Chapter Text
Rhaella ran her hand through Visenya's hair, her own eyes damp as she watched her husband and son talking across the room. They were all heartbroken at the loss of Valarr, but none more than Visenya herself. She had raged at herself for being careless; for not being more vigilant, but their family knew it was not her fault. Who would have known that the maester would poison her and her babe at a wedding, for the gods sake?
Aerys had sent word to the Citadel and every great house in Westeros, informing and warning them about the actions of Vyman. The Citadel had written back, condemning the actions of one of their own, and expressing their apologies; Rhaella did not believe it for a second. Nor did any of their kin.
Visenya slowly sat up, grimacing in discomfort. They had returned from Riverrun days ago, yet Visenya refused to use her magic to heal herself. A morbid reminder to herself to not become complacent once again.
Valarr's body had been burned upon a pyre, his ashes sent to Dragonstone to be interred with their fallen kin. Visenya had stood tall and cold throughout the funeral, allowing only Rhaegar and Lyanna close to her.
Daenerys and Rhaenyra were too young to fully understand, Rhaenyra especially. Daenerys understood that her little brother had joined their ancestors in Balerion's realm, but not why. She had cried, crawling into Visenya's arms, and Rhaella's heart had broken when Visenya cradled her daughter close and silently wept.
Where the loss of a babe would have put distance between a man and wife, Rhaegar and Visenya seemed only closer; they leaned on one another, sharing their grief and pain from the loss of their son, taking solace in each other and their daughters.
Rhaella could not have been more proud of them. When she had miscarried years ago, she had tried to push Aerys away, convinced she was…defective in some way. But Aerys had opened her eyes and insisted it was not her fault, that they had many beautiful children, and something suspicious had happened to cause her to lose the babe.
Uncle Aemon had written and informed them of his mistrust in the maesters. Their family's history was littered with women claimed to be barren by the maesters, children born deformed…
The maesters had always worked closely with the Faith, and those who claimed to be the Seven's voice in the mortal world had never truly liked House Targaryen, calling them abominations, as Vyman had called Visenya and her stillborn son.
The thought of the maesters conspiring against her family made Rhaella nearly incandescent with rage. She wanted to mount Meleys and burn Oldtown to the ground…but they had to be smart. If they unleashed their dragons and burned cities, many would rise against them.
Visenya looked at her, eyes puffy and red. "We must root the conspirators out," she began, voice hoarse. Aerys and Rhaegar approached. "The man said something…"
"What did he say?" Aerys asked softly.
"He said that they had been working for centuries to be rid of our filth," Visenya murmured, pausing to clear her throat. "I highly doubt the Maester’s have worked alone."
"The Faith," Aerys mused, eyes narrow.
"The Hightowers," Rhaegar said dryly. "They have worked against us in the past, when Rhaenyra the First's claim was disputed. Otto Hightower rose above his station, all but throwing his daughter at Viserys after Queen Aemma died."
Visenya nodded slowly. "And for a very long time all three resided closely in Oldtown, before Baelor's Sept was built."
Rhaella met Aerys' gaze. "They will rue the day they went against us."
"Yes," Aerys said, voice hard. "They will."
***
6 months later
Despite their grief, Visenya and Rhaegar managed to be truly and genuinely happy for Ashara and Ned on the day of their marriage; Ashara looked absolutely beautiful in a gown of ivory and lilac, a nod to House Dayne, and her maiden cloak depicting her House's sigil.
Ashara and Ned had tried to postpone the wedding, but Visenya and Rhaegar had insisted they continue through with it; they needed something to distract them from the loss of their son, from investigating the maesters, faith, and other such things.
The wedding was a splendid affair, though not as large as Visenya and Rhaegar's own marriage. Lords Dayne and Stark travelled to the capitol with their households, both men looking as happy and pleased as could be for Ned and Ashara as they swore their vows in the Sept; later, they would say their vows again before a Heart Tree; Visenya and Rhaegar had offered to take them to the Isle of Faces to do so, which Ned appreciated.
