the silence of the room when her lips enveloped his cockhead. Myrcella suckled his tip while her right hand fondled his sack. She tried her best to not break his gaze even while she bobbed her head to take him deeper. While this was her first time pleasuring a man, her mother had seen to it that she would not be unknowledgeable, going as far as to show her how to practice such a technique on wooden phalluses of various length. To both her delight and dismay Jon was bigger both in length and girth than her mother's largest wooden phallus. Too soon his cock threatened to invade her throat while her lips enveloped less than half of him.

Myrcella pulled back to breathe. A string of saliva disconnected from his cock to settle upon her chin. Her fist circled his shaft, spreading the wetness so her palm could make a circular glide. He was thick enough at his widest point that her fingers barely touched, long enough that she would need a third hand to cover his entirety.

Her nose flared in determination. She pulled him back into her warm wet mouth. Her head she worked side to side as she bobbed on his cock. Jon grunted. His cock flexed in her mouth, once again threatening to invade her throat. With a deep breath through her nostrils, Myrcella swallowed. His wide tip forced its way into her throat.

"Fuck!" Jon grunted in shock. His hips bucked while his grip on the back of her head tightened. A sense of victory flowed through her veins as her lips neared his root. She pulled back to his head and then repeated the deep plunge. Over and over again until a river of hot seed flooded her throat.

Her betrothed stared down at her in what must have been amazement. Pride and embarrassment flowed through her in equal concentrations. To her surprise, he pulled her from her knees and kissed her roughly.

After a time, he pulled away from her lips and passed her his glass of wine. Myrcella blushed in understanding. She drank deeply from the glass, wondering what effect if any, would the potion have on her.

Once the glass was drained Jon tasted her mouth once again. She whimpered when his long fingers slid down her belly to find her core. Jon's dark eyes studied her expression, watching as she quivered when he played with her clit. With his other hand, he gripped her bottom.

Held in place all Myrcella could do was clutch her betrothed as he demanded her pleasure. When she was dead and buried, she would need to thank her prince's dead lover in the afterlife for the woman had taught him well. His long fingers put her own to shame. A sob escaped her when he slid one such digit into her greedy cunt.

"Cum for me," he demanded. Myrcella bit her lip. Her legs spread so he would have the space necessary to pump her faster. "Now," he growled. A shudder worked through her and her walls clamped down hard on his finger.

Breathless from her climax, Myrcella was slow to react as he slid said finger into her mouth. Jon smiled. "You taste better?" She nodded as she sucked his finger dutifully. Satisfied Jon pulled the digit from her mouth before dipping it back between her legs. Her cunt pulsed when he tasted her himself.

Jon carried her to the bed. She fell to her back. Her nightgown bunched about her waist when she spread her slim thighs baring her sopping wet core for his inspection. Myrcella squirmed under his gaze. She palmed a breast to give herself some relief. Desire threatened to make her insane. "Please," she begged.

He climbed over her, pushing aside her nightgown so he could kiss her breast. By instinct her hips tilted, feet resting against his buttocks. Myrcella cried out as his fat tip split her nether lips and his length sank inside. Jon did not stop until his cock was buried in its entirety. Pleasure and pain lanced through her body. Heavy balls smacked against her arse as he fucked her. The room was filled with squelching noises and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Jon's fingers found her clit once again. The sensation was enough to take her mind off the pain as he plunged into her.

Hear me roar. Myrcella thought as she peaked. The clenching of her cunt on his cock was even more intense. Jon fucked her through her climax, riding her relentlessly until he spilled deep inside of her.

They both shuddered in their passion's aftershocks. Sex and the latent humidity of the room drenched their bodies in sweat. Jon remained buried inside of her. He tilted her head to kiss her lips. She squeaked as he gave her a small thrust.

