#She never gets to be thought of how rhaenys is beautiful and gentle and kind

[duchess-of-oldtown]

Visenya and Ronnel Arryn is something so precious to me, but it often gets me thinking what she was thinking when she found Ronnel alone in the courtyard. Did she see just a little boy amazed by a stranger and her dragon? Did she see Aegon at that age? Did she imagine a son of hers in the future? Was it strategy or just maternal or big sister instincts kicking in? Because Visenya could have taken the Eyrie as a show of strength and reminded the world of fire and blood. Perhaps that was the plan. But she changed her mind. She chose kindness.

[hinamesh]

I'm sorry who is that person who said that Elia is the blandest Martell ever? S/he certainly doesn't read the books correctly.

It was stated by GRRM himself that Elia is a delicate beauty in TWOIAF, while the girl that s/he seems to stan being similar to "horse face" duh...

Remember there is also a dude that literally stolen a kiss from Elia and he boasted about it all the time to his fellow men, no sane men would boast kissing an average and bland looking woman to his friends.

Elia is respected and loved in Dorne until this day, her family never forget her and trying to avenge her death.

She is known to be gentle, kind, and CLEVER. Laughing at Oberyn's joke about fart and showing kindness towards a dwarf that his own sister called as monster, what part of her that bland?? When GRRM has showed you otherwise. If anything he showed her to be very human with personality.

Both people that who are still madly in love with Rhaegar shows to be jealous of Elia not Lyanna, I wonder why?? Cough.. cough JonCon and Cersei...

Rhaegar did leave her becuse he doesn't want her to die, if he so wanted her to die he could have just forced the third baby on her but nope he DIDN'T do that.

Rhaegar thought that his children with Elia are the third head dragons, do you really thing that he would abandon them just like that when he so believe that the three head dragons are so important?? Elia is their mother, if he wanted his babies to survive and grow up well, their mother life is also very important.

Rhaenys last moment was hiding under his bed implying that he had a good relationship with his little daughter to the point that she seeked comfort and protection in his belongings.

Do you really thing a man that love giving to the poorers, so against violence, prefer playing his harp more than his sword would feel okay abondening his family without f**cking good reasons??? Do you really think GRRM write painfully all those sentiment and melancholy in Rhaegar's characterization just for him to have a younger cunt and the end?? What about his characterization that imply to drive by prophecy since he was a freaking child??

You know what Jaime once had a dream of Rhaegar's ghost visiting him talking about his family, " I leave my wife and children to you..." this also implied that in Jaime's memory Rhaegar did care about his family including Elia.

Also Rhaegar never visited brothels while he married to Elia. If Elia was so bland, what stop him from seeking relief there?? Yet what we knew so far is contradicted Rhaegar actually produced Rhaenys as soon as they get married on the same year LOL talk about being bland duh. How many trial and errors do they did to have Rhaeneys so soon hmm???

Again this proving that many stories have yet to unfold, our knowledge are very limited but at least GRRM throw hints here and there for us to be a better judge. As for now better sit tight rather than crosstag and whining about certain character on the said character tag, there is an anti tag for a reason.

[daenerys-targaryen-moved]

viserys manipulated and abused book!dany and show!dany so either way he deserved his fate and the fact that she still named HER DRAGON after him and said ''he will do what my brother could not'' like..........how is that madness??? she had every right to say ''fuck you viserys i will never mourn for you or think of you again'' but she didn't because she is so compassionate and forgiving. she could've let the world forget him. i love dany so sorry for this ramble

She definitely mourned him. 

Here is the scene you’re talking about in A Clash of Kings

Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick, yet it was her dragons she feared for. Her father had been slain before she was born, and her splendid brother Rhaegar as well. Her mother had died bringing her into the world while the storm screamed outside. Gentle Ser Willem Darry, who must have loved her after a fashion, had been taken by a wasting sickness when she was very young. Her brother Viserys, Khal Drogo who was her sun-and-stars, even her unborn son, the gods had claimed them all. They will not have my dragons, Dany vowed. They will not.

[....]   

“Aegon’s dragons were named for the gods of Old Valyria,” she told her bloodriders one morning after a long night’s journey. “Visenya’s dragon was Vhagar, Rhaenys had Meraxes, and Aegon rode Balerion, the Black Dread. It was said that Vhagar’s breath was so hot that it could melt a knight’s armor and cook the man inside, that Meraxes swallowed horses whole, and Balerion . . . his fire was as black as his scales, his wings so vast that whole towns were swallowed up in their shadow when he passed overhead.” The Dothraki looked at her hatchlings uneasily. The largest of her three was shiny black, his scales slashed with streaks of vivid scarlet to match his wings and horns. “Khaleesi,” Aggo murmured, “there sits Balerion, come again.” “It may be as you say, blood of my blood,” Dany replied gravely, “but he shall have a new name for this new life. I would name them all for those the gods have taken. The green 102 one shall be Rhaegal, for my valiant brother who died on the green banks of the Trident. The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.” - Daenerys ACOK

“We should rest here until we are stronger,” the knight urged. “The red lands are not kind to the weak.”

“My handmaids say there are ghosts here.”

“There are ghosts everywhere,” Ser Jorah said softly. “We carry them with us wherever we go.”

Yes, she thought. Viserys, Khal Drogo, my son Rhaego, they are with me always.

Viserys’ name is mentioned a total of 23 times in A Clash of Kings, 41 times in A Storm of Swords, 6 times in A Feast for Crows, and 29 times in A Dance with Dragons. More times that not, it’s Daenerys remembering when he was a good brother to her, when he would tell her stories or when they would sneak out in the dead of night, or when she’s thinking about how he died, or when she’s thinking about how he would react to certain situations. Here is a converstaion between Tyrion and Illyrio;

The fat man grew pensive. “Daenerys was half a child when she came to me, yet fairer even than my second wife, so lovely I was tempted to claim her for myself. Such a fearful, furtive thing, however, I knew I should get no joy from coupling with her. Instead I summoned a bedwarmer and fucked her vigorously until the madness passed. If truth be told, I did not think Daenerys would survive for long amongst the horselords.”

“That did not stop you selling her to Khal Drogo …”

“Dothraki neither buy nor sell. Say rather that her brother Viserys gave her to Drogo to win the khal’s friendship. A vain young man, and greedy. Viserys lusted for his father’s throne, but he lusted for Daenerys too, and was loath to give her up. The night before the princess wed he tried to steal into her bed, insisting that if he could not have her hand, he would claim her maidenhead. Had I not taken the precaution of posting guards upon her door, Viserys might have undone years of planning.”

“He sounds an utter fool.”

“Viserys was Mad Aerys’s son, just so. Daenerys … Daenerys is quite different.” He popped a roasted lark into his mouth and crunched it noisily, bones and all. “The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen. When I sent ships to bring her home, she turned toward Slaver’s Bay. In a short span of days she conquered Astapor, made Yunkai bend the knee, and sacked Meereen. Mantarys will be next, if she marches west along the old Valyrian roads. If she comes by sea, well … her fleet must take on food and water at Volantis.” - Tyrion ADwD

The floppy ears she chose today were made of sheer white linen, with a fringe of golden tassels. With Jhiqui’s help, she wound the tokar about herself correctly on her third attempt. Irri fetched her crown, wrought in the shape of the three-headed dragon of her House. Its coils were gold, its wings silver, its three heads ivory, onyx, and jade. Dany’s neck and shoulders would be stiff and sore from the weight of it before the day was done. A crown should not sit easy on the head. One of her royal forebears had said that, once. Some Aegon, but which one? Five Aegons had ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper’s dogs had murdered her brother’s son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. Aegon would have been closer to my age than Viserys. Dany had only been conceived when Aegon and his sister were murdered. Their father, her brother Rhaegar, perished even earlier, slain by the Usurper on the Trident. Her brother Viserys had died screaming in Vaes Dothrak with a crown of molten gold upon his head. - Daenerys AdWd

Daario shrugged. “Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him. If that’s the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr.”

Her anger flashed. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No. Have you?” Viserys would have his head off for that insolence.

Dany wrapped her arms about the girl. “Tell me of him.”

“He taught me how to climb a tree when we were little. He could catch fish with his hands. Once I found him sleeping in our garden with a hundred butterflies crawling over him. He looked so beautiful that morning, this one … I mean, I loved him.”

“As he loved you.” Dany stroked the girl’s hair. “Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.”

“I would sooner stay with you. On Naath I’d be afraid. What if the slavers came again? I feel safe when I’m with you.”

Safe. The word made Dany’s eyes fill up with tears. “I want to keep you safe.” Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. “No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don’t always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …”

“… mother,” whispered Missandei.

“Mother to dragons.” Dany shivered.

“No. Mother to us all.” Missandei hugged her tighter.

Here is another scene that I find particularly interesting from the books;

She dreamt of her dead brother.

Viserys looked just as he had the last time she’d seen him. His mouth was twisted in anguish, his hair was burnt, and his face was black and smoking where the molten gold had run down across his brow and cheeks and into his eyes.

“You are dead,” Dany said.

“Murdered.” Though his lips never moved, somehow she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear.