The festivities, while not as grand as Visenya's, were just as brilliant. Ashara glowed the whole night, and Visenya even managed to have a good time with her friends, Rhaegar, and Lyanna.
Arthur was relieved of his duties for the night to properly celebrate, and he spun Ashara, Elia, and Visenya around the floor for several dances, managing to make Visenya genuinely laugh several times.
Daenerys loved the celebrations, stubbornly remaining awake until she began to nod off in Rhaella's arms; she was then escorted from the throne room and off to bed by her nurse.
The nurses had been questioned thoroughly after Visenya's miscarriage, all horrified that someone would harm the family they were so loyal to. One had even burst into tears and all but thrown herself into Visenya's arms, overwrought with grief and pain on her princess' behalf. That, and the fierce loyalty and protectiveness of the princesses, had solidified Visenya and Rhaegar's trust in them.
That, and the threat of dragonfire should they harm Daenerys and Rhaenyra.
As the marriage celebrations were winding to a close, Visenya approached her foster-brother, Tyrion, who had spent the night sat by his brother, Jaime, and had yet to be asked to dance.
Elia and Ashara both had danced with him, earning bright smiles from the young man, though the other ladies present had snubbed him in favour of Jaime.
Tyrion brightened upon seeing her. "Princess," he greeted.
Visenya smiled and held a hand out to him. “Dance with me?”
Nearly all the young ladies and men in the room turned to watch as Princess Visenya led the young Tyrion Lannister onto the dance floor then…knelt before him to dance properly with the young dwarf. Many of the ladies grimaced at the thought of dirtying their gowns for such a…person, and many of the men snubbed by the Princess that night scowled. Why would she rather dance with a dwarf than them?
Tyrion and Visenya, however, ignored their stares and danced for three songs, the young lion managing to make Visenya laugh truly and deeply.
Rhaegar watched, a fond smile on his face for his foster-brother. He was beyond grateful for Tyrion; it had been increasingly difficult to make Visenya laugh truly after their son's death. They both mourned deeply for Valarr, having spent moons feeling him move in Visenya’s womb, preparing for his birth…
Even now, six moons after Valarr’s murder, they mourned. The whole family, and their friends, the smallfolk, the servants in the castle, mourned for their lost babe. It was heartening to know they had everyone’s support, though at the end of the day they would rather have their son in their arms.
Talk of having another child had ended in Visenya’s magic exploding a jug of wine and cracking several mirrors. Rhaegar understood. The thought of hurrying to have another child, all but replacing their murdered son, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
The one positive thing to occur in the aftermath was how much closer he, Visenya, and Lyanna had become. They leaned on one another, spending endless hours in one another’s company in either silence or talking about everything or nothing. Lyanna’s childhood in the north was fascinating and wildly different to Visenya and Rhaegar’s, though all three of them put family before any duty they may have.
Lyanna had witnessed Visenya’s birth of Valarr and shared in the trauma and grief despite not being the one to go through it. She had also had fears of childbirth for years, and this had only made it worse. She and Visenya bonded further over that, something Rhaegar could not understand and would not pretend to.
“It is good to see her laugh,” father murmured, a faint smile on his face.
Rhaegar nodded. “It is.”
Aerys clasped Rhaegar on the shoulder. “We’ll be okay, son.”
“I hope so,” Rhaegar murmured, watching Visenya throw her head back and laugh at something Tyrion said. “I hope so.”
***
The actions of the maester, Vyman, had only bolstered those who despised the Targaryens. They did not see what he did as treason or even murder; they saw it as the beginning of their rebellion. A brave act by a brave man callously burned alive by abominations.
For too long they had worked in the shadows, but now it was time for them to step into the light and gather allies. Undoubtedly there were people all across the realm that loathed their incestuous overlords, with their queer practices and monstrous beasts.
In their minds, it was the beginning of the end of the Targaryen family's reign.
The end of the House of the Dragon.