Her lover began again without much pause. Myrcella clung to him desperately, her nails bit deep into his back. Jon did not seem to mind the pain, or he ignored it entirely. His eyes were closed and his face awash with pleasure. She felt his cock swell, the sharp kiss of it against the back of her cunt. He must have been half-mad with wine and pleasure for he hooked her thighs above his shoulders and bent her in half. Just before he spilled, she heard a whisper of a name. A name that was not hers.

She woke nude and alone in a disheveled bed. The blinds were drawn, plunging the room into darkness save for the silver of sunlight that pierced the gap. "Jon?" She called out but no answer came. He had left her. Dejected she curled in his sheets.

When she woke again, sunlight streamed through the windows unimpeded. Jon sat at the foot of the bed. His hair hung in partially dried ropes about his neck. He was already dressed for the day, a short-sleeved tunic and dark pants. To her surprise, a tray of food lay in front of him. Eggs, fresh bread, roasted fish and a sliced apple.

Her apprehension must have been plain for his look was almost apologetic. "Forgive me, you looked so peaceful that I did not want to wake you."

She sat up further. Jon eyes flickered to her breasts before finding her eyes once again. Myrcella rearranged her hair so they were partially veiled. It was stupid to be concerned for her modesty now, but it was a feeling she could not dismiss. To alleviate the tension Myrcella said, "Thank you for the meal."

Jon nodded and remained silent. To her relief, he remained on the bed.

Myrcella tried to focus on her food. Instead, her eyes could not help but flicker to Jon. "Are you not hungry?" She asked.

"I have already eaten." He stole a slice of an apple from her plate. Myrcella smiled at him. She gathered her courage and scooted closer to him. Jon accepted her advanced and wrapped an arm around her waist as she rested her head against his chest. He pressed his nose into her hair. "You smell nice," he told her.

"You jest, I know that I need to bathe." Her hair was a tangled mess and she could feel a layer of dried sweat on her skin. Not to mention, the stickiness of Jon's dried seed between her legs.

"I do not." He was insistent. His hand curled around her belly. Despite the soreness between her legs, she felt the stirrings of desire.

"I do not know whether to be flattered or question your sense of smell?" She cocked a brow at him.

Jon squeezed her hipbone. "Eat your food and I'll ask the staff to prepare a bath."

She wrapped a hand around his wrist. "Can you stay? At least for now. Please."

Stay with her he did.

Myrcella ate sparingly. Her tumultuous thoughts largely ruined her appetite. The water she drank helped wet her dry throat but only for a moment. "I know I am not your first choice for a wife, that you would rather your father and my grandfather not have forced us together. You likely think last night was a mistake-" She thought of the name he whispered in the throes of his passion and the rest of her speech stalled before leaving her lips.

Jon titled her chin, so he could peer directly into her eyes. "If last night was a mistake then it was a pleasant one." He kissed her lips. "I owe your uncles my life. I will not repay them by dishonoring their favorite niece. When we wed, I will strive to be a worthy husband."

His words were all that she could hope for. There should have been a sense of victory for finally securing their betrothal, but it was a pyrrhic one at best. Her mother and grandfather would be pleased, even more so if their coupling resulted in a child. Strangely, all she could think of was Joffrey's sneer. He will make you his whore and call you his wife, but he will never love you. Not like his sisters.

Jon's words stirred her from her thoughts. "I am returning to Dragonstone today."

They had agreed to stay at Driftmark at the very least for another day, though Robb had last night floated the idea of staying here longer. "Is there something amiss?"

"Not anything serious. Senya sent a raven this morning asking me to come home. The others can stay here as planned," Jon told her.

Myrcella tried to hide her displeasure. And so, it begins. "Can she not come here?"

Jon shrugged. "Her letter says she has news for me." The matter was already decided. She did not think it was her place to argue.

"When will you leave?" Was it too much if she asked to come with him? She was sure he would not mind the company on the sail back.

"Soon, Syraxes is already here."

Her eyes widened. How did she sleep through the excitement of a dragon's arrival? "What time is it?"

