Rhaenyra didn’t think that Syrax had ever landed so daintily as she did just then, finding an open space in the Dragon Pit.  She lowered herself down and curled over gently, giving Rhaenyra a very easy, gentle way down from her saddle.

“Easy does it, Princess,” Ser Harwin murmured softly as he helped her.

“I’m not made of glass, Ser Harwin,” Rhaenyra chuckled, “and my little lady has been taking very good care of me.  You’re so smart, Syrax.”

The yellow dragon practically purred as she turned around and let Rhaenyra scratch her scales.  Syrax had always been gentler than most dragons, which was a good thing given how young the princess had been when they first bonded, but she’d been positively sweet ever since Rhaenyra began to show.  Even less intelligent animals could become increasingly gentle and protective of pregnant women, she knew, but she’d still been surprised by the change in her mount’s behavior.  Her hot breath enveloped Rhaenyra, and the princess let the warmth relax her.

“Princess?” one of the dragon handlers asked, and Syrax’s eyes opened immediately as a warning snarl slipped past her lips.

“It’s okay, Syrax,” Rhaenyra assured her before turning to the handlers. “She’s been a little extra protective of me of late.”

“She’s always been a smart one,” one of them smiled. “Congratulations, Princess.”

“Thank you,” Rhaenyra nodded.  Turning back to Syrax, she said, “Be good for them.  We’re going to be here for a little while.”

Syrax huffed at that but went towards one of the empty dens without further complaint, followed by the handlers, who left her alone with Ser Harwin.

“Is Seasmoke behind you?” he asked.

“Laenor had a couple last-minute things to take care of,” Rhaenyra replied. “He’ll be here within the hour.”

“A carriage awaits us,” Ser Harwin nodded, gesturing towards the door.

“How fares the city?” Rhaenyra asked as she walked with him.

“Mad as a rabid dog, same as it always is when there’s a major tourney,” Ser Harwin replied. “The construction of the sept is only adding to the challenge, but Ser Luthor assures me the Watch has it well in hand.”

“I saw,” Rhaenyra smiled as she got into the carriage with some help from her sworn shield. “They made faster progress there than I thought they would with the demolition.”

“What takes years, or even decades, to build can be knocked down in days,” Ser Harwin chuckled, and Rhaenyra frowned.

“Isn’t that the truth?” she muttered, her mind drifting to the state her family had been in in Jon’s time.

“Princess?” Ser Harwin asked, his brow furrowing at her mood swing.

“Never mind,” Rhaenyra replied dismissively. “The next couple moons can’t move quickly enough for my tastes.”

“Right,” Ser Harwin murmured.

“Is everyone settled?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Long since,” Ser Harwin replied. “We arrived late yesterday and had the entire evening and morning to do so.  It was a little more difficult than normal with so many more people about, but nothing that we hadn’t seen before.”

“Of course,” Rhaenyra nodded, looking up at the Red Keep.

She had sent her retinue ahead, knowing that she and Laenor would fly across Blackwater Bay in little time at all.  That meant that Jon was in the keep with the rest of the servants she’d brought.  She wished that she could have been with him as he spent his first hours in the keep that would have been his home growing up if not for the calamities that befell their family, but she knew that she’d have to keep her distance from him in general for the duration of their time in the city, so it was best to get used to that quickly.

“That bitch’s many eyes and ears will be paying close attention to me here,” she thought to herself, hating that her childhood home had ceased to be a place where she could feel fully safe. “I expect her to be more cuntish than normal, given that she’s in the same state I am.”

“His grace has quite the surprise waiting for you,” Ser Harwin piped up, and Rhaenyra’s purple eyes lit up with curiosity as he looked at him.

“Oh?” she asked.

“I cannot say,” Ser Harwin replied.

“Tell me,” Rhaenyra insisted. “His letters didn’t hint at any surprise.”

“He made it very clear that if anyone spoiled it, that person would be going to the Wall,” Ser Harwin laughed, “and Father didn’t think he was kidding.  He bade me tell you that there was a surprise awaiting you but no more.”

Rhaenyra huffed at that and stared back up at the Red Keep, wondering what exactly her father could have done.  He was a generous man but not generally foolishly so, despite what her uncle thought, and she hoped that he hadn’t done anything too grandiose, given that the tourney itself was going to be costly.  She hoped to get some progress made in working out a deal for the canal project she was going to pitch, after all, and that was not going to come cheap.

The carriage continued on its way, and as some noticed who was in it, they began cheering for her.  She waved to them, smiling widely, and was happy to hear among the many lovely things they said references to the sept being built.  Apparently, word had spread more quickly than she’d anticipated, and she had to wonder if her father had done more than just have criers spread word of what was being done.  As she reached the Red Keep, she was ushered in by a host of guards and escorted to the throne room, where her father awaited her.

“Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Princess of Dragonstone, and heir to the Iron Throne,” the herald called out, and the room went silent as she walked confidently towards the Iron Throne.

The room was filled with various courtiers and a host of nobles that she recognized.  They all smiled, though some of them did not reach their eyes.  She noted the false ones easily enough, something made easier with the women, many of whom wore green but did not show it.  She kept her face utterly composed and calm, though her eyes still grew stormy as they fell upon Ser Criston and Alicent.

“My daughter,” Viserys said happily as he rose from his throne.

“Father,” Rhaenyra replied in kind as he closed the distance and kissed her cheek.

“By the gods, you’re glowing,” Viserys murmured. “Come.  Make way!  I want her to see it.”

Rhaenyra furrowed her brow at that, watching as some of the people crowding around to the right of the throne began to move away, only for her breath to hitch as she saw what they were obscuring.  A pedestal had been built in the throne room, atop which sat a miniature replica of her sept.  It was exactly as Jon had described it: a white marble structure with seven pointed towers and a great dome.  She knew from her father’s model of their family’s old home in Valyria that the ‘marble’ in this case was wood painted white, but it still looked remarkable, and she had no idea what had gone into creating the glass dome that it contained.

“Was this your doing?” she asked him, and her father smiled.

“You left me your plans, and the descriptions were vivid enough for me to work from,” Viserys replied. “I figured that our noble guests might be a little more impressed if they could truly visualize what you had come up with.”

“It’s simply stunning, Princess,” one of the bolder noblewomen called out, and Rhaenyra turned to look at her.

She was a pretty brunette with pale blue eyes, prominent cheekbones, and a slightly crooked smile that seemed to be genuine.  She wore a blue dress that matched her eyes and didn’t give away her preferences between herself and Alicent at all.

“Annara Tyrell,” her father explained as quietly and subtly as he could.

“Ah, you’re Lord Matthos’ eldest daughter, I recall,” Rhaenyra smiled, far more curious about the color she was wearing and the seemingly genuine smile on her face now that she knew who she was.