***
Aerys shouldn't have been surprised, really. He had seen for himself the bond growing between his twins and Lyanna; even at Harrenhal he had seen the looks they sent one another, thoughtful and speculating.
The fact that Visenya and Rhaegar wished to marry Lyanna shouldn't have been so surprising, but it was.
"Truly?" Aerys asked, fondly exasperated. Visenya hadn't looked so excited since well before her son's death, and he couldn't find it within himself to refuse her.
"There's a precedent," Rhaegar said, shrugging slightly. "Aegon had two wives."
Aerys pursed his lips to keep from laughing. "Hm. He did. Many will speak against this marriage, you understand?"
Visenya shrugged elegantly. "Let them, father. Who would we be hurting by marrying Lya?"
"I am also officially naming Daenerys my heir," Rhaegar announced calmly, smiling faintly when Visenya gripped his hand.
Aerys sighed fondly and stood. "You two will send shockwaves throughout Westeros with your plans. Lyanna will have to speak with Lord Rickard; do you plan on flying North?"
"Yes, Brandon has invited us. Lady Catelyn will be giving birth soon and he wishes for Lyanna to be there," Visenya explained, grimacing faintly at the thought of seeing Catelyn Tully.
Aerys kissed her forehead and clasped Rhaegar on the shoulder. "You both have my blessing to wed Lyanna, but Lord Rickard must agree. I also have no problem with Daenerys being heir. Your mother and I wished to name you, Visenya, as heir as the oldest child many times."
Visenya swallowed, eyes wide. "Truly?"
"You should," Rhaegar all but blurted. Visenya gaped up at him, making him smirk faintly. "I've never officially been named heir, Enya. The lords merely presume because I am the eldest son."
Aerys chuckled. "One thing at a time, perhaps? You shall already be rocking the boat by marrying Lyanna, and the last time a woman was named Heir, despite her legitimacy, war broke out."
Visenya stared into the distance. "I have a feeling war shall come anyway, father. The maester…he said that "they" have worked to rid the world of our "filth" for years. They won't stop at one…babe's murder."
Aerys eyed Visenya, worried. Rhaegar, too, looked concerned. "My love?"
Visenya shook her head and smiled, though it was clearly strained. "I'm fine. Shall we prepare for our flight North?"
Aerys and Rhaegar shared a worried look, but allowed Visenya to change the subject; she clearly had one of her bad feelings, and they knew better than to ignore it.
But now was not the time.
***
The North, while large, was the least populated realm in Westeros. The nearly year round winters, the threat of wildlings from the north, and bad soils meant that very few people inhabited the sprawling moors.
It was also the poorest region due to the lack of natural resources. Centuries ago silver and bronze were abundant, but now those mines had run dry. Timber and fur were the greatest resources, but even they were limited.
Winterfell was, in short, huge. It sprawled over several acres in the heart of the north, strategically located over hot springs whose waters were pumped through pipes in the walls to ensure the inhabitants didn't freeze during harsh winters. It had also been built around an ancient godswood, a grove of trees in the centre of which stood a truly massive heart tree, or weirwood.
Two massive, granite walls circled the castle and protected it from enemies. As Visenya and Rhaegar flew over the castle, Vhagar and Vermithor roaring their arrival, they could see that there were several courtyards surrounded by keeps and halls.
Lyanna cheered in Visenya's ear, making her smile fondly, as the dragons began to land by the southern gate.
Vhagar grumbled as she landed, her confusion about the snow clear through the bond she and Visenya shared.
Visenya and Lyanna dismounted, Rhaenyra barely budging from her nap strapped against Visenya's chest. Rhaegar, Daenerys and Arthur dismounted from Vermithor, who was clearly just as puzzled by the snow as his mate.
The southern gate groaned open and Brandon and Benjen hurried out, the former all but running toward Lyanna; he scooped her up and twirled her around, ignoring her protests.
Visenya smiled warmly at the scene, glad that Lyanna was so close to her family.
Benjen approached nervously, eyeing Vhagar, who had decided to try and eat the snow. "My Prince, my princess," he greeted, bowing.
