Dance of The Dragonwolf Chapter 2 (Lady Lyanna Stark) (Patreon)

Prince Baelon led his mother through the pathways of Dragonstone's inner yard, a path the two had walked long ago. It was then that Queen Alysanne towered over him with a gleeful smile on her face and him a boy only as high as her waist dragging her along to watch his older brother spar with the other squires.

Now nearing forty, his hair of silver-gold had slowly receded from his forehead, and more white strands appeared every year, while his beloved mother, now sixty, her posture stooped and unable to walk unaided or without a cane. Baelon still led her, albeit at a slower pace, not that his grace minded; with the stress and tedium of court, the remote peace of their ancestral seat was a reprieve.

But not at the moment, for his son challenged the visiting knight Ser Gunthor Manderly in the yards after their meeting. Which the knight duly accepted, and half the castle was bustled to watch.

To Baelon's surprise, his mother asked to be escorted to the yards personally. Most of the realm knew Queen Alyssane, at best, tolerated such spectacles and only observed them for the ceremony. He and Aemon were such exceptions, much to her worry.

Servants and squires hurried to prepare the grounds for such an abrupt event. As Baelon walked, he saw Daemon with what he assumed was a cup of wine whilst a serving boy readied his armor. His son was also wooing some serving girl between each sip.

"You are much too lenient on him, mother." He said with restraint.

The remark earned him a mother's laugh. "Would you have me lock him up in a tower?" Queen Alyssane answered. "Because if I did, he'd find some way to escape and fly off to god knows where."

"I shouldn't have let him claim Caraxes then!"

"Daemon will just brave the Dragonmont to claim a dragon regardless." She replied with a raised eyebrow. "At least with your supervision, your son didn't become a meal for Aemon's mount."

But even his Alyssa had respect for rules and propriety, whilst his son mocked them.

He'd not spared his sons the rod and scoldings. Any mischief his boys did was punished accordingly, as his father did for himself, Aemon, and his other siblings. So Daemon's roguish behavior baffled him, unlike his younger brother; Viserys had neither skill of Lance nor Learning, but he was an amicable enough boy and would grow to be a good king under his tutelage.

But try as might mold Daemon as a capable future Hand for his brother, his youngest preferred to act like an eel instead of a dragon; the near-constant absences from his lessons, the insults to visiting lords, the disappearances lasting days at a time and many more.

His seduction of that poor girl was merely the spark that set alight his frustration and anger toward him. Were it not for his mother proposing this "exile," Baelon feared what he would have done.

"Fear not, my boy. You won't suffer the shame of a bastard grandchild." His mother japes, but as he comes to find out later, other women fall prey to his son's games, but thankfully they also have the sense to drink moon tea.

His mother had grown thinner and gaunter after he last saw her many moons ago. No doubt the death of his younger sister Maegelle due to greyscale earlier in the year affected his mother more than her correspondence through ravens let on.

So it was no surprise that she would choose this castle as a place of exile for Daemon rather than let him run amok elsewhere, for it was one of the few places in the realm where his quarrelsome son cannot do as he pleased.

It also held tender memories of a time when the weight of an entire realm wasn't bearing down on her shoulders, a quieter, simpler, and most of all kinder time when the tragedies that befallen House Targaryen as of late hadn't yet come to pass.

There was also an unexpected blessing, in the form of his impressionable youngest sibling Gael separated from the two-faced opportunists at court eager to influence her.

When the two finally arrived at the training yard, servants stood at the ready and prepared seats for them under the shade of the sole tree within the castle yard, the very same tree Baelon sprained his ankle in a climbing contest with his older brother.

Mother and son sat down far enough away from the lingering ears of a modest crowd gathered and reminisced on the past and told stories, misremembering details and regaling on their past exploits mayhaps sung by generations of bards and singers in the future. So preoccupied were they that the beginning of the bout sounded a world away.

But both knew the purpose of this meeting wasn't for casual conversation between them.