“You never mourned me, sister. It is hard to die unmourned. “I loved you once.” Once, he said, so bitterly it made her shudder. “You were supposed to be my wife, to bear me children with silver hair and purple eyes, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. I took care of you. I taught you who you were. I fed you. I sold our mother’s crown to keep you fed.”

“You hurt me. You frightened me.”

“Only when you woke the dragon. I loved you.”

“You sold me. You betrayed me.”

“No. You were the betrayer. You turned against me, against your own blood. They cheated me. Your horsey husband and his stinking savages. They were cheats and liars. They promised me a golden crown and gave me this.” He touched the molten gold that was creeping down his face, and smoke rose from his finger.

“You could have had your crown,” Dany told him. “My sun-and-stars would have won it for you if only you had waited.”

“I waited long enough. I waited my whole life. I was their king, their rightful king. They laughed at me.”

“You should have stayed in Pentos with Magister Illyrio. Khal Drogo had to present me to the dosh khaleen, but you did not have to ride with us. That was your choice. Your mistake.”

“Do you want to wake the dragon, you stupid little whore? Drogo’s khalasar was mine. I bought them from him, a hundred thousand screamers. I paid for them with your maidenhead.”

“You never understood. Dothraki do not buy and sell. They give gifts and receive them. If you had waited …”

“I did wait. For my crown, for my throne, for you. All those years, and all I ever got was a pot of molten gold. Why did they give the dragon’s eggs to you? They should have been mine. If I’d had a dragon, I would have taught the world the meaning of our words.” Viserys began to laugh, until his jaw fell away from his face, smoking, and blood and molten gold ran from his mouth. - Daenerys ADwD

It’s very safe to say that Daenerys mourned Viserys. She mourned the relationship they had as children, she mourned the potential future he would have had with her if he’d lived. Throughout her journey so far, she thinks back to those she’s lost, she thinks back to how it felt to be treated by him, abused emotionally, physically and psychologically, someone who would have raped her had he gotten the chance, someone who looked her in the eyes and told her that he would happily let thousands of men (and their horses) fuck her if it got him his crown. She thinks back to what he was to her, not a sister, but a piece of property, a bargaining chip to be sold off to the highest bidder.

She mourns him, but she mourns him because she loved what they once had and because he was her last family in the world (so she thinks). She could have let the world forget him, but she didn’t. She named her dragon after him, her fucking dragon. She loved him. She mourned him. But her showing no emotion when he died wasn’t a sign of “madness” lmao.

[mmazzeroo]

Chapter 16: JON IV - Kintsugi is a Silent Proof of Survival

@helloimnotawesome - Chapter 16 is up! Thank you SO much for the lovely moodboard! I’m adding it to this chapter. Couldn’t wait to use it lol. Hope you’ll enjoy this chapter! More coming soon. Love ya, sis!

JON IV - Kintsugi is a Silent Proof of Survival:

"That's a big campfire, guys. Did you chop down half a forest somewhere? It's supposed to be a campfire, not a bonfire."

"Actually this is a bonfire. The campfire is over there." He waved an arm in the general direction somewhere to his right and chuckled as he noticed his brother's frown. "And no, we didn't chop down half a forest. A third maybe but definitely not half." He winked at Robb as he walked over to the campfire where Bran was sitting reading aloud to Aegon curled up in his lap.  

"Ok...so what's the bonfire for?"

"You." He turned around to see a clearly confused Robb stare back at him. Laughingly he said "you and your betrothed. There are places in the world where lighting a bonfire for the soon-to-be married couple or newly married couple is considered good luck for the pair. The fire is said to ward off evil spirits and negative energy."

"I thought you didn't believe in the Gods."

"I don't really, but you do and what's the harm in trying to be on their good side for the sake of my brother and my soon-to-be sister-in-law?" He gave Robb a pad on the back but he was pulled in for a tight hug.

"Thank you so much, Jon. That means more than you know." Robb choked out the words.

"Anytime brother." With that Robb slowly loosened his grip and silently nodded.

As they walked around the fire pit, Arya and Dany came storming into the camp area arms waving over their heads triumphant grins on their faces.

"WHOOOOOO HOOOOO!!!!"

"The reigning Dragonstone champions remains undefeated in what is an unprecedented record of a decade long place at the number one spot." Dany did a, surprisingly, well imitation of a sports commentator as Arya kept dancing around. Her famous 'winning' dance. He tried to keep his laughing to a minimum but the priceless look on Robb's face made it very difficult.

Viserys arrived with a bat and ball in hand looking defeated and annoyed. The look Vis and Robb shared as they were surrounded by the two dancing women was just too much. He couldn't hold in his laugher any longer. When Bran and Aegon joined in the laugher as well Robb tried to shut it down.

"Alright alright, you've had your fun. Now settle down. No need to make a scene." Robb's tone made it clear he was less than amused.

Gods, their egos are so bruised it just makes it even more hilarious! He high-five'd Arya as she came dancing by once again, and grabbed ahold of Dany and pulled her in for a heated kiss.

"Beating both our brothers, huh? Atta girl!" She gave him a big proud grin. "I'm impressed but not surprised." She kissed him again. "I love you," he whispered in her ear before giving her another quick peck on the lips and letting her return to her victory dance with Arya.

"What's the matter brother?" Arya was laughing teasingly at Robb. "Is our WINNING TOO LOUD FOR YOU??" She laughed out loud as she finally sat down next to where Vis had settled down in the grass.

"No, it's just...you're a bad winner..." He was shuffling his feet while scowling at their youngest sister. "You won. Fair and square. No one is questioning it, but there's no need to be a dick about it."

"I'll stop being a dick when you stop being an asshole."

"Hey! Why am I the asshole, huh?"

"Just for the record, and I'm speaking from personal experience here, dicks and assholes tend to go very well together." Viserys chimed in clearly trying to break the tension.

"Guys, please watch you language we do have minors here." Dany cut in this time, extending her arm to where Bran and Aegon were sitting. "And for the record," she locked eyes with Vis, "eww!! That was a liiiittle too much information there, bro."

"Hey, all I'm saying is that I've never heard Lancel complain." He gave her a wink and this time even Robb couldn't help laughing. Thank the gods for Vis and his wisecracking mouth.

"Ok guys, parent alert, so maybe we could all try to behave age appropriately for a bit?" No chance of that but here's to hoping. At least they've been warned. They all looked at him as he was pointing to where their parents were walking up to them.

Just then Marg, Sansa and Rhaenys were joining them as well. Aegon leapt out of  Bran's lap as he saw who was walking right behind the girls.

"Daddy!"

"Hey!" Rhae swooped Aegon up in his arms. "How's my little man? Having fun?"

"YES! Jon showed me how to build a fire and Bran's been reading dragon stories." The boy looked over his dad's shoulder. "Where's mommy?"

"I'm sorry kiddo, but there was an emergency so mommy had to stay at the hospital."

"Oh." There was a small pause and then he asked, "but she'll help them like she helped Jon and the butterflies?"

"That's right."

"Then I'm not sad she's not here. They need her more than I do." He's adorable with that thoughtful frown on his little serious looking face. Same frown his father has on his face from time to time.

"That's very sweet of you, Aegon, but you know it's always ok to miss you mom, right?"

The boy nodded and smiled up at his dad who rewarded him with a kiss on his forehead.

Margaery tapped Aegon on his shoulder. "May I ask yhy do you call the babies butterflies?"

"Because they're part Naathi, and mommy told me that Naath is known for having lots and lots of beautiful butterflies. So if Starks are wolves, we're dragons and you're a rose then they must be butterflies, right?" Or maybe winged horses? Pegasus?

"Can't argue with that logic!" Marg flashed a big smile at Aegon who, still sitting on his father's arm, looked very proud.

"What's going on here?" Ned was pointing at the bonfire.

"Jon has made a bonfire for Marg and I to ward of evil spirits and negative energies as a way to wish us a happy marriage."

"Oh Jon, that's so sweet." Margaery rushed over, crouched beside him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem." He quickly lowered his eyes to the ground. Oh gods, if I'd know it's get this much attention for it not sure I would've done it. He tried to occupy himself by stirring in the pot.

Dany was there instantly gently taking his free hand in hers. She spoke to him in almost a whisper. "Just breathe, my love. This is what family love feels like. It's alright. You're safe. Just take it in bit by bit one breath at a time."

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. He blew out a breath and nodded. A little wobbly smile on his lips.

"That's it." She smiled back at him and those beautiful purple eyes looked at him with such affection. "I love you." Quick kiss on the lips and she got back up.

It was then he realised that Marg had been sitting quietly by his other side, waiting, and only when Dany got up so did she - with another quick peck on his cheek.

Clearing his throat he said, "dinner is ready, so please grab a bowl and help yourself to a serving."

"It smells delicious!" Sansa's kind voice sounded quietly behind him. "What's on the menu?"

"In the Watch we called it 'soldier stew' - it's basically ground meat, bacon, smoked sausages, beans, some chopped tomatoes and onions, and a mix of spices. On the side is some freshly made bread."