"An hour past midday," Jon answered with a slight smirk. He looked satisfied at leaving her so lacking vigor. "I'd say you should be well rested now."

Myrcella smiled softly. "Thank you for speaking with me before leaving." She hated to think if he had not done so.

"I also came to ask if you would like to accompany me? The others are with Elaena and Maron visiting Hull if you do wish to stay."

Myrcella shook her head enthusiastically. Feeling bold, she kissed found his lips with her own. "I'd be a fool to turn down a ride on a dragon."

Flying on the back of a dragon was a far superior way to travel, Myrcella decided. The rush of air through her hair and clothing was a soothing feeling. Once one became accustomed to the lurch in their stomach that occurred whenever the dragon changed direction, then the view below could be appreciated. Even her fear of falling was abated. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Jon's torso while her legs were anchored to the saddle by sturdy straps behind Jon's. An iron chain served as the dragon's reins, held loosely in hand by Jon.

They reached Driftmark in under an hour. Far faster than any ship could hope to match but a seemingly leisurely pace for Syraxes. Visenya, Arya and Joy were present in the stables that had been set aside for the dragon. The direwolves were with them, forming a guard fiercer than any Kingsguard. Jon was the first to dismount, undoing his straps and sliding from Syraxes with ease. He had barely helped her from Syraxes' back before Visenya leaped into his arms.

Jon laughed at his sister's exuberance. He held Visenya with ease. "I've only been gone two days."

Visenya pulled back from her hug to cup Jon's face. Her storm grey eyes shined brightly. "Mother is pregnant!" She all but screeched.

A wide grin split across Jon's face. "Truly?"

Arya spoke, "The wolves were first to know. They are even more protective of Aunt Lyanna than normal. They will not let anyone approach her unless they knew them not to be a threat. She told us to take them away because they were scaring the castle's staff."

"Marwyn confirmed it! I won't be the baby of the family any longer," Visenya grinned.

"You will always be my baby sister." Jon teased. Visenya answered by sticking her tongue out at him. "Perhaps I'll get another one. This time one who is a little sweeter."

That drew a laugh from all of them. "Senya hasn't stopped talking about how she wants a little brother," Arya said.

"I think our parents would name him Aemon but Daeron has a nice ring to it. Or perhaps Jacaerys. Jaehaerys and Jacaerys, Jae and Jace." She made a satisfied sound. "Yes, that has a nice ring to it." Visenya paid serious attention to the thought. "What do you think?" She asked her brother.

"Well if we get a sister then by that logic, Viserra is the only choice. Visenya and Viserra, Senya and Serra," Jon answered. Visenya curled her nose.

"What about a Stark name? Lyarra Targaryen has a nice ring to it," Arya added.

"No offense to our late grandfather but Rickard Targaryen is a terrible combination," Visenya said. She had yet to release Jon and instead was pressed against his side. Jon was visibly delighted by his sister's affection and held her close with an arm around her shoulders.

"Alysanne is a pretty name," Joy added quietly.

Arya beamed at her. "Too bad our Visenya has claim to this Jaehaerys." The words drew a fierce blush from Visenya.

"Has father been made aware?" Jon asked, interrupting their teasing.

Visenya shook her head, her silver-gold braid waved behind her. The three girls were all dressed similarly in riding leathers. "No, mother barely believes the news herself. She says this is too important of news to share by letter."

Jon nodded. "Father would be happy to hear it from us in person."

Visenya's brow arched. She peered up at her brother. "Us? Does that mean you're well enough to go to King's Landing?"

"I was well enough to lose a half a dozen duels and my ribs only ache in the mornings. I think it is time." He turned to Arya. "And I need to ask Lord Stark to let you stay in the South with us for a while. Neither I or Visenya wish to see you go."

Arya bit her lip. "But first, can I have a ride on Syraxes?" She looked in Myrcella's direction pointedly as if to say, she had one.