“Quite right, Princess,” Annara nodded.

“However did you come up with this?” another noble asked, and Rhaenyra fixed a smile on her face, knowing that this would likely take a while.

*****

Jon stared up at the designated area for Rhaenyra’s sept and swallowed thickly.  This would have been the spot where his fa...uncle was executed before a cheering crowd.  He scowled, and not just at the thought.  This part of the city might not have smelled as bad as the areas Harwin had dragged him to the previous night, but it was still foul.  Wintertown on its worst day hadn’t been this bad, and he couldn’t fathom how the people managed to stand it.

“I hope I live to see this finished,” a nearby man asked as he watched the construction.

“Given the piss you drink nightly, I doubt it,” his friend next to him joked, and he barked a laugh before the two of them continued on their way.

They were far from the first men he’d seen come by to watch the men as they worked.  The demolition of the sept that had stood here had apparently been finished moons ago, and once they’d cleared away everything, they began work on the foundation.  It would be years, he knew, before they had made enough progress to have anything impressive to show, but the excitement in the air was almost palpable, and he knew why.  Walking along, he peered up at the large roll of parchment that had been nailed to a nearby post.

“It’s at least as impressive as the accounts I read suggested,” he thought to himself as he stared at the painting.

The king had apparently commissioned a number of these to be posted through the city, based upon the model that he had created himself.  They were a way to let the people know what exactly the old sept had been torn down in favor of and why they were all being forced to attend their services at a makeshift one in an old manse that had been converted for such purposes.  As a follower of the Old Gods, such sights held no special meaning for him, but he could admit that, if the building ended up looking like the model and the illustrations, it would be beautiful.

“I don’t think the gods need such gaudy displays,” he thought to himself, “but perhaps these southern ones are as spoiled and frivolous as their worshipers.”

“Clear off,” a gruff voice muttered behind him. “We don’t need gawkers crowding up the...Jon?”

“Ser Luthor, good day,” Jon replied, nodding.

“I didn’t expect to find you of all people here,” Ser Luthor chuckled, “what with…”

“I don’t follow your gods, but I was curious to see how far things had come,” Jon replied.

Ser Harwin had introduced him to a number of the men he’d served with in his time with the Gold Cloaks the previous night when he took him to a nearby inn.  The large, boisterous man had become a friend in the several moons he’d spent at Dragonstone, and he appreciated his company as he tried to get used to what was easily the most crowded place he’d ever seen.

“It could be decades before they finish this if it’s going to be as big and grand as it seems,” Ser Luthor muttered. “Come.  You said you were curious about how the Watch operated last night, and I could use another cunt as intimidating-looking as you at my side just now.”

That was a laugh, considering that the man speaking to him was half a foot taller than he was and looked like he could break a man’s neck with his bare hands, but Jon wasn’t going to point that out.

“You expecting trouble?” he asked.

“This is King’s Landing,” Ser Luthor muttered. “There’s always trouble about, especially when his grace throws a tourney.  I hoped what happened last time would keep him from it for a while longer than this.”

“Oh?” Jon asked.

“It was the princess’ wedding,” Ser Luthor replied as he led him along. “That Cole cunt broke Harwin’s collarbone and killed her husband’s...friend.  I remember his grace being angry over it.”

“He is a cunt by accounts, Cole, I mean,” Jon muttered.

“Yes, but a fucking dangerous one,” Ser Luthor replied. “The Lord Commander always hated him.”

“Did you take over for the prince right after he left?” Jon asked.

“I did,” Ser Luthor nodded. “He named me his replacement as his final act before he stepped away.”

“What was it like serving under him?” Jon asked, curious.

“I had never known what it was like to actually respect someone before I met him,” Ser Luthor replied. “My father died when I was young; a fever, and my mother married a weak prick after him.  I was taller and stronger than him before I was two and ten.  When I joined the Watch, it was because I didn’t know what else to do.  We were a ragged bunch then, with no clue what the fuck we were doing, and led by men more keen on filling their pockets than striking fear in the criminal scum around here.  Within one year, the Lord Commander had changed all of it.”

“That was a quick turnaround,” Jon commented.

“He purged us of everyone whom he deemed too weak or corrupt to work with, brought in new blood, and trained us until our hands bled,” Ser Luthor chuckled. “By the time he was done, we were an actual fighting force, had learned the meaning of discipline, and the new gold cloaks he gave us, he made sure that we wore with pride.  ‘Crime is a wound on the body politic,’ he said once, ‘and if treated regularly, it can be done without being too invasive.  Allow it to fester, though, to go untreated, and only the harshest, most brutal methods will work.’”

Jon couldn’t help but smile at the sheer pride and happiness in the otherwise taciturn man’s voice as he spoke of Daemon, not to mention the impression he launched into as he quoted him.

“The cart that hauled off the dismembered parts of the cunts we butchered that first night had to be pulled along by two horses,” Ser Luthor grinned. “In the end, he was right, though; the treatment was brutal, but we never had to do anything like that again.  We’ll still maim thieves, geld rapers, and kill murderers too stupid to beg for the Wall, but nowhere near at the rate we did that night, and in short order, this city went from being a crime-infested shithole to a much safer shithole.”

Jon snorted at that, saying, “I definitely get the shit part.  No idea how you can stand the smell.”

“You get used to it,” Ser Luthor shrugged. “Spend enough time in Flea Bottom, and you won’t have much of a sense of smell left afterward.”

“We have too many projects on the go at the moment, but if Rhaenyra can find a way to improve the state of things here, she’ll be beloved in this city for centuries,” he thought to himself.

“Lord Commander,” Ser Petyr nodded as they approached the East Barracks.

“Petyr,” Ser Luthor nodded. “What came of that mess in the Street of Silk?”

“We intervened before it became a full-on brawl,” Ser Petyr replied. “How it didn’t occur to the dumb cunts to stop dressing up that pair of whores as the queen and princess while the nobility were around, I don’t know.”

“What?” Jon asked, his eyes widening.

“One of the larger brothels around here has a pair of whores on hand that the owner swears look like them,” Ser Luthor replied. “They don’t refer to them by name, so they technically avoid breaking the law, but they dress them up in black and green and advertise them as the queen and the delight.  A few Reachers took offense about the former, and the drunken pricks nearly could have caused a riot just by the sheer number of people who got dragged into it.”

“We cracked a few skulls, and the rest of them buggered off,” Ser Petyr chuckled.

“Not particularly important skulls, I trust,” Ser Luthor glared, and the other man had the good sense to react quickly.

“No, Lord Commander,” Ser Petyr insisted.