"Lord Benjen," Rhaegar greeted, shaking the young man's hand. Daenerys twisted in his arms to peer at Benjen.
"Ma," Rhaenyra grumbled, fisting her eyes irritably.
" Sweet girl ," she cooed, bouncing her gently. "Hello again, Benjen."
"Princess, my prince!" Brandon all but crowed, sketching a polite but swift bow. "Princess Daenerys, Princess Rhaenyra."
Daenerys blushed and hid her face in Rhaegar's chest shyly. Rhaenyra, however, waved her fist and beamed.
"Come, let us go inside. Father has insisted on a welcoming feast," Brandon explained as they made their way to the castle.
"That is very kind of him," Visenya said, amused.
"It's fucking cold," Arthur grumbled, shoulders hunched by his ears.
Brandon snorted. "This is nothing, Ser Arthur. Wait until you experience a true Northern winter; they are cold."
Arthur looked horrified. "I would rather not."
Visenya laughed, shaking her head fondly. She'd put warming charms on her daughters, as she didn't want them to freeze, but Arthur didn't know about her magic and she didn't want to risk it.
The southern gate opened into a large courtyard; to the left was a smithy radiating warmth and noise. Lord Rickard awaited them, a wide smile on his face, in the center of the courtyard, servants and guards pausing in their responsibilities to peer at the royal family.
"Father!" Lyanna cried, foregoing propriety and bolting into his open arms. "I missed you!"
Visenya caught Lady Catelyn's brief look of horror before she masked it, though not very well. She curtseyed deeply despite her large belly, murmuring her welcomes.
"Lady Catelyn," Visenya greeted blandly. "Congratulations on your impending motherhood. You are simply glowing."
Catelyn preened. "Thank you, princess. The Mother has blessed me with a son, I just know it."
Visenya's smile became rigid. "How wonderful," she said dully.
"My prince," Lord Rickard greeted, sounding apologetic. "My Princesses. Welcome to Winterfell."
Lord Rickard motioned to two servants waiting to the side. They scuttled forward, one with a tray of salt and bread and the other with goblets of wine.
Rhaegar, Visenya, and Arthur accepted the bread and wine, eating and drinking. Guest rights were very important to a northerner's honour, something Visenya respected.
"We have prepared rooms for you in the Great Keep," Lord Rickard informed them, gesturing for them to walk with him. "And an adjacent room for Ser Arthur. Several of my household guards have offered their services."
"Thank you, my lord," Rhaegar murmured. "We greatly appreciate your hospitality."
"I have organised a feast for this eve," Rickard continued, smiling warmly. "To give you a proper northern welcome. Many of the northern lords are set to arrive shortly as well, wishing to meet you."
Visenya chuckled. "I'm sure a Northern welcome shall outdo all others, my lord."
"When does your household arrive?" Brandon asked, rolling his eyes at Rickard's pleased grin.
"They were passing Castle Cerwyn an hour ago," Rhaegar informed them. Their household had left two weeks before them, sailing to White Harbour with everything they would need.
"Ah, they are making good time, then," Lord Rickard said gruffly. "They should arrive before the feast."
With that, servants led Rhaegar, Visenya and Arthur to their rooms for them to rest before the feast, which was sure to be a wonderful affair.
***
Though it was cold, the Great Hall of Winterfell was positively uncomfortable with how warm it was, what with the several northern lords, their ladies and children, packed into the space.
Despite its size, the Hall was fit to burst.
Visenya, Rhaegar, Daenerys, and Rhaenyra sat at the high table with Lord Rickard, his children, and Lady Catelyn.
Benjen had happily taken Daenerys, who seemed fascinated by the young man, and perched her on his lap and helped her eat. It softened Visenya's heart to the young man.
Visenya and Rhaegar's household had arrived shortly before the feast, and Elia and Ashara were standing by a braiser speaking with Lady Maege Mormont and several other northern ladies.