Jon agreed. "I had a surprise planned for you in King's Landing, but I suppose a short flight won't ruin it."

Arya grinned widely and skipped over to Syraxes. Save for Jon and Marwyn, Visenya and Arya arguably spent the most time with the dragon. Such time bred familiarity between the girls and the beast for Syraxes gave Arya a curious sniff and then allowed her to stroke her muzzle. Myrcella did not fail to notice that Jon was watchful of the exchange, ready to spring into action if the need arose.

"Do you want to come Joy? You and Arya weigh just enough to count as one person," Jon asked. Myrcella remembered just how terrified Joy was at the sight of Syraxes on the ship. That had been eight weeks ago, now with Arya's example and Jon's reassurance, Joy hesitantly agreed.

Myrcella found herself alone with Visenya and the wolves when the trio took to the skies.

"How was Driftmark?" Visenya asked her. Those grey eyes of hers were sharp as daggers.

"Incredible," Myrcella answered in a challenge.

The simple answer seemed to infuriate Visenya. "You took advantage of him," the princess accused.

Myrcella swallowed her shock. Her reply was haughty. "Advantage? Of your brother? Are we thinking of the same man? We connected at Driftmark. Your brother was as much a willing participant as I."

"He is vulnerable. That is why you conspired to go to Driftmark away from my mother and I."

She is closer to the truth than she realizes. Myrcella continued her denial. "Your brother could have sent me away whenever he so chose. He did not." It would have been fruitless to escalate the argument, instead, Myrcella sought to disarm the situation. "You have never been my greatest fan, that is much is clear. I cannot decide if that is due to you not wanting to share your brother or me simply being the wrong woman to share him with. I am not your aunt, but I am here, and she is not. So, ask yourself this, it has been two months since Jon's arrival and Daenerys has not so much as sent a letter, who then, me or her, has more invested in Jon?"

Visenya remained stubborn. "Daenerys is our blood. She and Jon just need to speak and clear things between them."

Myrcella snorted in derision. "Am I not of your family? The Starks are my cousins just as much as yours. Regardless, your brother has already promised me that we will marry." The princess's eyes widened. She looked hurt by the news. She thought he'd send me away empty handed. Myrcella realized. The thought was infuriating. "Any children I bear him will look to you as their aunt. Now, since your unwarranted enmity of me does not look like it will end, I need to know if I should fear that you will emulate your namesake and place my children in danger."

A multitude of emotions played across the girl's face. It seemed she lacked the cool composure of her brother. "I would never!" She all but hissed.

Myrcella fixated a critical eye on her. "I wish I could believe that. So far you have shown me nothing but spite. You love your brother, that much is clear. I care for him and will be bound and committed to him for the rest of my life. Together, the three of us could be quite formidable. That is why King Rhaegar proposed such a union and why my grandfather accepted. I am not stupid enough to think I could stand in the way of two Targaryens nor am I willing to try. All I ask is that you treat me with the respect that I deserve."

Visenya's anger seeped away. She held Myrcella's stare for a long moment. "Jae is my brother and I will always want what is best for him. Prove that you want the same and then you will earn my respect." She turned sharply on her heel and stalked away. The three massive wolves followed after her.

Myrcella released a breath she did not realize she was holding. If she ever found out just how I seduced Jon, I have no doubt she'd kill me.

Jaehaerys Targaryen

Acrid smoke burned the insides of his lungs. A brutal cold wind stung the skin of his face and cut like a knife through his clothing. Valyria, Jon thought at first but the chill in the air was entirely alien from the perpetual warmth of the Lands of Always Summer. He was atop a lone hill amidst a grassland as vast any sea. A ring of fire was around him. His vision was marred by black smoke. The taste of blood was in his mouth, Judgement was in his fist, stained with gore.