“Good,” Ser Luthor muttered. “Last thing I need in the midst of this headache is nobles complaining more than they do generally.”

“An unfortunate part of being the commander,” Ser Petyr chuckled, earning another glare from the taller man.

He was about to respond when the sound of a nearby scuffle drew all their attention.

“What now?” Ser Petyr muttered before signaling to a handful of other gold cloaks to follow as he went in search of the source of the noise.

Ser Luthor and Jon joined them, and the entire group sped up as they heard the distinct sound of steel being drawn.  By the time they reached them, a full-on battle had begun, and people were fleeing in all directions to get away from the armed men.

“It’s not even midday,” Ser Luthor grumbled as he drew his mace. “How drunk could these cunts be?”

“Look at their livery,” Jon sighed, drawing his blade, which he had tentatively named Bloodletter, as he noticed the surcoats of the two nobles at the center of the scuffle.

“Oh, fuck me,” Ser Luthor hissed as Ser Petyr drew a whistle and blew into it.

It was a signal for every gold cloak in the area to rush over and should have, by all rights, convinced the dumb assholes in front of them to lay down their arms, but no one ever accused the Blackwoods and Brackens of being clear-headed where their ancient feud was concerned.

“Defend yourself if they attack you too, but leave this to us,” Ser Luthor said as the gold cloaks rushed in to join the fray. “Put down your weapons, you dumb cunts, or you’ll be spending the next few nights in the cells!”

Jon kept his blade at his side, ready to defend himself if needed, but not wanting to draw the attention of the other gold cloaks who started streaming in.  He watched them work with interest and couldn’t help but compare them to the Night’s Watch.  His men were a sight better trained by the time he was betrayed and could fight together with sufficient cohesion, but the City Watch were clearly better.  These men had either been trained by the rogue prince or by men who were and had fought together for years.

“I suppose it makes sense that they’d be better,” he thought to himself. “The men of the Night’s Watch encountered the Free Folk intermittently before the threat of the Others drove them south together.  These poor sods deal with drunken idiots nightly, most likely.”

They moved swiftly to isolate the brawling fools into small groups and then worked to disarm them.  He noticed that they seemed reluctant to move towards the two fighting nobles themselves and could understand at once why Ser Luthor seemed to hate tourneys so much if they could be this much of a pain.  Watching the pair of them fight, he was able to ascertain two things pretty quickly.  The first was that both of these men had been well trained by whoever their respective masters-at-arms were, and the second was that the one wearing a surcoat displaying the red stallion of House Bracken was better.

The Blackwood man was holding his own but was swiftly put on the defensive, and after one particularly overly televised upward slash was parried by his Bracken foe, he left an opening that the man took full advantage of.  Driving his shoulder into the man’s chest, the Bracken knight knocked him to the ground.  Holding his sword at his side, he peered down at his fallen foe, a vicious grin undoubtedly hidden beneath his helmet, and moved to stab it through his throat.  Jon rushed over without even thinking and brought Bloodletter up to parry the blade, cutting right through it.

“That’s enough!” he roared, and the man stared back and forth between his broken stump blade and Jon.

“Any cunt who doesn’t drop his sword in the next five seconds is going to the wall, got it!?” Ser Luthor roared, and, as they noticed that their lords had both been either disarmed or knocked down, the men-at-arms finally listened.

“Who the fuck are you?!” the Bracken knight growled.

“The man who just saved you from freezing your balls off at the wall for the rest of your life,” Jon spat, “or do you think his grace would have reacted well to you killing another knight the day before the tourney started?”

“That little rat is no knight,” the Bracken spat, glaring at the Blackwood as he stood up.

“I can slice through yours too,” Jon said warningly.

“The lot of you clear off, now,” Ser Luthor growled, and the Bracken knight threw his ruined sword to the ground angrily.

“Stay away from my sister, boy,” he hissed at his foe before leaving in a huff, followed closely by his men, some of whom were walking quite stiffly.

“You saved my life, ser,” the Blackwood knight breathed, and Jon realized that he had to be younger than he’d first assumed.  

Sure enough, as he slid up his visor, he revealed a face that Jon doubted he even shaved regularly yet.  He was pale, with dark eyes and curly black hair that fell to his shoulders.  From the sound of the Bracken Knight’s voice, he was clearly years older than the boy he’d fought, which made how the boy handled himself a little more impressive.

“I’m no ser,” Jon chuckled.

“Thanks for your help there,” Ser Luthor muttered as he joined him. “What the fuck happened here?”

The boy was about to respond when the sound of armored men approaching drew their attention.

“Samwell?” an older man called out, and the boy paled.

“Here, Ben,” he sighed.

“I told you not to venture out here without me,” the man growled angrily, and Samwell wilted under his angry gaze.

“I know, but I wanted to see what the local smiths had in the way of swords and…” Samwell replied defensively as the older man ripped off his helmet and glared down at him.

He looked at the boy he was glaring at, and Jon figured at once that they were related.  He couldn’t help but think it funny that he had once again come to the aid of someone named Samwell, though as that thought entered his head, he finally remembered something that made him wince.

“You’re Samwell Blackwood,” he said, “heir to Raventree Hill?”

“Aye, that’s right,” Ben replied. “I’m his brother, Ser Ben Rivers.”

“That was the heir of Stone Hedge, wasn’t it?” Jon sighed, and Ben’s eyes went wide.

“What?” he hissed.

“We caught them having a full bloody brawl in the middle of the streets,” Ser Luthor glared. “It’s fortunate no one died before we could interfere. “Can I trust you to get this lot back to the Keep, Rivers?”

“I’ll handle it,” Ben replied. “On behalf of our lord father, I apologize for the trouble.”

“Steer clear of them going forward, lest we have any further trouble,” Ser Luthor said warningly. “Alright, you lot, fun’s over.  Get back to your patrols.”

The Gold Cloaks all shouted out in agreement and cleared off, leaving the Blackwood party to their business.

“I would know the name of the man who saved my life,” Samwell commanded as Jon turned to leave, and he blanched at the realization that he hadn’t introduced himself.

“I’m Jon Snow,” he replied.

“A northerner?” Samwell asked. “And here I thought we were going to be the only followers of the Old Gods here.”

“I’m in the service of Lord Laenor Velaryon and the Princess Rhaenyra,” Jon explained, noting that Samwell blushed a little at the mention of her. “I came with their party.”

“Well, we owe you a debt, Jon Snow,” Ben smiled grimly. “Our father will want to meet you at some point.”

“I’m here for the tourney, so that shouldn’t be difficult,” Jon replied.

“Why don’t you come with us?” Samwell asked. “If you came here with the princess, I assume you’re staying with her other servants, and we are heading back to the Red Keep.”