Ned had been welcomed home with open arms, and his new wife embraced warmly by the northerners.
"How is flying on a dragon, Lya?" Brandon asked, leaning forward to peer down the table at his sister, who held Rhaenyra.
Lyanna brightened. "It's so amazing, Bran. I cannot believe Ned and Ashara refused to fly."
"The one and only time Ashara flew with me she was sick the moment we landed," Visenya revealed, smiling fondly at the memory.
Rhaegar looked amused. "Ned has refused every time I offered to take him."
Rickard chuckled. "Aye, Eddard has never been fond of heights, despite spending some years at the Eyrie."
Conversation and ale flowed freely. Shortly after supper, Daenerys and Rhaenyra were taken to their rooms by a woman called Old Nan, who looked truly ancient but cooed at the princesses, and two young handmaidens.
Visenya watched as they left the hall, heart in her throat and magic making her fingers tingle.
Lord Rickard approached. "The little princesses shall be safe, my princess. I give you my word."
Visenya managed a small, tight smile. "I know. I trust you, my lord, and those in your employ. But ever since…"
Lord Rickard boldly clasped her hands and squeezed them comfortingly. "I understand, Princess. I cannot say how sorry I am for yours and Prince Rhaegar's loss. I prayed for Prince Valarr in the godswood, afterward."
Visenya was touched, squeezing the man's hands. "Thank you, my lord. That means…quite a lot to me."
Lord Rickard smiled, though the expression was a touch melancholy. "Would you like to see the godswood?"
"I would, yes. I have never seen a true godswood, I'm afraid," she said, smiling gratefully.
After telling Rhaegar and Lyanna where they were going, Lord Rickard escorted Visenya through Winterfell to the truly large godswood. He unlocked an iron gate that squeaked on its hinges and led her inside, a torch in hand.
As they walked, Lord Rickard spoke of the history of his house. How, in the wake of the Long Night, Bran the Builder built Winterfell around the acres of the godswood and founded House Stark. How he helped build the wall and several other castles in Westeros during his lifetime; Storm's End and the High Tower.
The Heart Tree resembled a pale ghost in the darkness, and Visenya felt her breath leave her. It plumed around her face from the cold, vanishing on the light wind that rustled the leaves.
The face carved into the tree looked both solemn and pleased, somehow. "It's beautiful," she murmured softly.
Lord Rickard smiled. "Tis, isn't it? Many from the south find them haunting and are afraid."
"There is beauty in haunting things, my lord," Visenya responded, smiling at him.
He chuckled, nodding. "Aye, that there is, Princess." He looked torn, as though fighting with himself on something.
"Ask, my lord," she said.
"Prince Rhaegar…why did he name Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty?" Rickard asked in a rush.
Visenya smiled faintly, meeting the weeping eyes of the weirwood. "Because she was the Knight of the Laughing tree."
Rickard sighed, shaking his head fondly. "Of course, she was. Lya has always been more Wolf than woman."
"She is amazing, my lord. I quite adore her," Visenya admitted, hinting at the deeper feelings she had for the man's daughter. "As do my daughter's."
Rickard glanced at her. "Mm. I've seen how much you adore her. Prince Rhaegar, too."
Visenya's eyes widened, and she turned to stare at the Lord. What had he seen? "My lord…"
Rickard's lips twitched, eyes crinkling. "I may not understand, as my heart shall forever remain my dear late wife's, but I see truly how you and Rhaegar feel for my Lya."
"We wish to marry her," Visenya murmured softly, biting the inside of her lip.
Rickard faced her, brows furrowed. "As the Conquerors did?"
"She, too, would be Queen one day," Visenya said.
"Father."
Rickard turned and his expression softened as Lyanna and Rhaegar approached, Arthur trailing behind them.
"Is this what you want, Lya?" Rickard asked, looking deeply conflicted.
"Yes," she said, smiling brightly. "Father, I love Rhaegar and Visenya. Both of them."
Rickard sighed, then huffed a laugh. "Well, they do say that Targaryens have queer practices."