"Wow! My big brother the master chef!" Sansa teasingly gave him a little shove with her shoulder.

Robb chuckled, "you're saying you can only cook 'soldier food'?"

"Unfortunately yes." He sighed pretending to be disappointed in his own abilities. "Sadly it was just too much of a hassle to bring a cook and maids with us out on missions. Too many unnecessary people to protect." He smirked and winked at Robb.

"Oh, thanks for the info Mr. Sassy-Pants!" His brother flashed one of his signature bright smiles and winked back.

There was a low rumble of sporadic laughter around the fire from the rest of the company. He looked around making sure everyone had a bowl, before scooping up some stew for himself.

"Cat, is there a chance of me holding my children again today or—"

"—not a chance, buddy! They're mine until tomorrow! You can get to kiss them goodnight before we go back indoors, but that's it."

Chuckling he sat down his bowl and held his hands up in the air as a sign of surrendering. "Duly noted, Lady Stark," he said and lowered his head in respect.

The exchange was sprinkled with laugher from everyone around them.

"You hear that, sweetlings." She was looking at Adei in her lap and Amador in Rhaella's, "you'll be sleeping in same room as Grandma Cat and Grandpa Ned tonight."

Everyone erupted in loud laughter at the surprised look on Ned's face.

"Don't worry dad. For months now they've been sleeping through the night. You shouldn't have any trouble."

Playfully placing a hand on his heart and eyes to the sky, his breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the Old Gods and the New!" Then Ned caught his eyes and winked. Love you too, dad!

"Compliments to the chef; it tastes as delicious as it smells." Once again Sansa's gentle voice called to him.

"Thanks sis. Glad you like it." Leaning in he kissed her temple.

He looked around again and everyone seemed to be occupied in conversations left and right, so he looked to Dany sitting by his other side. She gave him an almost unnoticeable nod. He quietly stood up and went over to fetch his backpack. As he sat back down he turned slightly towards Sansa.

"I know it was your name day a couple of weeks ago and I owe you a gift."

"No no, Jon, it's ok, really!" She looked at him with big worried eyes. Oh sweet sister, still so nervous to ask for something for herself. If I ever get my hands on Joffrey, I'll...Jon! Not now. Happy moment, remember?

"Nonsense! Of course you deserve a gift for your name day, Sansa. Please, let me give you something?"

She took a deep breath before slowly nodding.

He could feel how everyone had gone quiet and instead watching the exchange between him and Sansa.

"It isn't much and I didn't wrap it." He pulled a porcelain bowl out of his bag.

Sansa's breathe hitched, "oh Jon, it's beautiful!"

"Careful!" Laughing he caught her in his arms she gave him a tight hug.

When she let go tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Thank you thank you thank you! I don't know what to say!"

"What did you get?" Bran was stretching his neck trying to see.

"This!" Sansa proudly lifted the bowl in her hand.

"A broken bowl?" Arya asking disapprovingly.

"How dare you question Jon's gift for me! Just because you don't understand it's meaning!"

"Sansa, it's alright." He tried laying a calming hand on her arm, but she kept going.

"No, it's not ok, Jon." She glanced at him before turning to glare at Arya. "The gift was for me so the main concern should be whether I like it, not if others do!"

"Alright geez! Sorry I said anything."

Arya, the queen of sarcasm. He managed to hold in his laugh. Didn't want to hurt Sansa. She was finally finding the courage to bite back at their wild sister. It had taken months before she seemed to fully trust him. At first he didn't understand why she was so cautious, but when she finally started talking to him it all made sense. When she finally decided she could trust him and began telling her story it wasn't like diving into a pond here and there like with Arya - with Sansa it was as if the dam had broken and there was nothing holding back the flood.

She told him how school had been a living nightmare for her. Despite Robb and Dany doing what they could to protect her, they weren't in her year and thus didn't have same classes as her. Joffrey was always there. Teasing, bullying her, laughing at her and making fun of her. Everything about her - her clothes, her hair, her face, her walk, her voice, her handwriting, her notes, the way she held her pen, the way she ate, the way she held her cup, her walking, her standing. Everything! He'd follow her around the school hallways just to laugh at her. He'd send her notes in class, leave notes in her books and bag, send messages on her phone and all her online profiles. She could never avoid it. He was always there. She'd deleted all her profiles, stopped using her phone. Becoming completely isolated. He was still there. In her head. Like a ghost. She started cutting herself. Leaving scars on her arms. She started thinking of ways to take her own life. All just to get away from him. She only stopped after Ned had caught her one day as she was cutting herself. She said she'd never seen him so terrified and heartbroken. For a couple of years after that she was homeschooled, an Essosi therapist, Varys, had helped her through the worst. Joffrey and Ramsey were sent off to boarding school in Astapor, and she had dared getting back in school for her final year of high school.

Jon had just sat there quietly listening, steaming internally, and as Sansa was crying in his arms and fell asleep from exhaustion he was thinking of numerous ways he could kill Joffrey having it look like accidents. It had been part of his training after all. Killing wasn't just aim and shoot. That night he let his mind run down that very dark path he knew all too well. By the time Sansa woke up though, he had calmed back down. If he ever met Joffrey Lannister though.....if he caught him jaywalking the kid would never see the light of day again!

"Yes Arya, the bowl was broken but Jon has had it mended. With gold." She held up the bowl again. So carefully like she was holding an infant. The campfire reflected in her eyes. Mirroring her internal fire finally burning through? "It's an art form called 'Kintsugi'. It's an Eastern practice of repairing fractures in porcelain with varnish or resin powdered with gold. They believe that the breakages and repairs form part of the history of an object and should be shown, not hidden."

He felt Dany squeeze his arm as she'd wrapped both hers around it. He glanced to the side to see Dany watching Sansa intently. As he looked around he noticed everyone smiling and their parents all seemed to have teary eyes. He was just so proud of watching her standing up for herself. Literally. Be a wolf!

Sansa turned and looked him directly in the eye as she continued, "our brother helped me see that my scars are not something shameful. Marking a painful incident with gold dust is to accept it as a jewel. Kintsugi is a silent proof of survival."

[rhegar]

Dearly Beloved

Summary: Elia Martell passes away after giving birth to Aegon from complications. Rhaegar Targaryen, now widowed, realizes how fatal his mistakes were to his family.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: TW for rape

This is Chapter one. Read on Ao3 here

"Dear Uncle Aemon,

I write to you this letter with a heavy heart as it has only been hours since the death of my dear wife, Elia. She has passed away from complications that followed the birth of our son, Aegon.

Oh, my wise uncle… your guidance and support would be of great help at this terrible hour. My wife was always of delicate health, and I have many regrets. I regret that, after the birth of our daughter Rhaenys, I hardly waited days before impregnating her again with our son. That must have had a great effect on her health; I should have left her a longer time to recover. I greatly fear that this may have been a cause of her death.

I also regret my lack of vision and my folly at the tourney of Harrenhal. I have hurt my wife's spirit, and I fear that the sorrow had weakened her. The Stark girl had proven a brave warrior as she had donned the helm and plate with the laughing tree on it, and I had wanted to honor her, knowing that I can't present her with any other honor but the flowers; the only award a woman was afforded in a tourney. But after that, the distance between my wife and I grew, and though I explained what had happened to her, she still felt humiliated, and I knew I was in the wrong.

I am now the only parent of my children, Rhaenys and Aegon. Rhaenys didn't get to know her mother long enough, and Aegon, like me, was born in the shadow of death. He will not be celebrated as he deserves to be, and every time someone remembers his birth, it will not be with joy, but with sorrow at the memory of his dutiful mother.

I used to believe that I was the prince that was promised, and then I became certain that he will be one of my children; Aegon, on the night of whose conception, a red comet was seen above King's Landing. And now that a third head of the dragon is required… it has to be Viserys, my poor young brother.

My wife's death has put things into perspective for me. I will no longer put a prophecy ahead of my family. My mother and my brother deserve better; they deserve that I act, and quickly. My children deserve an attentive father, and a loving mother. I will not, however, remarry. Elia was nothing but faithful and dutiful to me, and I respect that very much. The only mother that my children are going to have is mine, Queen Rhaella, their loving grandmother.

When you send a raven in answer to this, it may not find me at Dragonstone. I will sail to Dorne today to return the corpse of my wife to her family, as I'm sure they wouldn't want her to be cremated. My wife was not a Targaryen, I'm well aware of that, but she was very much my family, and I will miss her every day.

Your nephew,

Rhaegar"

When he was finished writing the letter, he scrolled it, poured a dollop of hot red wax on it and sealed it with the three-headed dragon seal. He then called on his guard, posted outside the door, to call the Maester. When his maester came, he handed him the scroll, and said, "To the wall, thank you."

Rhaegar then raised his hand to throw his hair behind his head; a gesture out of habit that was now useless; his hair was gone. After Elia had died, he had a lock of her hair cut, and cut his short, braided her lock with one of his, tied it with a silver ribbon, and put the braid away in a black wooden box with the three-headed dragon engraved on it. What an empty gesture; he thought to himself bitterly. While she lived, I insulted her freely and felt no guilt. And now that she has died, I pretend that we were tied together? We never were, and that was my doing.