“Why not?” Jon replied, seeing that Ser Luthor had already left.  He had disarmed one noble heir to save another, and something like that was going to draw attention either way, so there was little point in fighting it.  As he turned to leave with them, he saw Ben lean in close to his brother, who paled again at his anger.

“I told you no good would come of that,” the bastard hissed under his breath.

“I just looked, truly,” Samwell replied defensively.

“What the fuck did I just get myself into?” Jon wondered to himself.

*****

Rhaenyra had spent longer than she liked answering questions from various nobles in the throne room before finally managing to excuse herself.  Her rooms were as she left them, and she’d taken the opportunity to settle in and change into a proper gown, a flowing black one that helped hide the roundness of her belly a little, drawing attention instead to her growing breasts, which the gown was cut to show the tops of.  The rubies that studded the bodice gave her the hint of red she liked to pair with black, showing off her house’s colors.

She knew that a great feast would follow that evening, as there was no way that her father wouldn’t throw many of them in the coming days as the tourney commenced, and she steeled herself for the flood of attention that she was going to get.  That was something that she generally enjoyed, but she was tired all the time lately, and that made things less enjoyable.  As it turned out, though, there was a very pleasant surprise awaiting her.

“I’m so glad you could come,” Rhaenyra beamed at her cousin Jeyne as people all throughout the great hall sat, feasted, and spoke merrily.

It had been a couple years since she’d last seen her, though the woman seemed to have barely changed at all.  Her flowing dark hair and royal blue eyes were as lovely as ever, and Rhaenyra had always thought her to be pretty, which made the fact that she remained unwed, and apparently always would, confusing.  A few years older than herself, her cousin was of an age with Laenor and had been the technical Lady of the Vale since her father died when she was just three years old, though a regent had ruled in her stead for over a decade.  The two wrote back and forth often enough and she hadn’t mentioned that she was coming at all.

“When I heard that the tourney was breng thrown, in part, to announce the construction of a grand sept in the capital, I knew that I had to come,” Jeyne replied, smiling proudly. “The Vale is, after all, the birthplace of the faith in Westeros.”

A few of the lords from the Reach bristled at that, and Rhaenyra fought the urge to roll her eyes.  The Andal conquest had begun in the Vale, as that was the first region that the settlers from across the Narrow Sea had landed in.  No one could deny the region’s claim, but as the Reach was the site of Oldtown and the Starry Sept, its people held their lands as being more important to the Faith.

“All conflicts ultimately come down to cock measuring,” Laenor had quipped once while quite in his cups.  Rhaenyra had flushed scarlet at his words at the time, though in this instance, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he’d been onto something.

Jeyne was seated close to Rhaenyra, who was herself at her father’s left hand.  It was to show the closeness of their relation and connection and had been done, she suspected, because her father knew that her cousin planned to surprise her and wanted to give them an easy opportunity to chat.  The other Vale lords were seated near their suzerain lady, and many of them wore black like Rhaenyra did.  

Peering to her right, she kept her face neutral with some effort as she saw Lord Hobert Hightower seated near Alicent.  His heir, Ormund, was there as well, seated next to Gwayne, and Rhaenyra thanked the gods that Otto was still not welcome in the capital, or she’d have had a complete set of them to deal with.  The Reach lords were seated close to them as well, with most of them wearing green, and as she noted the obvious factions from that alone, she wondered, not for the first time, how her father had failed to notice just how obviously things went poorly in the other timeline.

Looking away from the lords whom she knew wouldn’t hesitate to rebel against her if her brother tried to usurp her claim down the line, she spotted one among the Vale lords who drew her attention and called out to him.

“Lord Gerold,” she said, “I heard about that dreadful business with your son.  It pleased me greatly to hear that he seems to be recovering.”

“I wasn’t aware that you kn...thank you for your kind words, Princess,” Gerold Belmore smiled. “Strong as an ox my Gyles is, but it was rather touch and go for a while.  He’s furious that he couldn’t fight in the melee.  Damned wildlings.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Viserys said sympathetically. “Thank the gods your son wasn’t more gravely injured.”

“I thought the wildlings were in the North?” Aegon asked quietly, tapping his mother’s arm.

Aemond was still too young to join them at formal feasts, but her father and Alicent had deemed Aegon and Helaena old enough to sit with them.

“They are, sweetling,” Alicent replied quietly. “Lord Gerold was referring to the mountain men of the Vale.  Terrible bandit tribes that have plagued them since time immemorial.”

“Just send knights to kill them all,” Aegon said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and there wasn’t a single Valeman who didn’t laugh, making him grow flustered.

“A most wise suggestion, Prince Aegon,” Jeyne said with amusement. “Unfortunately, they have many very dangerous hiding places that we cannot reach.”

Aegon shrugged at that and returned his attention to the roasted venison on his plate.

“Thank you again for the wooden replica of Dreamfyre, Rhaenyra,” Helaena smiled at her, and Rhaenyra returned the look.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Rhaenyra replied.

It occurred to her that, as a girl, much of what had so endeared her uncle to her had been the fact that he showered her with gifts.  Taking a page from his book, she commissioned a woodworker to create little ornate toys for her siblings in the shape of Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, and a dragon-themed knight atop a black charger.  The man did a remarkable job with the dragons, given that she’d only been able to give him physical descriptions to work from, and the way Alicent looked like she was grinding her teeth as she gave her siblings their presents made it coin well spent.

“Rhaenyra,” Aegon said suddenly. “Could you...could I fly with you?”

Rhaenyra saw the hope in her half-brother’s eyes and felt her heart lurch for a moment, knowing that she couldn’t say yes in her state.  Flying was exciting and exhilarating, and the chance that a child would flail their arms around as they experienced it for the first time wasn’t zero.  She couldn’t risk being accidentally hit by him while so heavily pregnant and cursed herself for not seeing this coming, given that it was a perfect opportunity to build rapport with him.  She was about to respond when she happened to see the glint in Alicent’s eyes, and she froze.

“You cunt,” she raged mentally, realizing what her hated rival had done.

Aegon was a spoiled boy prone to surliness and sulking when told no.  By subtly encouraging him to ask this, knowing that Rhaenyra couldn’t say yes, she’d put her in a position where she was going to disappoint him knowingly.  Given that she herself had borne three children and was swollen with a fourth just then, she’d have known very well what Rhaenyra’s response was going to be.  

This was why she couldn’t just try to befriend her siblings and hope that alone would avert the war.  Alicent’s influence was going to be a problem the entire time, and the woman was subtle enough to poison them against her without doing anything that her father would notice.  Getting closer to them in a constructive way was always going to be an uphill battle.  As she recalled who was sitting next to her, though, a thought occurred to her.