Blood red eyes appeared before him and then came the sullied form of Ghost. The direwolf's normally pristine fur was marred by soot and blood. Jon ran his fingers through Ghost's fur when the wolf brushed against his side. He moved through the hellscape without any sense of direction. There were bodies visible in his peripheral. Limbs separated from horses and the men who rode them were strewn across the ground.

One such body drew his attention. A flash of blonde hair drew him to her. The jeweled choker around her throat erased any doubt, even if her face was made unrecognizable. His knees hit the grass. He heard Syraxes land near him, much too small to ride but dangerous enough to burn and destroy. Jon cradled the body to his chest.

"Father?" A child's voice asked.

"No," Jon said through clenched teeth.

"Why didn't you save her?" Another child asked. The second voice was even younger.

"Why didn't you save us?" They asked together.

Jon struggled for a reply. Aemon and Daenys were before him. Both beautiful and corpse-like. What could have been and what he would never have. Aemon, his son who would have been a warrior that eclipsed his father was tall for a boy of ten. Dressed in dark pants and a gilded tunic, with a cape pinned to one shoulder. Daenys held her elder brother's hand, a young beauty in a white dress with flowers in her hair. They grew before his eyes, first the children he had loved and sorely missed and then in only a moment they were as old as he and Visenya. Aemon's eyes were hard and his face stern while Daenys bore a sad smile with tears that threatened to fall.

"Was Daenerys more important than us, father?" Aemon asked. His tone was bitter.

"You loved her more than mother," Daenys stated. "And that killed her. That killed us."

Aemon's face twisted with rage. "You don't deserve to be happy. I hope uncle kills you."

Daenys nodded in agreement. A tear slipped down her cheek. "Never forget us, father. Never forget the price you made for her. I hope it was worth it."

Visenya's grey eyes peered down at him, filled with worry. He skin was pale, pink and warm. A curtain of fine silver-gold hair hid the rest of the world from his sight. Dainty fingers wiped the tears from his cheek.

"Jae?" Visenya questioned, her voice ripe with concern. He didn't answer her immediately, instead, he took the time to examine her. Her hair was mussed from sleep, a simple frayed braid that only added to her beauty despite its disarray. She was the picture of sweetness he decided. Even more so when her pink lips curved upward. The sight was enough to calm his racing heart.

A surge of affection raced through him and he pulled her into a tight hug. Visenya surrendered into his embrace. They held each other in silence for the better part of an hour. Jon stroked her back and breathed in her scent. His sister washed before bed without fail. Her fresh scent was a welcome contrast to the ashen ones that plagued his dreams.

"Thank you, little sister," It was not the first dream that plagued him. They were often so vivid it was hard to reconcile what was real and what was due to his imagination. He had never actually met Aemon and Daenys but the memories of them and the affection he felt was as real as any.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked him.

Jon shook his head. The dreams were traumatic enough without repeating them. He knew Visenya was disappointed by his silence, so he squeezed her hip through her nightdress and pulled her into another hug. "Your presence is enough." The words were true. She was quickly becoming his main link to reality and perhaps his sanity.

She grumbled but settled deeper into his embrace. His arm wrapped around her back while she hooked a bare leg over his hip to press against his side. Such an action drew a heavy swallow from him. Unlike Myrcella, Visenya was entirely unaware of the effect her beauty had. It had been easy enough for him to ignore the changes four years had brought to his sister when they were first reunited but after his nights on Driftmark, his body was no longer satisfied with celibacy.

He should have felt guilty think about his baby-sister in such a manner, but Jon supposed his father was the one who implanted such thoughts when proposing a marriage between him and Visenya. I suppose you're a Targaryen after all. Robb had joked when he learned of the news. Arya teased Visenya relentlessly whenever their impending marriage was mentioned but both cousins remained largely supportive.

It only makes sense. I love Arya and Sansa, but I don't spend half the time with them you do Visenya. Let alone let them sleep in my bed. Robb had joked with a sly grin. Jon had returned the ribbing ten-fold with Robb's obvious affection for Elaena Velaryon. He wondered just how close the two had gotten when he and Myrcella departed Driftmark.