He called the servant woman to draw his bath. When she did so and left, he stripped naked, stepped inside it and lay down, letting the hot water cleanse him.

While she was alive, he and Elia were undoubtedly kind to each other. With the exception of that vile public act that he had done at Harrenhal, he was always as civil and kind to her as his mother, the Queen, had taught him. It was not manly, let alone kingly, for a man to be unkind to his lady wife. And so, Rhaegar had always offered her kind words, called her "my lady" or "my princess", and been gentle to her while they were doing their duty in the marriage bed, and she had been every inch a dutiful and graceful princess.

But he had been distant, buried in books and scrolls, torn between a prophecy that he doesn't even know how to fulfill and a father growing more insane by the hour that he needed to depose. He had taken note of everything, built up plans and tore them down and then rebuilt them, and ignored only one thing, the most important thing: His family.

Only rooms away from his precious library, Elia struggled with her health alone. She struggled with her pregnancies alone. She fed Rhaenys and rose her alone. Yes, Rhaegar would show up sometimes to give Rhaenys a toy or play with her and her kitten Balerion, or even to say a few gentle words to Elia and kiss her on the cheek, but otherwise, his absence was deafening.  

It was him who had insisted that they move to Dragonstone, dreary and gloomy as it was, after the wedding to be away from his hateful father. Him who had taken her right away after she had recovered from giving birth to Rhaenys. Him who gave the Queen of Love and Beauty laurel to a little northern girl, declaring in the eyes of the public, that he had favored her over Elia; that she had been prettier and younger and stronger. Why was it that when he decided to show truly up in Elia's life, it was always only to cause her pain?

He lost track of time while he was in the bath. He almost didn't want to get up and put his clothes on. He had already faced Prince Lewyn, naturally, since he was one of his appointed Kingsguard. But Lewyn was not as confrontational as some other Martells will be; he mourned in silence and he and the prince had expressed their sorrow to each other politely. Soon, he would have to meet Doran and Oberyn Martell, and would have to look them in the eyes and tell them how sorry he was that their sister had died, and how sorry he was for insisting that she must get pregnant immediately, and how sorry he was for insulting her publicly, and how sorry he was for….

He heard two knocks on his door, and it was followed by the delicate voice, "Father?"

He answered her without a thought, "Don't enter, I'm coming out, sweetling."

"I'm sorry your grace," he heard his servant lady say, "The princess insisted."

"It's alright. You can leave her."

He put his clothes on and left the bathroom to meet his daughter. "Father!" She ran off to him and reached up, knowing that he would hold her. He did. "Father, they won't tell me where mother went."

"Mother went… to the sea, sweetling." He prevented his voice from breaking with difficulty.

"And when will she return?"

He wondered how much time he should give it until Rhaenys is old enough to understand. "I don't know, it could be months, it could be years. But when she comes, she will have brought you wonders from all over the world. She will bring colorful silks, toys from Essos the like of which children in Westeros have never seen, candy, and she will bring you a dragon egg."

Rhaenys gasped. "Will it hatch into a dragon? A large black dragon, like Balerion the dread?"

Rhaegar almost wanted to chuckle. Rhaenys was obsessed with Balerion. The idea of a large beast that breathes fire and flies, but loves and protects her and those she loves. Years from now, he thought, she will learn what dragons truly do from her maester. She will learn how they destroyed cities, burned their enemies, melted flesh and bone and steel. She will learn of the doom that the attempts to hatch more dragons had brought to House Targaryen.

"Oh, it will. Now let your father alone to put some proper clothes on, we have to be in our ship by noon. You should put something proper on as well. Sharei." He had raised his voice and turned his head to the door to call on his servant woman. She came in.

"Take the princess and dress her in a proper dress," he stressed the word proper, he didn't want to say the word mourning in front of Rhaenys, but he was sure Sharei would understand. "Then have them escort her and Aegon to the ship. I will be joining shortly."

"Yes, your grace."

When they left, Rhaegar donned his fully black outfit; a black doublet, black breeches and a black cape with pins shaped like the three-headed dragon, made of silver. He packed a few of the tomes and scrolls that he had kept close by his bed to accompany him in the nights; those, he insisted on taking with him himself… he would not have his books neglected and torn apart by anyone.

When he arrived in the ship, Rhaenys was already there, dressed in a plain black gown and carried by Lewyn, and Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

"The wet nurse has taken him to his cabin. He was crying to be fed."

Arthur came up from behind him. He had the habit of answering Rhaegar's questions before he asked them; almost reading his mind. Rhaegar gave him a small smile of appreciation. He was always grateful for Arthur's presence. Nothing in the world made things easier like a friend who bore your burdens with you. He walked to the edge of the ship and leaned his elbows on it, staring at the waves. He felt Arthur follow him silently.

"They'll be angry at me," Rhaegar said to him, worry shaking his voice. He knew how he had hurt Elia, and yet he was afraid, most of all, of being confronted about it by her brothers. Not that they would hurt him (though Oberyn definitely wanted to; he knew it) but… their looks at him will be like daggers, their words like spears.

"They will be, but more so sad for her to concern themselves with anger."

"The anger, I deserve. But I'm not sure I can handle it."

"You have handled worse."

He looked at Arthur thinking of an answer, but he was stopped by the look on his face. Arthur had pursed his lips and turned his eyes away from Rhaegar's face. "What?" Rhaegar asked him.

"Hmm?"

"You always purse your lips and look away from me when there's something you want to say, but don't know if you can say it. Go ahead."

"Well, it isn't something I want to say…" Arthur looked at the sea below, and a feeling unlike what Rhaegar expected was on his face: Anger.

"News keep coming from King's Landing every day, from Oswell. Says your father… hasn't been very kind to your lady mother."

Rhaegar felt his fist closing. "What do you mean?"

"The other week, he burned a knight he had suspected of treason. After that…" Arthur took a deep breath, "he went to her grace's chamber and took her by force. He says her ladies whisper of scratches on her, and bites."

His stomach churned. He felt his breaths coming out of his lungs like fire. He didn't know what to say.

"You need to do something about him, quickly." They were whispering now.

"Right now, what I want to do is put him on a pyre and watch him burn."

"Rhae, you know what I mean."

Rhae. Only Arthur, Elia and his mother called him that. He didn't have to save Arthur, he couldn't save Elia, but he will save his mother. "I will. I promise. I meet with Prince Doran in days… perhaps the end to my father's terror is coming sooner than we think."

"I hope so. You will look good on that throne." Rhaegar was no longer paying attention; his brain now had that map table on Dragonstone sprawled over it; he was now doing calculations; weighing names, thinking of allies and foes…

"Oh, by the way, Rhaenys keeps talking about a dragon."

Arthur had gotten back Rhaegar's attention by mentioning her name. "A dragon?"

"A dragon egg that her mother will bring from overseas, and from it, will hatch Balerion The Dread himself come again." A sad look was on Arthur's face now. "We understand. Prince Lewyn even started talking to her of the candy that Elia will bring from Essos. Candied plums and raisins and all manner of cakes and pies and dried fruits covered in sugar. She can still be a child."

"The move to King's Landing has to come soon, Arthur. For my children. They can only have one mother now, and that is Queen Rhaella."

"My sister Ashara is doing her best. Though she says she was not fashioned for motherhood, and her grief sometimes overpowers her and she prevents herself from crying while speaking to Rhaenys. She looks very much like her mother."

Rhaegar was silent; he felt a node form at the back of his throat.

"It's you who doesn't look like you anymore," Arthur said, in a bemused voice, "I've yet to get used to the short hair."

[nyangibun]

jon x sansa black pretty please! jon as assassin would be hot damn.

Mhmmm, Jon as an assassin, yes. But okay, this is probably not what you wanted because there’s a considerable lack of action. I still hope you like it! Tagging @manbunjon​ because you also asked for black. 

There were two factions to the League: spies and assassins. As the bastard son of a Targaryen, Jon had been expected to follow the path of spies. They are born from wealth and privilege, with exceptional good looks and charm that cannot be taught. It was the logical next step. But Jon hadn’t always been a Targaryen. He’d been a Snow first; poor and forgotten by the system. He grew up with a chip on his shoulder and a knack for going unseen. When his mother died and Rhaegar Targaryen showed up in his life, Jon immediately gravitated towards the assassins. They’re fighters. Spies are liars. He may live the life of a criminal, but assassins had a code of honour that Jon could respect.

Unlike his half-siblings, who respect nothing, but themselves.

“Brother,” Aegon greets, once he rounds the corner and spots Jon. His smile is tight-lipped, verging on a sneer, but to anyone else, it would appear polite, maybe even fond. Jon knows better. After seven years with the League, he can read the Targaryens like a book.

Aegon comes to a stop in front of him. “You aren’t going to dinner dressed like that, are you?”

This is a conversation Jon’s had far too many times and one he is growing weary of. “I’m wearing what I always wear.” The League may see him as a Targaryen, but he’s a Snow through and through. They didn’t raise him. His mother did.