Rhaegar laughed, elbowing Arthur when their friend muffled a loud snort in his palm. Visenya took Lyanna's hand and pulled her to her side, smiling at her warmly.
Rhaegar joined them, placing his hands on their shoulders. They looked at Lord Rickard, who merely sighed and smiled fondly.
***
Brandon merely laughed himself into a coughing fit when Lyanna told him she was going to marry Rhaegar and Visenya - the latter two explained how Valyrians did not bother about the sex of those marrying, as adoption was rife in Old Valyria (they'd had to explain adoption, too) - until Lyanna smacked him and scowled.
"How is married life treating you, Bran?" She asked sweetly.
Brandon grimaced faintly. "She asked to have a Sept built."
Lyanna's brows rose. "Really?"
"Yes," Brandon nodded, rolling his eyes. "Winterfell has never had a Sept, and it never will. She wasn't best pleased."
"Has she found out about Brandon, Branwyn, Lyarra. And Edwyle yet?" Lyanna asked, lips twitching.
Brandon groaned and ran a hand down his face at the mention of his bastard children. Lyarra, named for his mother, was fostering with House Mormont, Branwyn was with House Karstark, and Brandon was in White Harbor last Bran knew. Edwyle was still at his mother's breast in Barrowtown.
"You know she'll throw a fit," Lyanna said idly, sipping a cup of mulled wine. "Southerners believe bastards to be ungodly monsters."
"I know." Brandon refilled his cup and downed it. "I saw how she looked at Prince Oberyn, Ellaria, and their daughter's. Princess Visenya and Prince Rhaegar don't seem…against bastards."
"They're not," Lyanna murmured, shrugging slightly. "Visenya treats Oberyn's daughters like family. She explained that Valyrian's of old didn't care for the circumstances around a child's birth; only if they were dragonriders."
"Truly?" Brandon queried, an intrigued expression on his face.
"Daenys the Dreamer, who foresaw the Doom, was technically born out of wedlock. Her father, Aenar, had three wives and only married Daenys' mother when she was three namedays old. The records are on Dragonstone," Lyanna explained.
Brandon looked amazed. "The progenitor of House Targaryen was technically, a bastard?"
Lyanna smiled mischievously. "Yes, brother."
Brandon chuckled, amused. "What other secrets of House Targaryen have you learned, dear sister?"
Lyanna snorted. " They're teaching me High Valyrian ."
Brandon looked stupefied. "You know High Valyrian?"
Lyanna merely grinned.
***
Lady Catelyn did indeed go into labour while Rhaegar, Visenya, and Lyanna were in the north, though the child was not a son the young woman declared the mother blessed her with.
It was a girl with Tully auburn hair and blue eyes Brandon happily named Sansa, after an ancestor of House Stark.
Brandon doted on his daughter in the days after her birth, though Catelyn was very clearly displeased that their first born was a daughter rather than a son, a male to inherit.
Visenya truly hated the belief that only men could inherit. That one needed a cock to be a good ruler; history was rife with terrible lords and kings.
"Congratulations," Visenya told Brandon and Lady Catelyn, the former beaming and latter offering a tight smile. The babe snuffled in her sleep in Brandon's arms. "I shall pray for her health, Bran."
Lady Catelyn's mouth tightened at the familiarity Visenya showed, but managed stiff thanks. Brandon forewent propriety and hugged her, careful because of Sansa sleeping in the crook of his other arm.
Sansa jolted and blinked her eyes open when Vhagar swooped over the castle, roaring, though she did not cry.
Lady Catelyn glared at the sky. "How is one supposed to rest with those - dragons around?"
"You grow used to it," Visenya replied blandly, a small smile on her face.
Brandon gently rocked Sansa, who seemed quite unruffled by being woken up by Vhagar. "She is as calm as Benjen was when he was a babe. Father often lamented on how loud Lyanna was."