Despite their cousins' support (and their mother's strange silence on the matter) Jon and Visenya had not spoken about what would happen when they returned to King's Landing. Part of him still wanted to spite his father's plans but that notion had largely failed when he succumbed to Myrcella's seduction. Not marrying the girl after he had his way with her would cause more problems for their family than if he had refused her outright. I am not Aegon Unworthy. He would not dishonor his sister, but he wanted her all the same. Two months of nights spent with Visenya had morphed his protectiveness for her into something more. She reminded him of Daenerys, all those years ago. Sweet and innocent, with their queen mother's beauty and a touch of her fierceness. Such a combination was tantalizing, more so than even the incredible beauty Myrcella possessed.

He gazed upon his sister's sleeping form wondering if he was mad for wanting to claim her as his. A naïve boy lost Daenerys, I will not make the same mistake again. His hand roamed across her back, feeling the surprisingly firm muscles beneath her shift. Like Arya, Visenya had enthusiastically taken to his lessons in hand to hand combat. They both were skilled and relentless in their riding and both were reflections of his mother, who herself was as skilled as many knights in the joust. It should have not come as a surprise that Visenya was so muscular, but she was also tiny. Only standing three inches above five feet with dainty hands and feet. Her body felt lean and supple beneath his hands.

You will not dishonor your sister. He reminded himself but it was his mother's stern face that flashed in his mind. Her worry of such an occurrence had increased when he returned to Dragonstone with Myrcella. His mother had voiced no questions, nor had he provided any answers, but the reality of the situation was obvious. It mattered not, the others had been sent ahead by ship to King's Landing while he and his sister lingered. A journey that took multiple days by ship could be completed in hours by a dragon. Myrcella had not wanted to leave his side but Syraxes could only carry two on such a prolonged journey.

Between his thighs, his cock throbbed insistently. It had been almost a week since he had Myrcella beneath him. A week of no relief paired with the forbidden fruit curled around him. He adjusted himself so he was no longer poking her leg and then gently shook his sister awake.

A dim candle burned in the corner of their room, providing enough light that they could discern the details of each other's faces. Visenya blinked away the confusion bred by sleep. "Jae?" She questioned.

"Time to get up, Senya." It was the fourth day since the others had departed. They would soon be making dock. Jon had estimated Syraxes fast enough that they would arrive above King's Landing mid-morning. Knowing his father, their welcome would be massive.

In response, Visenya curled tighter against him. "Sleep more." She whispered cutely.

Jon carefully extracted himself from his sister's embrace. She curled around his pillow in protest. He watched her for a long moment before dressing. His first appearance in court after four long years away needed to be sufficiently powerful or so his father had stated. Apparently arriving on dragonback was not enough. So, Jon dressed for war.

He had thought the black scaled armor lost in Volantis but apparently, his ancestors had stockpiled such equipment in their long years on Dragonstone. The scaled breastplate, pauldrons, shin guards and vambraces were near identical to the ones he once owned, though this time they shimmered red and gold in the sunlight. Beneath he wore dark grey silks with a crimson sash tied around his waist. Two golden-dragon-heads clasped his red cloak to his shoulder. Emblazoned on it was the black three-headed-dragon of his house. Judgement he buckled at his waist with a dagger to accompany it. His hair he kept loose.

Gently he woke his sister again. "How do I look?" He asked her as she blinked away sleep.

She stared at him for a long moment. Her face reddened. "Like a dragonlord."

Jon smiled and kissed her brow. "This dragonlord is waiting for his sister. Unless she wants me to leave without her."

The sun had not yet risen when they broke their fast. Water, apples, dried nuts and cold strips of bacon would sate their hunger until they landed. He would not be surprised if there was a feast waiting.