“Uphill battles are made far easier with dragons,” she thought to herself, “and I have more than Syrax to call upon.”

“I won’t be taking anyone flying for the next few moons, Aegon,” Rhaenyra replied. “It would be dangerous in my condition.”

“You took Helaena, though,” Aegon scowled, not truly understanding.

“Yes, but I wasn’t heavy with child then,” Rhaenyra replied gently.  Just as her father moved to intervene, she added, “I’m sure Laenor would be happy to take you up on Seasmoke, though, wouldn’t you, dearest?”

“Hmm?” Laenor asked, not having been paying full attention there. “Oh, of course.”

Rhaenyra saw Alicent pale at that and fought the urge to grin as she thought, “You didn’t think that one through, did you, bitch?”

“Could you?” Aegon asked excitedly as his mother took his hand.

“Seasmoke is a much smaller dragon, my dove,” she explained, clearly fighting down the urge to shoot Rhaenyra a venomous glare. “I don’t know if that would be safe.”

“Oh, I’ve flown others around before,” Laenor assured her. “It’s quite safe.”

“Seasmoke is larger than a horse at this point, darling,” Viserys pointed out.

Alicent was about to say more when sudden shouting interrupted them.

“You son of a whore!” a man roared, and Rhaenyra noticed that it came from among the riverlords.

The lords of the Vale and the Reach were seated most closely to the head of the table on that occasion, with the lords of the Stormlands, Westerlands, and Riverlands seated further down.  

As a pair of older men jumped to their feet, her father signaled for the guards to move closer and growled, “What is the meaning of this?”

“This man’s son tried to murder mine in the streets just hours ago, your grace!” Willas Blackwood spat, glaring at Humfrey Bracken, who looked set to murder him.

“Your boy questioned his honor, and they fought,” Humfrey spat. “It’s not my fault you raised a halfwit too stupid not to pick fights he can’t win.”

“My lords,” Ser Criston said, his voice as icy as the wall as he moved between them. “This isn’t the time or place for this, and the next man to disturb the king’s peace in this room won’t face the man they shout at; they’ll face me.”

Both lords looked away at that, neither one wanting to court death against the famous Kingsguard, and though Rhaenyra hated him dearly, she had to admit that he had done well there.

“Ser Criston,” Viserys said softly, peering into the man’s cold green eyes approvingly. “Was anyone seriously harmed?”

“No,” Willas admitted, “but if not for the intervention of the princess’ man, my son may well be dead now.”

“Rhaenyra’s man?” Viserys asked as she looked to Ser Harwin, finding him looking no less confused than she was.

“Jon Snow, your grace,” Willas replied. “He apparently sliced clean through Amos Bracken’s blade with his Valyrian steel sword.”

“Nyra?” Viserys asked quietly, looking at her curiously. “You didn’t mention this.”

“I didn’t know,” Rhaenyra replied, schooling her features and trying not to appear as irritated as she was. “I have been busy since I arrived, so it is possible that someone tried to report this to me and couldn’t.”

“Jon’s a friend of mine, your grace, Laenor added. “He’s the one who got picked up by the Grey Ghost and dropped through the air.”

“The one you saved,” Viserys nodded, recalling the bizarre tale.

“Yes, your grace,” Laenor added. “He’s a Northerner and so not a knight, but he’s one of the finest swordsmen I’ve ever met, and when we found a Valyrian steel blade among the loot taken from the Dothraki, I told him he could wield it while he served me.”

“What’s its name?” Aegon asked, curious.

“Bloodletter,” Laenor replied.

“Yes, well, it sounds like he prevented us from having a murder trial,” Viserys said, glaring at the riverlords. “Questions of honor and martial skill can be settled with good, clean combat during the melee, or else the joust.  Am I clear?”

“Yes, your grace,” Humfrey nodded, his blue eyes brimming with fury.

“Yes, your grace,” Willas said in turn, not looking much better.

“This tourney is being held to give us all a chance to celebrate the construction of a sept that will be grander than any other in Westeros,” Viserys declared. “It is a matter of importance to the High Septon and the faith, and I will not have it marred by street brawls.  If there are any further disturbances like this, I will be displeased.”

“Like that means anything to this heathen,” Humfrey muttered under his breath, though Rhaenyra could read his lips.

Her father’s obvious displeasure quieted everyone down, and the feast resumed as it had been, but the princess barely noticed, her mind racing as she wondered what in the world Jon had gotten into.  She put it out of her mind quickly enough and resumed chatting with the various lords and ladies around her about more mundane topics, not noticing at all that a pair of very shrewd eyes had been watching her the entire time that she wondered about Jon.

*****

“The nerve of that bitch,” Alicent spat as she removed her rings and sat down in the nearest chair inside her chambers.

“Try to calm yourself, my niece,” Hobert soothed. “You have a babe to think about.”

“I am thinking about my babes, Uncle,” Alicent spat. “The very idea of allowing that known deviant to spend time alone with my Aegon, and the worst part is that I can’t explain my reasoning for opposing that at all.  Viserys barely accepts that there’s anything wrong with him, especially since he allegedly impregnated that spoiled little cunt, and so I’m going to look like the villain to Aegon when I say no to having him flown around on Seasmoke.”

The fact that she had gleefully planned to put Rhaenyra in that various position didn’t occur to her just then.

“Laenor is not to be trusted around boys, your grace,” Ser Criston nodded, “something that I don’t doubt the princess knows.”

“I highly doubt he’s the one who put that babe in her,” Gwayne muttered. “I’ve never seen him look at her for more than a moment.”

“Something that can’t be said of you,” Alicent scowled, and he spluttered.

“Beautiful women draw the eyes of men, cousin,” Ormund chuckled. “You have through the years, but her beauty is far from the problem.  If she is willing to endanger her brothers like this…”

“Her beauty is the problem,” Alicent spat. “It’s why she gets away with whatever she wants, because men take one look at her tits and their brains dribble out of their ears.”

Lia Bulwer, one of her closest ladies, nearly choked at that, and Alicent flushed at her own burst of vulgarity.

“It’s been bad enough hearing everyone sing her praises all week over the sept,” the queen sighed, “but with her actually here, it’s going to be worse.  I could almost thank those squabbling fools for distracting Aegon when they did, but I know he’s going to want to go flying on the morrow, and I have no idea what I’m going to say to him.”

“You might have to just let it happen,” Hobert muttered. “It’s not like the deviant is going to harm him on his dragon, and objecting without a reason he could understand would just make the king suspicious.  Allowing it to happen only once and then teaching Aegon to keep his distance from Laenor after that might be our best option here.”