“Yes, unfortunately I am all too aware of how you dress,” Aegon continues, his facade faltering to give way to a distasteful frown. “But tonight is important for the League. You surely own something… better.”

Jon grits his teeth. Aegon knows the assassins live their life free from most material possessions. It’s in their culture to denounce them so that they won’t be swayed in the future by victims who try to bargain for their lives. He knows this, yet he still treats Jon as poor and uncultured. It shouldn’t bother him; he’s used to being the bastard, but it does.

“Leave Jon alone, Aegon,” Rhaenys interrupts just in time. Her long blonde hair is plaited down one side and she’s wearing a form-fitting red dress. “And go powder your nose.”

Aegon huffs, but walks away nonetheless. Rhaenys is next in line to lead the League after Rhaegar dies and anything she says is law. Thankfully, his half-sister is much more tolerable, and she dislikes Aegon nearly as much as Jon.

“My brother is a prick, isn’t he?” she sighs, before turning her gaze onto Jon. “But he is right, you have to change. I know father tailored you a tux.”

He doesn’t try to hide his groan. He hates dressing up.

Rhaenys looks at him with a bemused smirk. “You will grow to enjoy it eventually, Jon.”

“I won’t have to.”

“You will,” she says. “Do you think the League will go to Aegon if both father and I die?” She laughs loudly, the sound echoing in the narrow stone corridor. “Please; this place would be driven to ruins if it was up to that idiot. No, you will by my second-in-command once I take over.”

Jon blinks, unable to fully comprehend what she’s saying. It’s honestly the last thing he ever expected, which is why he blurts out the first thing to come to mind, “you don’t even like me.”

His half-sister laughs again. “I don’t like anyone, Jon. Don’t take it personally.” With those last words, she leaves him, disappearing down another bend in the corridor.

The League has become his home over the past seven years – from the dilapidated castle to the ragtag group of men and women he serves with. But he never thought he would one day have to lead this place. It had never been a dream of his. In fact, he doesn’t really know what he wants for the future. He doesn’t like to think about it often because it means facing who he is and what he’s done, and that person doesn’t deserve a future.

Jon rubs his eyes and returns back to where he came from to change into the tux. He hates it – hates the way it feels like he’s suffocating from the falseness of it all – but whatever tonight is, he has to attend and pretend he’s much more charming than he is. Even Tormund is more appealing than Jon, but in a way that you’d watch a bear dance in a circus – with abject horror and fascination.

The grand hall is decorated in golds and whites. The torches fastened to the stone walls flicker amber light across every corner of the room. Dinner is being served on a long table at the opposite end where Jon can see guests are already milling about chatting to one another. He’s been to his fair share of dinner parties over the years, but something about tonight feels more important. Aegon, for one, is actually smiling and joking with the people around him, and that’s always a sign of some impending doom.

“Jon!” his father booms, and suddenly several pairs of eyes are on him, as he begrudgingly makes his way over to Rhaegar and the group of people he’s with. “This is my son. He’s –”

“Lyanna’s boy,” someone finishes, a mixture of awe and bewilderment in his voice. Jon immediately glances towards the man, frowning as soon as he catches sight of dark hair and grey eyes. He knows those eyes. But how?

“You knew my mother?” Jon asks without much preamble, to Rhaegar’s irritation, but he’s an assassin, not a spy. Charm is not really in his arsenal.

“Once upon a time,” the man says sadly. “We grew up together. She was a dear friend to our family until –” He stops himself, glancing surreptitiously at Rhaegar, before smiling wide. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Eddard Stark, but you can call me Ned. This is my family.”

He gestures to the people beside him, and suddenly Jon is very aware that they’re all staring at him with a mixture of fascination and wariness in their eyes.

“This is my wife, Catelyn.” Wariness. “My sons, Robb, Rickon and Bran.” Fascination. “My youngest daughter, Arya.” Boredom. “And – oh, there she is. That’s my eldest daughter. Sansa, come. This is Rhaegar’s son, Jon.”

Her blue eyes catch his and she rakes her gaze down Jon’s body then back up again, making his neck and cheeks warm from the attention. Her lips are pursed in an impassive line, but Jon can read her too, and that was definitely appreciation. He wants to tell her, the feeling’s mutual, but all he can do is stare.

“Ah, the infamous Sansa,” his father says when Jon doesn’t speak. “I hear you are back now from Paris.”

She smiles; it’s soft and gentle, but something about it is off, and Jon doesn’t know why he thinks that, only that he’s positive he’s right.

“I am, Mr Targaryen,” she affirms. “Three years away from my family is three years too long.”

The younger sister, Arya, snorts, and one of the boys (he’s already forgotten which one’s which) elbows her none-too-subtly in the ribs.

“Please, you must call me Rhaegar!”

And so the night carries forward in this fashion. A lot of pleasantries and empty, meaningless words. Jon doesn’t get to speak to Sansa or the rest of the Starks, as he continues to be swept from one group to another by his father. He knows he doesn’t attend these functions often, so when he does, Rhaegar always takes the opportunity to show him off. It should offend him to be treated like a piece of property, but he knows it’s his father’s way of showing he’s proud of what Jon’s accomplished within the League. And it’s honestly so stupid to crave the approval of a man who had never been there for Jon during his childhood, but it’s hard not to let himself get swept up in it too.

He has finally managed to extricate himself from a very handsy older woman, and slips away from the crowd to find refuge in the corner by the refreshments. He’s nursing his whiskey when someone sidles up beside him.

“I hate these things.”

Jon doesn’t turn, so much as he glances through his peripheral at the copper-haired woman in that sinfully tight emerald green dress. Her hair is swept up in one of those intricate updos and her lips are painted hot red. She looks like the type of person who would fit seamlessly into these kind of parties.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“I did once,” Sansa admits quietly, angling her body so she’s looking at him now. “Getting dressed up, being told you’re beautiful and dancing with handsome men? What girl wouldn’t like that?” She laughs a little sardonically. “I realised a while later that it’s all an illusion. False words for naive little girls.”

“I can’t imagine you naive either.”

“Then you’re pretty awful at reading people, Jon Targaryen,” she teases. “I thought spies were supposed to be observant.”

He snorts before he can stop himself. “It’s Jon Snow. And I’m not a spy.”

This surprises her and she furrows her brows as she studies him. “You’re not?”

“I’m not…” He should probably try to impress her considering who she is and the kind of family she comes from, but the thought of lying to her doesn’t sit right either. “I don’t really like this. Any of it. Being dressed up and talking to people I don’t know.”

Sansa giggles, and Jon’s heart stutters a little at the sound. “I couldn’t tell. So does that mean you’re…”

“An assassin,” he finishes for her, feeling his chest tighten in a different way. He normally never has to tell girls about what he does, but everyone in this room already knows, so there’s no point in lying about it.

“An assassin,” she repeats, taking her time to enunciate each syllable, as if she’s testing out the word on her tongue. “Does it not bother you to… you know?”

Jon looks away. He can’t answer her question while looking in her earnest blue eyes, and it pains him to be who he is and stand next to someone as beautiful and innocent as her. “Most of us do. But it’s a cross we all bear.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Because we have to,” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “The law doesn’t actually protect people anymore. If it ever did.”

Sansa nods, and then much to his own surprise, she places a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Jon.”

He wills his breathing to calm, as he says, “you don’t even know me.”

“No, but I know people,” she tells him. “I know a good man from a bad man, and you’re good.”

It’s hard for him to fully comprehend her words – harder even to really take her in – but he tries to. He so desperately wants to. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says, giggling again when he takes her hand and leads her swiftly out of the grand hall.

They race down the empty corridors, up the spiral staircase and stumble out, laughing, onto the roof. The air is frigid in spite of it being mid April, but the days are growing longer and at eight o’clock, the sky is dusky, streaks of pink and purple light disappearing into an endless canvas of navy. It’s beautiful.

“Next time, you’re carrying me,” Sansa huffs from beside him, her fingers intertwined through his, but as he glances back, she’s smiling bright and wide, so different from the way she smiled at his father. This one is genuine; it’s real, and it takes his breath away that it’s because of him.

“Am I now?” he says, grinning stupidly back at her.

“Yes! You try running in heels, Jon Snow!” Sansa tries to look indignant, but when he tugs her closer, the smile returns.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon tells her without thinking. Once the words leave his mouth, he flushes. “I know you don’t place a lot of trust in those words anymore, but… God, you’re bloody beautiful, Sansa.”

To his delight, she actually blushes and ducks her head. She’s adorable too, and that’s a dangerous combination.

“Do you want to dance?” she asks instead, and he has to laugh this time, because they’re standing on a rooftop, freezing, alone and without music, but he has never wanted to dance with anyone more in his life.

He wraps both arms around her waist. “I’d love to.”

As soon as they start moving, Sansa’s head drops to his shoulder, fitting perfectly into the space between his neck and shoulder. He can feel her breath tickling his skin, and for once, Jon is happy to just be.

They stay like that for a few minutes, each lost to their own thoughts, as they watch the sky slowly submerge them into darkness. But then Sansa shivers in his arms and he has to pull back to look at her face. “We should go inside.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to get pneumonia.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to get pneumonia.”