The clash between steel on steel and the crowds cheer's grew louder until it cut between their words. Baelon breathed in, and his face went solemn. "That was ill done, mother." As he laced his hands together and looked unto the empty practice yard as if searching for an answer. "You could've consulted me in such matters. I am the Master of Laws, after all."

"Apologies if I slighted you, son, but such secrecy was needed to enact my plan." Said Alyssane looking undaunted by her son's posturing. Another flurry of metallic clangs then came to a thud followed by a cheer.

"Then why must it be hidden from me? Am I not entitled to know of my son's impending marriage?!" He slowly turned to his mother with a steady voice. The crowd now chanted either Daemon or Gunthor. "Have I erred in some way that I've lost my right? Am I now unworthy?!"

"No, you are entitled as such." Alyssane stared back at her son with caring, motherly eyes. "But I needed a reason for you to come and stay for me to talk."

Baelon narrowed his eyes and scoffed briefly, gazing at the match, which now devolved into grapples. "Send me a raven then, mother."

"And it would just be that, a correspondence of ravens!" His mother pleaded. Grunts from both participants now reached them. "You have to truly listen so as to not have my words disregarded had they been written on parchment."

"I have duties to the realm now, mother." With a wistful smile, Baelon shook his head. The two fighters circled each other in silence, with the crowd eager for more. "More so now that Father and Septon Barth are ailing, but neither would admit as such."

"What I have to say does concern the realm!" The frustration in his mother's voice was now becoming more apparent, earning some turned heads. "And it dwarfs the importance of leading a bunch of drunken watchmen in that insufferable city!"

Baelon was stunned, not at the comment about him leading drunken men in the guise of the city watch. As Queen, she knew better. No, it had been close to half a decade since he heard his mother raise her voice, and he felt like a chastised child again listening to it.

"Very well, I am listening now." He said as he slumped in his chair, defeated, and sipped his wine. The two combatants released their holds on one another for a brief respite and had swords retrieved by squires.

Alysanne composed herself and spoke. "Every year, I grow ever older, and the shadow of The Stranger looms ever closer for me." Baelon attempted to interject, but Alyssane simply raised her hand. "But I do not fear leaving this world. What I do fear, however, is leaving our house divided without doing all I can to reunite it."

"Come now, mother, House Targaryen is in no such state." Baelon laughed. "The realm is at peace, and there are more dragonriders since the doom."

"Truly? Then when was the last time you have spoken to Rhaenys?" There was clear condescension in his mother's voice. "Have you even tried to contact Saera?"

Baelon was silenced and unable to form a coherent answer to those questions.

"Thus, you will listen and not ignore our problems within our family as my bullheaded of a husband prefers." Tears were now welling in her eyes as she struggled to remain composed. "I have lost friends, family, and children because of his decisions."

Though he could not refute his father's callousness towards his less-than-accomplished siblings, and the issue of Saera was, to him, an open wound, for he stood only in quiet opposition as his father proclaimed her dead in his eyes.

Baelon thought, naively, that his father and Saera's mutual anger would fade in time, and the two would eventually reconcile. But while time did rid much of King Jaehaerys' anger, it only gave way to a cold loathing that will not thaw no matter his or mother's pleadings.

He assumes Saera is of the same mind since there was no attempt made by her to mend their relations.

"If you are to become a King, then our family must be in order, lest we tear each other and the realm apart." His mother stated as she wiped fresh tears from her eyes.

Baelon sat and mulled over those words. He had hoped to overturn some of his father's sterner decrees after he ascended to the throne, mayhaps even welcoming his estranged sister back in the family after settling Rhaenys' claim. But such things would not come anytime soon, not while his father is on the throne.

"What would you have me do?" He said finally. Daemon, now more mindful of Ser Gunthor's reach, kept his distance and probed the knight's defense.

"Only two things at first," Alyssane stated. "Make peace with Rhaenys and her husband."