Alicent scowled at that, saying, “I don’t know how I ended up in this position at all.  Rhaenyra’s always been a spoiled, foolish bitch.  The most well-thought-out thing she ever schemed was running around this city with her uncle, making herself his whore, and she only escaped the consequences of that because Viserys will forgive anything other than telling him that he should follow the law.”

Her rage at him for humiliating her father as he had had cooled eventually, but it still bothered her when she thought about it.

“Otto remains convinced that she has a new advisor of some kind,” Hobert mused, “and I think we might want to look more closely at this Jon Snow.”

“That’s an idea,” Alicent mused. “Bastards are treacherous by nature, and he could very likely be made our spy if we found the right price.”

“You misunderstand, Alicent,” Hobert replied. “I’m wondering if he isn’t more important to her than she’s let on.”

“Maybe he’s the one who put the babe in her belly,” Gwayne grinned, snapping his fingers as it occurred to him.

“It does seem odd that a lowly servant would be given a Valyrian steel sword to wield, no matter how skilled he is,” Ormund added.

“He could just be the current object of Laenor Velaryon’s perversion,” Alicent countered.

“No, your grace,” Ser Criston interrupted her. “He’s the princess’ man.”

“How are you so sure?” Alicent asked.

“I happened to notice the look in her eyes when Lord Willas mentioned his name,” Ser Criston replied. “Trust me, my queen, he is in her thrall.”

It was a look he recalled well, one that she used to give him often.  The hauntingly beautiful purple eyes, so full of false affection and warmth.  It had been that look that had convinced him, fool that he was, that she had felt for him as, to his shame, he had felt for her then.  It seemed laughable now to think that he’d once imagined that Rhaenyra Targaryen could love anything other than herself, but she had a way of bewitching a man with her eyes alone.  

Her body, the sinful, tempting thing that it was, was what the queen thought she used to make men fools, but Criston Cole knew better.  She could ensnare a man with a glance from those purple eyes, make him think he was the most important creature in all creation with a slight smile from her full lips, and imprint herself upon his very soul with a kind word.  He would forever berate himself for having been so terribly taken in by her lies, but part of him would always wonder if he ever stood a chance then.  It had only been when he finally got a glimpse of what a self-obsessed whore she was that he was finally able to break free and find redemption in the service of his queen, as good and pure a woman as he’d wrongly thought Rhaenyra was.

“The story of how he came to be in their service is too bizarre to be true,” Gwayne mused.

“True, but people will sometimes believe bold and outlandish stories more unquestionably than more believable ones,” Hobart added. “After all, why would someone make up something that over the top when they could have come up with something simpler?”

“Mayhaps she found him in some slave market across the sea,” Ormund suggested. “I’ve heard before that those wretched curs make breeding studs of larger slaves, like farmers would do with particularly impressive animal specimens, using them to beget more capable fighters for their pits.”

“Save such talk for less mixed company, Ormund,” Hobert groaned, giving his son a look that made him flush.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Whatever his background, his appearance on Dragonstone did seem to precede the princess’ change in behavior,” Hobert mused. “Flying off to slaughter heathen savages and seize their treasure, using said treasure to fund the construction of a massive sept, and treating your children like something other than annoyances are all things that none of us would have expected of her before.”

“If this Jon Snow comes to wear her colors, rest assured that I will deal with him,” Ser Criston vowed.

“Don’t,” Alicent commanded, her mind racing, “or at least, don’t do so in the qualifying skirmish tomorrow.  If he is her lover, then we have more to gain by keeping him alive and investigating him for the time being.”

“If she were caught abed with him…” Gwayne grinned.

“That would be a scandal she couldn’t come back from,” Ormund chuckled. “She would alienate the Velaryons completely, and if it happened here, it would be far too public for his grace to ignore.  Aegon’s status as his father’s natural successor would be assured then.”

“Keep in mind that she is very heavy with child,” Hobert pointed out, rolling his eyes. “Even if she were still foolish enough to disgrace herself here, where she would have to know that we’ll be watching her, she might not be able to do much in her state.  I agree with Ser Criston, Alicent; if this man is the one who had made Rhaenyra a more formidable opponent, then the tourney might present a perfect opportunity to weaken her.”

“Oh, I just said not to do anything tomorrow,” Alicent replied. “We’ll have her watched carefully, and if we can catch her in some scandal, then thank the gods, but if not…”

“Should we face each other after the qualifying round, my queen,” Ser Criston smiled grimly, “then rest assured that I will not hesitate to end him.”

Alicent nodded and took a sip from the cup of water at her side, still wondering what she was going to say to Aegon on the morrow.

*****

“You just happened upon them?” Rhaenyra asked, glaring at Jon.

She had paced back and forth in her chambers for what felt like hours before he slipped in through the hidden passageway she’d told him about.  There was very little that the two of them would be able to do together while under her father’s roof, but they wouldn’t get many opportunities to speak either, and so she’d instructed him to seek her out after dark.  Having him placed in the chambers next to those given to Ser Harwin was going to raise some eyebrows, but she was willing to accept that, given that otherwise, she’d barely see him outside of the tourney itself.

“I explored the city a bit and made my way to the construction site,” Jon explained, closing the hidden door behind him.  He’d taken one look at her and realized that she must have heard about the incident already, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “Ser Luthor Largent, whom Ser Harwin introduced me to the night before, noticed me and came over.  As we chatted and walked through the city, the sound of a loud brawl reached us, and I went with him and a few other Gold Cloaks to investigate.  When I saw Amos Bracken about to skewer a fallen Samwell Blackwood, I intervened.”

“I had hoped you’d wait until the tourney itself to draw attention to yourself,” Rhaenyra sighed.

“If I had known who the two of them were, I’d have kept out of it,” Jon replied.

“Do they become enemies of mine?” Rhaenyra asked, confused. “You said that I had the support of the Riverlands.”

“You do, for the most part,” Jon replied. “The Brackens side with your brother, probably because they fear being on the same side as the Blackwoods in anything would kill them, but they’re the only ones if I recall correctly.  More to the point, though, Amos kills Samwell during the Dance, so someone else must have saved his life in this fight.”

“Right,” Rhaenyra muttered, settling down on her back on the bed and groaning in discomfort. “I asked Carellen and Ella about them, figuring they’d know more, as fellow Riverlanders.  Apparently, Amos is a few years older than Samwell, who is still a squire, so I really don’t understand the fight and somehow doubt that it was just about a question of honor.”

“He told the boy to stay away from his sister,” Jon explained, “and I overheard his bastard brother berate him about a girl as we returned to the Red Keep.  I had to turn down their father’s offer to become a household knight in their service, by the way.”

“He did seem quite grateful,” Rhaenyra muttered. “That bastard is Lord Willas’ son from a boyhood dalliance with his local blacksmith’s daughter.  He’s a knight, and both Samwell and his brother Theodore are serving as his squires.”