“Fine then I don’t want you to get sick,” he says, matching her exasperated tone.

“Jon, just shut up and kiss me.”

He freezes for a split second, watching as she raises a brow challengingly, before he comes back to himself and chuckles. When he finally kisses her, she responds instantly, tightening her arms around his neck as her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers from her touch and that makes Sansa smile against his lips. After they pull apart, they’re both breathing heavily and leaning into one another.

“If I get pneumonia because of this, it’ll be worth it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Sansa laughs.

He is and she’s pretty much the reason why.

[ladysaruka]

Inappropriately Amorous

(Decided to a Regency AU that is NOT my Persuasion AU, for reasons)

There was a perverse family tradition of being incredibly reckless, perhaps even stupid, when it came to manners of the heart.

Father had remarried a bit too quickly and Jon was born so immediately afterwards... and people do talk.  Perhaps Aegon should have been affronted for his late mother’s sake, the indignity and insult that his maternal uncles would, on rare occasions, display.

But those fleeting, uncomfortable moments simply didn't compare to his actual memories: step-mama Lya, holding him, kissing his and Jon’s childhood hurts away, lecturing him to keep up on his lessons, and the look of pride she had when he mastered riding a horse.

Once, when he was quiet small, Aegon had asked Rhaenys what it was like after mother had passed but before father remarried.

"Quiet, in the worse way, and gloomy, even on a sunny day,” she had told him sorrowfully. "But Step-mama changed that. She brought back the noise and light and Jon.”

Rhaenys always had a happy smile when she finished. Of the two of them, she had the memory and sorrow from their mothers death and had been old enough to understand that the whispering was not a good thing. She and her father’s new bride had very little in common, but their new mama cared, cared deeply and it showed. Aegon knew she loved step-mama as well.

Years and life had passed, and then it was Aegon's turn. At seventeen he had become smitten for their cousin Arianne, and had taken to serenading her at her window. He was also apparently serenading her lover at the time, and Arianne had rejected him, gently, for he did have a lovely singing voice. From that point on Aegon kept his affairs du coeur, as well as his singing, as discreet as possible.

Rhaenys, however, showed him up be eloping with Willa's Tyrell. The family should had perhaps expected such a thing, as the young man was courting her in ever proper way. Calling on her in the morning, and talking with her all evening at balls, as he could not dance with his bad leg. He even took her around the park in his carriage with those fine horses of his. Of course, Rhaenys was properly chaperoned by her one or both of her brothers. He and Jon had found it hilarious that they got to chaperone to their sister, nearly seven years their elder.

But when the time for a proposal came, everything stalled. Father didn't like the match, Lord Tyrell didn't like the match, Uncle Doran didn't like the match. Why, no one was keen to share, and Rhaenys was distraught.

This won Rhaegar no love from his wife, as Aegon overheard them arguing one night, in the billiards rooms.

Step-mama was in a fine mood.

“Really, Rhaegar what possible objection could you have to boy?”

“Well—” father paused and Aegon heard the clacking of billiards balls— “Firstly, he is some years her senior.”

“Yes, an insurmountable age gap of five years that has never occurred  in our circles before. Try harder,” Lyanna had said dryly.

“His leg.”

“What of it? It does not stop him from doing his duties, or even his hobbies!”

At this Aegon could hear Step-mama pacing the room in agitation.

“Rhaegar, I simply don't understand your reticence. You've seen them together, how she adores him.  And... you know how gentle and sweet Rhaenys is. With the wrong sort of husband she could be trodden all over. I don't want that for our girl. Willas—when she speaks he listens, truly listens with his whole body. He would make a good and kind husband for her."

Father hadn't anything to say to that so Aegon considered the matter settled. But still no words of an engagement.  Rhaenys locked her self away in her room and Step-mama glared murderously at father.

In the end though, it was their Uncle Oberyn who helped them steal away and elope. He claimed that he was helping his most beloved niece and dearest friend find happiness with one another.

That in doing so he got to enrage not one, not two, but three heads of very important families had nothing to with it, not at all.

It was all for the best though, Aegon and Jon were now very proud uncles. Rhaenys had truly blossomed after marriage. Out of her stepmother’s unintentional but intense shadow, she had grown into a formidable matron in her own right, more bold, more assured. The steel her family had always known was soon shown to the world. Her salons became famous for the intellectual discussions, fine entertainment, and delectable food. To be forcibly shunned from one, was, quite simply, the end of one’s social life.

Which lead Aegon to Jon’s situation.

“Is there, any particular reason Robb Stark wants to kill you?”

“Perhaps,” Jon said as he downed his drink in one gulp. Rhaenys tutted at him from the other side of her palor. She was carefully embroidering something for her second child, due sometime in the summer. Her and Willas’ son, Gareth was on the floor in the middle them all, attempting a tower of wooden blocks. Willas was there as well, and while usually an attentive husband and doting father, he currently had the racing papers in hand, and was going to deaf, blind, and generally useless to all and sundry for a good while.

Aegon braved his sister’s disapproval and poured Jon another drink. It was only mid-afternoon but Jon looked shaken indeed. Jon sipped his liquor this time.

“What possible reason would Robb Stark have to call you out like that?” their sister said in wonderment, and Aegon shared the feeling. Jon was near and dear to his Stark cousins, often being sent up to Winterfell for the summer just as he and Rhaenys were sent to Sunspear.

There was even a time were Aegon was terribly jealous of how close Robb and Jon were.

“There might be one reason…”

“I assume it is a frightfully big one.”

“Erm,…well”

“Isn’t Robb a rather good duelist?” Rhaenys asked absentmindedly, distracted with finishing up her stitching.

“I’d say, i’ve seen him put the instructors at the gymnasium flat on their back. Crack shot as well.”

Jon was looking very pale. “Do you recall, Sansa, the older of his sisters?”

“Of course,” their sister tucked her work back into its basket. “Charming girl, very sweet, played the pianoforte and sang at one of our salons and moved us all” She turned to her husband. “Isn’t that right Willas?”

“Hm, what?” Willas grunted, still staring down the names of other men’s horses and puzzling over whether they could possibly better than his own beasts.

“Sansa Stark and that beautiful aria she played.” Rhaenys reiterated before turning back to Jon, leaving Willas to his paper again. “What on earth about her?”

“She is… very lovely” Jon managed before his eyes got soft. “And kind and courteous…”

Aegon shared a wry look with his sister. Jon was a very quiet sort of person, a bit stuffy, and not kind to wax poetical on anything truly. He kept his feelings close to the vest. But to those who knew him, he had not been subtle in his admiration for his fair cousin.

“We know all this” Aegon chided, for Sansa was indeed beautiful and graceful and so-forth, if one like all that wide-eyed innocent nonsense. “Still doesn’t explain why Robb called you out at the club.”

“He called him out at the club?” Rhaenys said, ears turned to this new detail. “In front of all those people?”

“He was most serious about it” said Aegon, leaving out how Robb looked as if he would skip all protocol and strike Jon even as he sat, gaping at the challenge, soup spoon in hand.

For the rest of their meal Jon had been as bewildered as anybody, but during the ride to their sister’s, he looked as he had remembered something rather important.

“Do you recall the hunt the Starks hosted a little while back?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” said Rhaenys. “It was a wonderful week, but the actual hunt fell through when a sudden thunderstorm come right in the middle. Willas was quite put out, weren’t you Willas?”

“Hrm?”

“I seem to recall the party breaking up, in the search for shelter,” Aegon recalled. He and the other Stark girl, Arya had said the hell to it and followed the hounds anyway. They both caught terrible colds and Lady Stark lectured them fiercely.

“Yes, well, Sansa and I both got out the rain in this old barn, out of the way of everyone else,” Jon said in great rush. “And I, might… have… compromisedhervirtue.”

There was a loaded beat of silence.

“Come again?” Rheanys said in a quiet, careful voice.

Aegon felt even more sorry for his brother because while Rheanys could chatter and charm at her salons, her anger, once roused, was like father’s —quiet, controlled and utterly unnerving. This was the voice that had told Cersei Lannister to never darken her door again, and ran the woman out of the Ton.

“I.. may have taken rights, that is—to say, been intimate with her…” Another heavy moment of silence. “As a man is with his wife.”

Aegon felt his jaw drop. He could have seen himself doing something this stupid and scandalous, but not Jon, not steady, stuffy, ever-honorable-to-the-point-of-dullness Jon.

Who apparently hiked up the skirts and deflowered the most desirable debutante of the Season on some musty hay bed. On her own parents property, no less.

“I thought you rather chipper for man caught out in the rain!” Aegon exclaimed just as Rheanys demanded “You didn’t force yourself of the poor girl, did you Jon?”

“What? No, never!” Jon said vehemently and launched into some tale about the gently pattering of the rain on the barn’s roof, the light of the stars’ that resided in Sansa Stark’s eyes, an anguished declaration of undying affection (because of course when Jon got around to this love business it would be anguished) followed up by an equally tortured marriage proposal which was enthusiastically agreed to, an impassioned kiss… and things continued in an inappropriately amorous manner.