There was no battledress that fit his sister. Instead, she wore a beautiful long-sleeved gown of silk and samite. It was colored red and gold with black dragons embroidered upon its sleeves and high neckline. Her silver hair was redone in a neat braid while a short crimson cloak spilled from her shoulders.

Syraxes awaited them in the stable that had been cleared for her sole use. Despite her preference for the hunt, Jon had ordered her fed the night prior. She was easier to control with her hunger sated and brimming with eager energy.

Two of Marwyn's acolytes rushed to saddle Syraxes. They were the first of the new generation of Dragonsguard. An order birthed during the Maegor's reign but given greater structure by King Jaehaerys, tasked with the caretaking of the Targaryen dragons and their hatchlings. With the death of the last dragon during Aegon III's reign, the order had been made extinct. Now Marwyn sought to both revive them and improve them.

They saluted Jon once finished with their task. He ran his fingers over the high-quality leather of the saddle. It was another gift of Marwyn's, much better than any saddle he possessed in Essos. The stitch work was immaculate as were the pouches, buckles, and straps. Iron chains were anchored to Syraxes horns, serving as her reigns.

Syraxes lumbered out of her cover. The awakening light of the sun touched her silver-gold scales, sending a brilliant cascade of light in a thousand different directions. She gleamed like a polished jewel. A creature equal parts beautiful and deadly.

Jon helped Visenya into the saddle and then settled behind her. The Dragonsguards rushed to secure their legs.

Syraxes took to the skies with a single powerful snap of her wings. Visenya let out a cry of triumph that drew a roar from the dragon. Jon merely smiled. "So much for letting the people sleep."

"Oh hush." Visenya answered. She pointed down at the boats in the bay. "Fishermen always awake before dawn so they can to the best spots."

Jon squeezed her sides. "Know it all!" He shouted over the wind. The day was clear. A rising sun bathed the sea in red and gold.

"Someday we will race from Dragonstone to King's Landing," Visenya told him.

Jon grinned. "You better pray your dragon is fast." And then he gave the order. Syraxes flexed her wings and then their momentum increased. It took them minutes to pass over Driftmark and the many smaller isles that seeded the Blackwater appeared and disappeared over the horizon almost as quickly. His dragon could fly easily twice as fast as any raven. Perhaps even more so. The wind was so fierce with Syraxes at speed that they had to close their eyes. We need lenses to shield our eyes. He wondered if Myr made glass sturdy enough for such an application.

They flew for more than two hours before King's Landing appeared on the horizon. His heart gave a lurch when could make out the walls of the Red Keep atop Aegon's hill. The city sprawled beneath it, much smaller than Volantis and more orderly than the western half of the city. From Syraxes' back he could discern the progress made in deconstructing the monstrosity that was the Dragonpit. Tyrion has been hard at work. Jon observed.

Someone must have sighted them from the ground for a horn blew, followed closely by the bells of the Sept of Baelor. All seven of the bells in their crystal towers rung. Normally such an occasion marked the death of a king but this time it announced a new era for their family.

"Jon look!" Visenya pointed, excitement coloring her voice. He followed her finger. City folk gathered in Cobbler's Square, a location that was almost the center of the city. There were so many people that Jon wondered if the rest of the city had been empty. As Syraxes flew in lazy low circles above the city, the sounds of their cheers washed over them.

Finally, Jon guided Syraxes to the Red Keep. Two columns of Red Guards lined the pathway to the throne room. Even with all their training, many of them failed not to flinch as Syraxes landed amongst them.

"Are you ready, little sister?" Jon whispered into her ear. When she nodded, he gave the order, "Form up!" A dozen Red Guards filtered to either side of Syraxes. Their black helms and chainmail were polished to a sheen. Today each man bore tall spears and ornamental kite shields adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen. "Forward!" Jon ordered. Syraxes matched the pace of the guards and they entered as one through the massive doors of the throne room.