Visenya smiled, gazing at little Sansa with a small, slightly sad smile. She hadn't entertained the thought of another child since Valarr. She and Rhaegar had rarely been together since then, and she knew he understood.
But watching Brandon dote on Sansa, Visenya found herself surprised that she felt she was ready to try for another babe.
***
Upon Rhaegar, Visenya, and Lyanna's return to King's Landing, with Lord Rickard's acceptance in hand, ravens flew to all the high lords of the realm bearing letters informing them that Rhaegar Targaryen was to take a second wife in Lady Lyanna Stark.
Many tittered over the missive, wondering if Prince Rhaegar had finally seen that Princess Visenya was cursed to only give him daughters or dead sons. Some merely grunted and shook their heads at the queerness of the Targaryen royal family.
Some raged over the news; specifically Lord Robert Baratheon, who coveted Lady Lyanna for his own bride. But the faithless Targaryen dragonspawn's had sunk their teeth and claws into the girl and stolen her from him. Like they had with his dear parents, Steffon and Cassana, and his idiot younger brothers.
The Targaryen’s had stolen everything from him. First, his parents. Then, his brothers. Now, his future wife. They would rue the day they decided to do such a thing, Robert avowed.
Now, he rode hard to Casterly Rock. He and many like minded men had been in contact since the Tourney, discussing a way to finally be rid of their abominable overlords and their unnatural beasts.
He had been approached shortly after Lord Whent's tourney and brought into the conspiracy that had begun even before Aegon's Conquest had truly begun. Many other like minded lords and ladies had been, too, and now Robert was hurrying to their first meeting to discuss the end of the dragonspawn that plagued their lands.
Robert had sent word to his foster father, Jon Arryn, who he knew would ally with him despite the man's heir being forced to marry one of the Targaryen women; he knew not her name, nor did he particularly care. He'd also sent word to Ned, his foster brother, hoping the man he considered his true brother would stand with him.
They had many allies in high places with power aplenty. Robert thirsted to shed the blood of Rhaegar and Visenya, the two who had corrupted his sweet Lyanna. Surely her mind had been twisted and corrupted by their foul sorcery.
Casterly Rock was fit to bursting with lords, ladies, maesters, holy men, and members of the Faith Militant when Robert arrived. His horse was taken away, the beast heaving for breath and foaming at the mouth.
Robert was led inside to the Great Hall where Lord Tywin held court over their allies. His daughter, Lady Cersei, stood resplendent in Lannister gold and red beside him.
"Lord Baratheon," Tywin greeted, nodding. "Thank you for coming."
Robert shook his hand, gaze drawn once again to the man's daughter. "Lord Lannister." He nodded, stepping back. "Has everyone arrived?"
"Yes," Lord Tywin said, a gleam in his cat-green eyes as he observed those in the hall.
Robert turned to look at those gathered himself, nodding slightly. Lord Tully, whose man had distinguished himself by killing the spawn in Visenya Targaryen's belly, Lord Hightower's brother Gunthor, and many, many more.
Lord Tywin raised a hand, and silence fell. "Shall we begin?" He queried.
Robert smiled savagely.
***
The marriage between Lyanna and Rhaegar occurred in the Sept, the High Septon performing the ceremony despite the small moue of distaste on his face; the smallfolk cheered for Rhaegar and Lyanna, their adoration for Rhaegar overshadowing their confusion about Targaryen practices. They even adored Lyanna, as she had spent time in the city with the smallfolk during her time there.
The ceremony was short and to the point, and Lord Stark and Aerys stood together with Rhaella to show their unconditional support of their children. Visenya stood with them, too, chomping at the bit to get to Dragonstone so they could perform the Valyrian marriage.
Lord Stark had expressed his interest in witnessing such a thing and Rhaegar and Visenya had agreed to bring him along.
But first they had to get through the feast, which seemed to drag along agonisingly slow.
Finally, at last, the feast came to a close and Visenya, Lyanna, and Rhaegar with Lord Stark hurried to the Dragon's Den where Vhagar and Vermithor were resting.