“No wonder Robb Stark wants to kill you,” huffed Rhaenys. “I want to kill you”

“We were careful to get all the straw out of our hair,” Jon added pathetically, which only served to irritate their sister more.

“How the devil did Stark find out?” Aegon mused. “It’s not the sort of thing a girl tells her older brother.”

“Of course not, you dolt,” she said as her face slide into one of sudden and deep thought. “The hunt was nearly two months wasn’t it?”

“Yes, about.”

“Why haven’t you’ve gone to your uncle yet?” Rhaenys asked, exasperated.

“I tried during the rest of the week, but there so many people about and I wasn’t able to get him alone, and then father immediately sent me to the continent to investigate that Lannister bank—”

“You gone for weeks on end! Did you send word to the poor child?”

Jon had the gall—or the sheer short sightedness— to look affronted. “We are not yet formally engaged, it wouldn’t be proper.”

Aegon discreetly edged away from his brother, as their sister looked ready to bludgeon Jon’s head with one of her son’s blocks.

“Still don't know how Robb Stark came to know all this” he put in, in the small hope the mystery would prolong Jon’s demise.

Rhaenys looked at both of them incredulously. “Are you both such idiots?”

At the damning silence that followed, she rolled her eyes and then enlighten:

“The poor girl missed her courses, and since she hadn’t heard from this blackguard in nearly two months, most like got scared and ran crying to her big brother.”

“Ah,” said Aegon.

“Oh,” said Jon losing what little color he had left.

Standing up with a clap of his hands, Aegon made way to the desk in the back.

“Well, that sounds utterly nerve wracking for the poor chit. Jon, I do hope you had given her a good enough time to make it worth it. I recall that rainstorm being rather prolonged.”

“Aegon!”

“Where the hell are your cigars Willas, the good ones?”

Willas had finally put down the racing papers, safe in the knowledge that none of his horses would embarrass him next race day. He looked up to see one of his brothers-in-law rifling through his desk.

“Left drawer, in the back, but whatever for?”

“Jon’s to be a father, we must celebrate.”

Willas turned to Jon, delighted smile on his face. “Really Jon, how wonderful! No greater thing than fatherhood, I tell you!”

Gareth, having seen his father surface from his papers, began climbing up Willas' legs to get into his lap. Once victorious, he was hugged tightly by his papa.

“Now when about is the blessed day? Perhaps it will be girl as well, what a fine playmate for our next one! Wait—when did you marry?” He looked to his wife; she knew nearly everything about anyone anyway.

“Jon has not married,” Rhaenys said tersely.

“Oh! Oh dear… then how? I mean, this is Jon…”

“Do you remember Sansa Stark?”

Willas nodded, brow slightly furrowed. “Yes, played and sang for us one time, very nice. Has a proper appreciation for our canine friends— not every girl her age or set does.”

“Well,” his wife continued, ever patient. “Jon’s been very sweet on her. Remember that hunt on the Stark estate, the one canceled due to that terrible thunderstorm? Apparently—” here Rhaenys tone grew daggers— “She and Jon waited it out together, if you understand my meaning.”

Willas most certainly did and looked properly scandalized.

Aegon rolled his eyes as he fished out the cigars. The man may have run away with Rhaenys in the middle of the night, but was still a stuffy patrician by the day’s end.

“I am in need of fresh air,” Jon announced suddenly, standing up and making his out back to the garden.

“And now Robb Stark’s called him out ” Rhaenys finished very calmly, as if her baby brother hadn’t stalked out of the room like an offended prima donna.

“I would say so! What’s been deicided?”

Aegon glanced up at the clock. “I’m to meet Greyjoy in an hour or so to discuss particulars.”

“This is ridiculous,” his sister huffed and she began to pace the room. “If the duel goes through, there’s going to be talk and Sansa’s name will come up, and in no good way,I assure you. Jon wants to marry the girl— a quiet wedding would solve all this!”

“Difficult to plan a wedding with pistols and sabers about, dear sis.”

“Ridiculous!” she repeated. “Willas, we are going to the Stark townhouse immediately! As long as cool heads are involved and prevail there should no reason to—”

There was a great deal of noise from outside the parlor. The door was flung and in its frame, there stood a woman with the righteous fury of a valkyrie: Step-mama Lyanna

“WHERE IS THAT IDIOT BOY OF MINE?”

[mmazzeroo]

Chapter 18:  DANY V - That Was Immensely Entertaining

@helloimnotawesome - Chapter 18 is up. It’s wedding time!!! Yay <3 

This is the longest chapter so far - longer than planned but it felt wrong to cut it and there were things that I really wanted included here, so....almost 3k for you :D Enjoy!

DANY V - That Was Immensely Entertaining:

'Lord Dayne in uniform' was that what the tv-reporter had said? No, that couldn't be. Jon doesn't have one. He lost it along with everything else that night. He was devastated when he had to tell Robb. She was there at Dragonstone that day. Holding him all through the night as he cried himself to sleep and occasionally woke up sobbing. For Jon his uniform represented something good he had done in his life, something he had chosen for himself and excelled at. The medals too. Not for what he'd done during battles and what he'd lost. For Jon it was evidence of what he'd saved, the lives rescued. The crowd's noisy I probably just misheard the reporter anyway. Marg was being a good sport as always. Playing her part effortlessly. Walking up the red carpet on the steps to the Great Sept she turned and waved at the crowd who responded with a deafening cheer. You'd think we were all still royalty. She laughed to herself at the thought as she too waved at the crowd. 

Inside the sept Loras was waiting for them with the bridesmaids and groomsmen. He'd arrived earlier along with their grandmother, President Olenna Tyrell. Loras was wearing his cavalry dress uniform - black jacket, black trousers with a double red stripe down the side of the legs and a white belt around the waist. Why do all men look so good in uniform? It's unfair. She again thought about the colours. Marg and Robb had wanted the colours of their houses to be combined to display a unification of their families, so all Starks and Tyrells would somehow incorporate the colours green, gold, grey or white into their outfits. Robb, Jon, Bran, Grey, Ned and Arya, and little Aegon would of course be wearing the traditional morning suit with black morning coat, waistcoat, formal trousers, white shirt, and a cravat. They'd decided that they'd all be wearing grey waistcoats and the cravat would be matched with the colour of roses embroidered on the bridesmaids dresses. So Grey's cravat was red, Bran's was green as he was meant to go alongside Sansa until he was given the honour of escorting the Queen of Thorns inside the Sept. 'The youngest Stark and I move at the same speed', as the President had said. Afterwards Arya was matched with Sansa, but refused to change her gold coloured cravat. Typical Arya! Everyone's little wild stubborn wolf. Jon and Aegon's were blue. He looks adorable in that little suit though - and so excited he has a matching outfit with Jon!

Margaery's dress was a white full-length gown with a chapel train. While the skirt was an opaque lace, the sleeveless top was a light layer of fabric that was completely see-through - with a nude layer below the lace to make it respectable for the occasion. Throughout the dress and top red, blue, green and gold roses were embroidered. The bridesmaids dresses were in similar style but in a very light grey and one colour roses per bridesmaid - Sansa had green, Missandei had red, and she had blue. When she'd originally questioned Margaery for suddenly adding blue and red she just received the reply that, 'blue is for the winter rose of the North, and everyone knows what red roses are the symbol of'. If it's true that the President herself is wearing a gold coloured jacket and blue dress I guess the colour checks out. Little Rhaenys' dress was a red skirt, black top and black band around her waist with a big red rose on it. So proud she gets to wear her own house colours. If only she knew it's because her mom tried to avoid her having to change outfit before the reception like Aegon needs to.

It was time. Aegon, carrying the cloak Robb would wrap Marg in, went first, then Rhaenys, Sansa & Arya, Missandei & Grey, then her and finally Margaery and Loras. Letting Aegon and Rhaenys enter first was a breach of tradition and protocol, but both Marg and Robb had been adamant that they wanted the little ones in the front. Wanted to give them their bit of the limelight. Wait! Is Robb wearing a green morning coat? Matching his bride beautifully, but another breach of protocol. Looking very aristocratic, Dr. Stark! She couldn't help laugh a bit to herself. Those two have apparently decided to make a tradition of breaking tradition! Aegon had made it all the way up the aisle and was handing the cloak over to—

—OOOH! GODS! Oh Gods! Oh Gods! Jon is wearing a uniform?! How is that even possible?! He lost it. Didn't he lose it? He did! Everything was lost in the fire as the car burned out. Then how? Her head was swimming with questions. She almost forgot to breathe. She felt her legs moving but wasn't sure how she was still walking - or even standing upright. Dressed like that he's the most sexy-looking man I've ever laid eyes on! Somehow she'd made it all the way up the aisle. Standing by Margaery's side she couldn't take her eyes of Jon. She'd never seen a Night's Watch officer's dress uniform before. Light blue trousers with a red stripe down the side of the legs. Deep blue, almost black, jacket and matching belt. Oh, my dress matches his trousers! Marg, you sneaky woman, you! Oh, is that a sword by his side? And his medals, oh gods! Some on his right chest and one particularly prestigious one, the Medal of Valour, was around his neck, meticulously placed so it sat just at the collar of the jacket. Oh Gods, that entire outfit is full-on panty-dropping material right there. Dany! Get a grip, woman! Remember where you are, for fuck's sake!