Shock and expressions of incredulity marked many of the faces present. Jon wondered just how many lords and their families lingered to see him and his dragon. Aegon had commissioned a hall fitting for the blood of dragonlords, reportedly a thousand people could stand in here comfortably. The hall was near full. Atop his dragon, Jon scanned the crowd with a stoic expression on his face.

The vibrancy of the Dornish host immediately drew his attention. He spied the incredibly beautiful Ashara Dayne who had been his first crush even before Daenerys. Near her was a short, sultry woman that could only be Arianne Martell. Aegon had once written to him about the beauty of his cousin and Jon found his brother's words lacking. Yet Arianne's dark eyes were anything but friendly. Beside her stood a tall woman as pale as a ghost, corpse-like with rat brown hair and a stump for a right arm. Obara. Jon realized. The hate in her eyes was palpable.

And then his eyes found Quentyn Martell. To his credit, the Prince of Dorne did not shy away from Jon's gaze. He kept his back straight and his jaw square. Still, Jon was less than impressed. Syraxes halted before the throne and the royal family.

Four Kingsguard stood at the base of the throne, two to either side. Their armor was silver-white and their cloaks as pure as freshly fallen snow. Such a sight reminded Jon of the three who had journeyed to Volantis with the original intent to rescue him. Have they shared any words with father? Volantis was two thousand miles away and there were no ravens between Essos and Westeros. Any news benign or sinister would come with a significant delay. Jon flexed his sword hand.

His father sat the throne. The very picture of what a king should look like. Atop his head sat the dark rubied crown of Aegon the Conqueror. His normally stoic face instead bore a smile filled with pride. Jon returned it in equal measure. Lyanna sat at the base of the throne in the consort's chair. A simple crown of gold sat on her head while her brown locks were allowed to spill freely about her shoulders. Even early in her pregnancy, Jon thought possessed the glow only a pregnant woman could. Flanking the royal family on either side were the Starks and Velaryons, Lannisters and Tullys. To Jon's dismay, Aegon and his new bride were entirely absent.

Rhaenys was present, tall and gleaming in black and gold. Her hair spilled like a dark waterfall down her back. Indigo eyes stared up at him and Visenya, filled with curiosity. Her full lips were curved into a welcoming smile. One look at her and Jon understood why his brother was so desperate to marry their elder sister. She was simply exquisite. Viserys was beside her, a young and flamboyant representation of a Prince of the Blood. Their grandmother and his little girls stood near. The little ones stared at Syraxes with awe rather than fear. Such a sight brought hope to Jon's heart. Future dragon riders, all of them. Then his eyes found Daenerys.

It was hard to turn away from her once he caught sight. Any who doubted the otherworldly beauty that those of dragon's blood could possess only needed to look to his aunt for proof. She was fair and immensely beautiful, slender like Visenya though taller with a womanlier shape. Her silver gold locks had been curled and fell well past her waist. Daenerys wore a dazzling white and gold dress that stretched tight around her bosom and hips. A crystal headpiece sat on her brow with a single amethyst, the same color as her eyes. Those eyes of hers possessed a coldness that Jon had not expected.

Jon slid from Syraxes back and helped Visenya a moment later. Together they knelt. Jon drew his sword and held the Valyrian steel blade above his head in supplication. "I, Jaehaerys of House Targaryen pledged my sword and my dragon to King Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men and to his heir, Prince Aegon of House Targaryen. I swear to uphold your laws and enforce your rulings to the best of my ability. I swear to raise my sword when called upon to fight and sheath it when peace is ordered." He swallowed, the memories of Kinvara's warnings rising to the forefront. "I swear to kill your enemies, to burn their castles and salt their fields if necessary. I swear to defend our family with my life if required. I am your loyal son, always and forever."

When his father bid him to rise, Jon found a firm hug waiting for him. The applause was thunderous.

"TO THREE HUNDRED MORE YEARS OF HOUSE TARGARYEN!"