Sensing their bonded riders' excitement, however, woke the dragons from their slumber. Vhagar stood and shook out her long, serpentine neck with a low rumble, Vermithor echoing her.
Rickard looked wary of climbing onto a dragon, but did so with bravery that Visenya respected. Rhaegar helped him mount Vermithor as Visenya and Lyanna mounted Vhagar, pausing atop the dragon to share an excited kiss.
The flight to Dragonstone seemed far longer than it usually was, but Visenya knew it truly wasn't. She was merely impatient to marry Lyanna, the same excitement and giddiness she felt before marrying Rhaegar welling up inside her.
Finally, they landed on Dragonstone and hurried inside to change into the ceremonial robes Azari had prepared for them, painstakingly having brought Queen Rhaenys' robe out of storage for Lyanna.
Once gowned in the pale, red hemmed robes and garbed in the headdresses, Lyanna and Visenya walked barefoot and hand in hand to the coast where Rhaegar and Rickard awaited them.
Azari beamed, bowing to them, and gesturing for them to stand together, Lyanna on Rhaegar's right and Visenya his left, clustered in a circle.
Rickard held a piece of parchment, and Visenya realised it was the ceremonies' vows translated into Common.
Azari lit the Fourteen braziers, one for each of the fourteen gods, and faced them, raising her hands. " I call upon the Fourteen gods of Valyria to witness and bless this union of your son and daughter, the blood of the dragon, pure and untouched, and a daughter of ice and snow, their chosen one."
Lyanna smiled giddily as Azari continued, voice deep and otherworldly. " I beseech Arrax, God of Gods, to bless this union as lawful."
Visenya accepted the dragonglass blade from Azari and cut her palm, the priestess still speaking as she did so.
" I beseech Lord Balerion, God of the Dead and Underworld, to not take these children before their time. I beseech Lady Meleys, Goddess of Love and Fertility, to strengthen the bonds of love between these children, to bless this union as fertile. I beseech Lady Syrax, Goddess of Fruitfulness, Chaos, and Madness to ensure these children bear fruit in their union; cleanse them of madness and chaos. I beseech Lady Tessarion, Goddess of knowledge, healing and prophecy to bestow her ancient knowledge on these children, heal them of impurities, and forewarn them of danger. I beseech gods of flame, shadow, and smoke to accept this daughter of ice as one of their own."
Rhaegar took the blade from Visenya's hand and cut his own palm before passing it to Lyanna, who pressed the dragonglass into her palms and sliced them both cleanly.
Lyanna clasped both Rhaegar and Lyanna's bleeding palms, holding their joined hands over the chalice Azari held under them, continuing her prayer.
Visenya and Rhaegar used their blood to draw glyphs on Lyanna's face; fire, blood, and ice. She then drew the same runes on Visenya and Rhaegar's face, an adorable expression of focus on her face.
Azari handed Visenya the chalice, and she drank, then handed it to Rhaegar, and he to Lyanna. " Blood of three, joined as one. Ghostly flame, and song of Shadows. Three hearts as embers, forged in Fourteen Fires. A future promised in glass, the stars stand as witness. The vow spoken through time, of Darkness and Light."
Azari took back the chalice and nodded, and Visenya promptly drew Lyanna into a kiss, reluctantly stepping back so Rhaegar could kiss her, too, sealing the ritual.
Rickard cursed fervently, and Visenya turned only to smile at the braziers roaring several feet into the air, mimicking what had happened when she and Rhaegar wed.
Lyanna smiled, remembering Rhaegar telling her of what had happened at their ceremony years ago.
Then, to everyone's surprise, a robin the colour of a stormy sky landed on Azari's shoulder, a seed in its mouth, and hopped down the frozen priestesses' arm to the chalice she still held.
The robin dropped the seed into the chalice, twittered cheerfully, and flew off.
Visenya stared.
"That…" Lyanna swallowed, staring at the chalice. "That was a weirwood tree seed."
Rickard inhaled sharply, staring. "The old gods have shown their approval."