She hadn't noticed, but apparently the ceremony was over and Jon walked over to escort her down the aisle and out of the sept. Did I stand here and ogle him the whole time?!? In full view of EVERYONE?? Oh Gods!!

As they walked down the aisle right behind the newly-weds, Jon leaned in slightly and whispered, "you look absolutely stunning, Dany. You're the most beautiful woman in the world, and I can't seem to take my eyes of you. Beginning to think you must've cast a spell on me, Dr. Targaryen."

Gods, the way he looks at me! And that voice! So deep and husky and...ugh, I just want to peal that uniform off and climb him like a tree. Gods I can't take it. It's too much. He's too sweet, too gorgeous, too good, too much right now.

They were outside now where the crowd was cheering for the newly-weds. She turned to Jon and said, "thank you, Captain. You look very handsome yourself. Don't even know how I made it up there I couldn't stop looking at you, so maybe you're the one who cast a spell on me, Lord Dayne." She gave him a shy smile and looked to the ground quickly. She felt him give her hand a gentle squeeze before turning his face to the crowd, flashed them a big smile and waved. Wow, mom and Tyrion have taught him well...

Robb turned slightly and waved them down to join him and Marg on one of the lower steps. The crowd responded with more loud cheering. Apparently very big fans of both the eldest Stark sons. But this one's mine! She caught Marg's eye and they both leaned up and gave each their man a kiss on the cheek. And I just made my public announcement. She couldn't help grinning at the crowd's euphoric reaction to the two pairs. Jon placed a hand on her lower back, kissed her temple and waved at the crowd again. And I'm his!

——————————

Another way the newly-weds had decided to break tradition was by not having a big wedding feast. Instead they wanted to share the celebrations with the public so a few days up to the wedding there had been various events throughout Westeros. Concerts, funfairs, open-air theatre plays etc. all for free, and would continue for a few more days. On their wedding day itself there would be free, public feasts in as many cities, towns and villages as they'd been able to coordinate with the local Lords and Mayors. For their wedding gifts they'd requested donations to charities for the sick, old, poor, refugees, orphans, and animals. They didn't want anything for themselves. Already charity organisations were reporting a spike in donations. They couldn't quite avoid a reception though for the most important on the 'who's who'-list in Westeros. So a gathering of approx a hundred had been invited to a light meal at the hospital - the usual floor used for any kind of festivities.

At the reception the newly-weds, bridesmaids and groomsmen had all changed to different dresses and suits. She had chosen a knee-length, shoulder-less dress of purple lace matching the colour of her eyes. From the way the other girls had looked at her when they saw her she knew Jon would not be unaffected. Just as I planned. The problem was that when she saw him she was equally affected. He had changed to black dress trousers, white shirt, purple bowtie, purple velvet waistcoat and purple velvet jacket. What in the hells? Are we unconsciously colour coordinating? Look at him! So confident, so handsome in that casual laidback Jon-way!

As he was walking up to her, smiling that special smile she had learned was just for her, his eye caught something behind her and his steps halted for a second. He tensed up but tried to hide it. What do you see, my love? Everyone else had already been seated. Only ones missing were her and Jon, and Marg and Robb. She turned her head but didn't see anyone or anything out of the ordinary.

"What's she doing here?" He growled in her ear. Haven't heard that tone since the day Ned told him the truth.

"Who, my love?"

"The woman in red." Still growling. Wolf mode is in progress.

"That's Ambassador Melisandre."

He glared at the red woman. "Ambassador?"

"For the Free Cities."

He snorted. "Of course she is." He lowered his head, squeezed his eyes shut, jaws and fists clenched hard before he took a slow deep breath.

"..Jon...it's ok if you're not ready. I'll just tell them you're—"

"—no!" Another breathe to try to steel himself. "Let's just do this. I'll be ok." You hope!

"Jon, don't do this to yourself, please. It's alright. I promise." She held his face in her hands, gently, but forcing him to look at her.

He sighed. "I know, I just..," he sighed again. I can't bare to see all that pain back in our eyes. "I can't go through life doing only what feels easy, can I? I'm going to meet people from my past that...." He ran a hand down over his face. "I have to do this, Dany." No you don't but you're not willing to listen right now.

She nodded, gave him a slow deep kiss trying to convey her support and love for him.

They sat at a round table. She was sat between Loras and Jon who sat between her and her mom. Good strategic decision, Marg. Next to Loras, President Olenna was seated, then Robb, Marg, Ned, Cat, Tyrion, Ambassador Melisandre, DA Oberyn Martell, her mom, and then Jon. Dinner was going well despite Jon being tense and quiet, only giving short curt answers. She had noticed the worried looks from the Starks - and her mom. She'd done her best to downplay it all with a few looks of her own and a light shaking of her head. Difficult to point at someone without anyone noticing while sitting at a round table.

Everything was fine until President Olenna mentioned that the Gold Cloaks had found and brought in a Greyjoy to the hospital, currently still in the ICU.

"Theon?" Jon's head snapped up. Who's he to you, darling? You look hurt and yet there's a sliver of hope in your voice.

"We believe so but Commander Selmy's team haven't been able to reach any relatives yet."

"No don't! Please don't do that!"

"Would you not want him to be reunited with his family like you have been with yours, Lord Dayne? Thought you were raised a good God-fearing man like your father, Lord Stark over here?" Oh for fuck's sake woman why couldn't you keep devious mouth shut?!

Jon's head turned towards the Ambassador so fast she feared it might've snapped off his neck.

"Let's get one thing clear, Ambassador, I tolerate your presence and only sit at the same table as you out of courtesy. Maybe others here don't know or don't care, but I know what you really are. I remember what you did!" The last line was said with a growl. She couldn't see his entire face clearly but she was sure his wolf fangs were showing. Everyone at the table was silent. Luckily there was chatter in the background from the other tables. Thanks the Gods he's managing to control himself. Somewhat at least.

He took a deep breath before continuing through clenched teeth. "Secondly, God-fearing? God-FEARING? Hmm? Is that what they want? The Gods? For me, for us to fear them?" He snorted and shook his head in disbelief. "The Lord of Light wants his enemies burned, the Drowned God wants them drowned, the Black Goat requires a daily blood sacrifice and the Many-Faced God is basically Death himself. Tell me priestess, why are all Gods such vicious cunts?! Where's the God of Tits & Wine?"

"To the God of Tits & Wine!!!" Tyrion and Oberyn cheered in unison then shared a look of surprise? Gratitude? Those two are a perfect match for each other! Thank you for trying to break the tension gentlemen, but afraid you're much too late.

Ned sent her an anxious look. He knew how badly this could go if they didn't manage to stop Jon - or if he didn't manage to reign himself in. I know, Ned, I know! I'm worried too. She didn't know what to do though. Not here. Not in this setting.

"Thirdly," Jon continued, calmly but clearly restraining himself, and with a deep growl said, "don't you ever dare try to slander my father's good name again!" He glared at her. If eyes could kill she'd be dead a thousand times over by now.

He turned back around to face President Tyrell. After another deep breathe he managed a warm and calm tone of voice when he said, "it is no secret that there is no love lost between the Greyjoys and myself. However, no human deserves to be subjected to the kind of humiliation that Theon was - that too by his own family. So please, Madam President, I beg of you do not try to contact any relatives he may have until he's awake and able to tell you himself. He deserves at least that." You have such a big and kind heart, Jon. Every time I learn something new about you I love you more.

As always the Queen of Thorns was wearing her pokerface. She had not reacted to his outburst at Ambassador Melisandre, an official representative for a very important ally for Westeros -  and if offended could have severe political, economical and social consequences. Listening to Jon's plea on behalf of Theon Greyjoy the old woman simply nodded.

"Thank you." Jon turned his head slightly to look at his father. "When his doctor allows it, I'd like to come by and see him if that's ok with you, Lord Stark?" Furious, yet still remembering your manners. Well done, my love.

"Oh course, Lord Dayne. I'll let you know." Gods, I hate this formality!

Turning back to the President, Jon said, "with your leave Madam President I'd like to go catch some fresh air."

"Yes, I thought you might." Is that a smirk? She finds this amusing? "Granted, Lord Dayne."

He stood up and nodded around the table. "Madam President, Lords, Ladies, Ambassador," and then he left. Didn't dare to look at me before leaving....you promised you wouldn't hide from me, Jon...

Everyone was silent for a few seconds before Loras stood up. "I'll go check on him." He too nodded to everyone, and then just before leaving he leaned towards her and whispered, "if I'm not back in 5 mins come find us."

She just nodded. Jon where did you disappear to? Before she could think any further her thoughts were interrupted by President Olenna's loud laugh.

"Ha! Lord Stark you've neglected to tell me your eldest son has such a ferocious bite to him! I love the boy already! That was immensely entertaining!"