“Lady Catelyn would have sooner set herself on fire than let Bran or Rickon squire under me, even if I  a knight,” Jon said, surprised. “Is his wife Dornish?”

“No,” Rhaenyra replied. “Apparently she was a very tolerant Riverlander.  She died birthing her daughter Alysanne last year.”

“Alysanne Blackwood, right,” Jon breathed, snapping his fingers. “She went on to wed an ancestor of mine.”

“Really?” Rhaenyra asked, surprised. “I suppose the Blackwoods do follow the Old Gods.  Anyway, alongside Amos, Humfrey Bracken has two daughters, Darla and Barbara, as well as a bastard son whose name Carellen and Ella couldn’t recall.  I really should get more ladies-in-waiting; they make such wonderful sources of information.”

Jon chuckled at that, saying, “Half the lords in Westeros seem to me here, so that’s something that you’ll be able to inquire about easily enough.”

“I’ll look into acquiring ladies from the Vale and Stormlands,” Rhaenyra smiled. “I would love at least one from the Reach, but it would be nearly impossible to trust any of them not to Alicent’s creatures.  Gods, that woman infuriates me.”

“What did she do now?” Jon asked.

“She tried to put me in a difficult position,” Rhaenyra replied, “though I turned it around on her easily enough.  She still thinks of me as a silly little girl, and that is to my advantage.”

“Well, the fact that you two managed to get through a feast, both of you carrying babes, without clawing each other’s eyes out is cause for celebration,” Jon quipped, and she felt her lips quirk despite herself.

“Father sits between us at feasts,” Rhaenyra replied primly. “I’d never reach her eyes over him.”

“Well, thank goodness for the king,” Jon chuckled.

It wasn’t a sentiment that he expressed often, even in jest.  Rhaenyra loved her father a great deal, so he usually held his tongue on the subject of the man, but it was hard to see him as anything other than a less malevolent Aegon IV.  Whereas the unworthy king had deliberately caused chaos pretty much throughout his life, and ignited a proverbial barrel of wildfire on his deathbed out of pure spite, Rhaenyra’s father just kind of filled one accidentally, seemingly without ever realizing just how bad things really were.  All it took was one spark after he died, one that was pretty much inevitable by that point.

“How are you feeling?” Rhaenyra asked.

“No one laid a hit on me during that entire brawl,” Jon replied. “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m achy, tired, irritable, and look at the babes growing inside me at least once a day to remind myself what I’m going through all this for,” Rhaenyra huffed, “but what I meant is how are you feeling about the tourney?”

“I’m as ready as I can be,” Jon replied. “I’m better than I’ve ever been with a blade and on a horse.  I’m stronger and faster than I can ever recall being, and this will be a true test of my skills, one that I’m looking forward to.”

“Ser Criston will target you once you wear my colors,” Rhaenyra warned him.  

She’d considered not painting such a target on him but knew what he’d say if she even suggested it.  Her lover planned to fight her old sworn shield with everything he had, knowing that they would almost certainly meet in the melee, and all she could do was pray that he wasn’t hurt.  She had seen him hold his own against plenty of men in the training yard now, but she knew better than most that Criston Cole was a very dangerous opponent, and one that she would have preferred to see face Syrax than anyone else.

“Let him,” Jon smiled, sitting down on the bed and pulling off her shoes. “I owe him much and more for how he hurt you, betraying you to go serve Alicent.”

“Just don’t underestimate him,” Rhaenyra sighed as he began digging his thumbs into her aching sole. “I can count the number of people I’ve watched best my uncle on one hand and have fingers left.  Cole is the greatest of my father’s knights, and he delights in causing harm to those close to me.  I still recall Harwin’s scream when the cunt broke his collarbone and Laenor’s when he slew Joffrey Lonmouth.”

“Men get harmed in melees sometimes, Rhaenyra,” Jon said darkly, “even kingsguards.”

“That would not be a good idea,” Rhaenyra replied sharply. “My father would be furious at his loss.”

“I’m not going to go out of my way to kill him,” Jon promised, “but I will pull no more punches than he does.”

“Well, the melee will start tomorrow afternoon,” Rhaenyra muttered, knowing that arguing further would be pointless. “The archery contest will take up the morning, and then the contestants who signed up for the melee will have their names drawn at random for the qualifying round.  It should be quite the spectacle, a free-for-all battle where you’ll all be aiming to disarm or disable each other.  I met with my father in his solar before I came here and convinced him to make killing disqualifying for that round, though it will be simply frowned upon in the matches after.”

“Perhaps Cole will kill some poor, unsuspecting knight and be thrown out,” she thought to herself, still wary of the idea of him and Jon facing each other.  It wouldn’t happen, as her former sworn shield was far from undisciplined, and she wouldn’t be wishing for it anyway, but it was the only thing she could think of that would keep them trying to kill each other.

As Jon said, men did die in melees at times, even without combatants actually wanting to kill each other.  Men skilled in arms, trained to kill, used lethal weapons to fight each other; it was honestly amazing that more didn’t die.  Taking away the incentive to cause lasting harm from outset, was something that she saw as a good idea, citing the display from the lords Blackwood and Bracken during the feast as a good reason for that to her father.

“Win,” Rhaenyra breathed, her voice thick with emotion. “If I can’t convince you not to seek out this fight, then just win it.”

“How else could I crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty?” Jon asked, kissing her softly before sitting back down and switching to her other foot. “How did the children like their presents?”

“Helaena was sweet as ever and Aegon was unusually cordial, though I think part of that was because he wanted me to take him flying,” Rhaenyra chuckled. “That was the thing I mentioned before where Alicent tried to put me in an awkward position.  I volunteered Laenor in my place, though, and that smoothed things over.  You should have seen the look on her face.”

“What about Aemond?” Jon asked, tensing slightly.

“He liked the knight well enough, though he was utterly distracted by watching a pair of men spar through his window, so the reaction was a little more muted than those of the others,” Rhaenyra replied. “He’s still very young and can be rather shy around me, though he’s a boisterous boy with most others.”

“It’s a start,” Jon smiled.

“Oh,” Rhaenyra sighed breathily, and he felt his cock stir. “That part’s really tender.”

“I can work on it,” Jon nodded, paying extra attention to the spot he’d just massaged.

“My cousin Jeyne is here,” Rhaenyra smiled. “She kept her coming a secret, and it is a most welcome one.”

“It’ll be nice having another friendly face here while surrounded by so many like Alicent,” Jon murmured. “How are they feeling?”

“Much better,” Rhaenyra smiled up at him, and he kissed her softly.

As he moved to pull back, she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, moaning softly into his mouth.

“We shouldn’t,” Jon said with significant reluctance.

“I know, but I want to,” Rhaenyra sighed.

“Alicent’s spies are everywhere here,” Jon replied. “Even me coming here was a risk I only took because I couldn’t keep myself from seeing you, and I knew you’d be angry about the brawl.”

“Aside from offering to steal you away from me, what else did Lord Willas say?” Rhaenyra asked.

“He was most grateful, but his gratitude to me and his hatred of the Brackens dominated the conversation for the most part,” Jon replied. “I don’t think the free folk and the Night’s Watch hate each other that intensely.”

“They’ve been at it for so long, I doubt either side remembers what started their feud,” Rhaenyra replied. “At the very least, I recall Grand Maester Mellos saying that I shouldn’t put much faith in either family’s recollection of it.”

“Oh, that bit of history, I did get,” Jon chuckled. “Apparently the Brackens were minor horse breeders who sought to usurp the rights of the ancient Blackwood kings.  Untrustworthy cunts, the lot of them.”

They both chuckled at that, doubting the veracity of the tale after so many centuries of bitter hatred.

“Well, I should probably be going,” Jon sighed as he stood up.

“Wait,” Rhaenyra insisted, taking his hand and bringing it to her lips. “You’re going to be fighting in the melee tomorrow, and I want you to remember what you’re fighting for.”

“I’d have to be kicked in the head by a horse to forget you at this point,” Jon chuckled, and she smirked.

“Remove your belt,” Rhaenyra commanded, and he shivered at the lustful tone.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked. “We said we shouldn’t fuck here.”

“Oh, I remember,” Rhaenyra replied, sitting up and slipping her nightgown off of her shoulders.

She’d taken to wearing loose-fitting, flowing gowns to bed since her belly began expanding, and one benefit of them was that she could slip out of them quite easily.  She smirked at the way that Jon’s eyes immediately fell to her breasts as they were uncovered, and she made a show of lifting and kneading them.

“They’re getting so big,” she purred, feeling heat bloom in her core at the way his eyes darkened with lust. “My back might start to really ache if they grow much more.”

“I’ll massage it for you,” Jon promised, and she giggled.

“Such a noble knight I have,” Rhaenyra purred.

“As I told Samwell Blackwood earlier, I’m not a knight,” Jon chuckled.

“Defeat Cole and I’ll see you knighted for it,” Rhaenyra promised. “It’s not unheard of for particularly impressive showings in duels leading to knighthoods, after all.”

Whatever her concerns about the possibility of them fighting, she knew that there was nothing Cole would hate more than to see her champion knighted for besting him.

“As if I didn’t have enough motivation as it was,” Jon grinned.

“That was motivation for beating him,” Rhaenyra said, “and this is your motivation to get through this tourney without suffering serious injury.  Come.”

He drew closer and gasped as she wrapped her hand around his rapidly hardening length.  She licked her palm and returned to her hand to him, doing that again and again until his entire length was well-coated in her saliva.  He throbbed his need, the head of his thick cock nearly purple by the time she was done she smirked at him.

“I’m not as flexible as I usually am just now, and leaning in to swallow this entire massive cock would be challenging, but I was reading through one of the scrolls that we are absolutely never allowing our children to see, and I came across something very intriguing,” Rhaenyra said before grasping her breasts again.

Before Jon could ask what she had in mind, she had used her breasts to hug his shaft, and he gasped at the feeling.  Her soft, warm flesh felt wonderful, and when she started sliding them up and down along his cock, he realized why someone had seen fit to describe such an act in the scroll she’d looked through.  It might not have been as good as her mouth, her cunt, or her arse, but it still felt really good and when she craned her neck down, so she could wrap her lips around his bulbous head, he had to cover his mouth to stifle his groan.

“You’re so big that even my breasts aren’t enough to fully engulf you,” Rhaenyra giggled. “I’ll always be amazed that you can fit this inside me, though; I suppose it’s not terribly shocking given that a pair of babes even bigger than it will be passing through in a couple moons.”

“Have you checked on them today?” Jon asked. “Fuck me, that’s good.”

Rhaenyra giggled before smiling serenely as she always did when she thought of their babes, saying, “They’re already bigger than they were when I first looked at them.  Such perfect sons.”

“We’ll...oh fuck,” Jon groaned as she swirled her tongue around his bulbous head, “we’ll need to think of names soon.”

“You don’t recall what I called my eldest two in the other timeline?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Sorry,” Jon muttered. “I really should recall the eldest one at least, as he actually visited Winterfell during the war, but I’m still drawing a blank.”

“I’m not calling the eldest one Joffrey,” Rhaenyra said flatly. “He’ll have a proper Valyrian name.”

“Fond as I am of Laenor, I have to agree,” Jon replied, recalling his own reasons for not particularly liking that name. “Aemon would be nice.  Gods, I’m getting close.”

Rhaenyra smirked at that and sped up, stroking his cock faster and faster with her large, soft breasts while she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth and teased the underside with her tongue.  His fingers snaked through her hair as he held her head lovingly, and her eyes locked onto his.  The love and affection they both poured into their heated gazes made their hearts sing, and with a strangled cry, Jon came filling her mouth.  She swallowed in time with his spurts, having gotten a great deal of practice doing so at that point, and held her breasts against his throbbing shaft until the last of his spend pooled on her tongue.

“Gods, I love you,” Jon groaned as he staggered back, and she chuckled.

“I love you too,” Rhaenyra sighed happily as she put her gown back on. “I suppose Baelon’s another option, and I would like to name one of them after my father.”

“Hells, we could call them Viserys and Daemon,” Jon chuckled, and Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed.

“I’d like them to actually get along,” she said flatly, and he sighed.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Jon said. “Lie back and let me feast on you.”

“Not tonight,” Rhaenyra replied, shaking her head. “I was happy to, as I put it, remind you what you’re fighting for, but I’m quite tired from the day and want to sleep.”

“Alright,” Jon shrugged, disappointed but understanding. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sleep well,” Rhaenyra smiled.

“Goodnight,” Jon nodded before slipping into the hidden passageway.

Rhaenyra watched him go, and her face fell as soon as he closed the door behind him.  From the moment she’d found out that he planned to enter the tourney, she’d known that he and Cole would likely end up fighting.  The likelihood of anyone else knocking her former sworn shield out of it was slim, and as she watched Jon train, she realized that the same was true of him.  Somewhere along the line, they were likely to clash, and the thought terrified her.

“Win,” she whispered to herself, knowing that she’d be spending most of the melee praying for Jon, “win or else just be safe, but come back to me whole and healthy when I return to Dragonstone, my love.”

She put out the torches lighting her room and slipped back into bed, but it was a while before sleep claimed her.