Though Baelon expected as much, he still winced at the prospect. After Aemon died at the hands of those damnable Myrish exiles, a question of succession arose. Should he, the younger brother, be the heir or Rhaenys, his late brother's daughter and only child.

For King Jaehaerys, however, it was clear that Baelon was to inherit Aemon's title as Lord of Dragonstone and Heir apparent to the Iron Throne, much to the displeasure of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Lord Boremund Baratheon. As they were husband to his niece and brother to Jocelyn, Rhaenys' mother, respectively.

Though both houses were cordial enough now, they raised seven hells following the pronouncement. Some at court feared the Velaryon fleet might seal off Blackwater Bay, and a Baratheon army would march to King's Landing, all in an effort to force Rhaenys' claim.

Thankfully for the Seven Kingdoms, King Jaehaerys, even aged four and sixty, still held much influence over many lords of the realm, and they accepted his choice of heir.

The rest of the other great lords had reservations about having an untested woman aged only eight and ten as heir over him, an experienced commander who also served in the small council for many years.

Facing united opposition and a lack of support, Lords Corlys and Boremund made no such attempt but were quite vocal in their displeasure. Thus to this day, not even a raven or messenger has come from Driftmak or Storms End.

"And the other?" The first request would be difficult was he the king, but as a prince, he fears Lords Coryls and Boremund will close ranks on him and deny even an audience.

"Am I to fly to Volantis and reclaim Saera?" He said half a jape, though such a feat would be leagues more difficult, if not outright impossible, than making peace with his niece. And Baelon fears his sister will not look kindly on him for his silence when she needs it most.

But Vhaegar is quite a negotiating tool, and certainly, the Triarchs of Volantis would be open for some personal dealings.

"Not as of yet. My Jaehaerys would keel over in anger if you were to do so." She said after a pause. "You need only marry again."

His son grew ever bolder in his attacks, and the Northerner knight stepped back further and further.

At those words, Baelon could only sigh. He's had this conversation with both of his parents many times before. Even his last conversation with Aemon was about him being a widower.

However, even his brother could never understand what he felt, the soul-wrenching grief when Alyssa died a year after having little Aegon, then the babe himself followed not even a year later.

A sudden burst of speed from the prince caught Ser Gunthor and seemingly strumbled, only for him to party and knock Daemon's sword aside, leaving an opening.

The hope he clung to every day that his beloved wife and youngest child would yet live, the prayers he said to the Seven-who-are-one and even to the weirwoods in the isle of faces, were all at the end for naught.

In a split second, his son followed the sword's momentum, rolled aside, and avoided being disarmed yet again.

Alyssa was his only love, and when she died, he felt as if half of his very being had died with her. The ordeal left him hollow and alone. He needn't feel it again.

Ser Gunthor flurried his sword to the crowd as they cheered his name.

"Mother-"

"I shall hear none of your excuses." She answered as if he were a mere child denied of some toy.

Daemon then raised his sword and declared him still unbested, much to the delight of the spectators.

"I have two sons, one married, and the other is to be wed this coming year," Baelon explained. "I am not lacking heirs, mother."

"Then what of companionship?" She asked.

Though Baelon was guilty of indulging with bed warmers on occasion, but he's never partaken with whores or seduced women, married or otherwise. Nor had a paramour graced his presence as he kept himself separate from his baser urges.

The two then again circled each other waiting for an opportunity to strike the other.

"Such frivolities serves as merely a distraction."

"Distraction? Was I such for your father?" She asked. "Are my accomplishments for naught by simply being wed to the King."

"I meant nothing of the sort. You, of all people, should know this." There was a tense silence between them, their tempers both boiling. Mother and son sat silent for what felt like ages, with the bout and the crowd breaking the quiet.

"You will be a great king, even greater than your father," Alyssane said finally. "But even my Jaehaerys needed me for comfort and support."

"There needs to be a gentler side to the crown, forgiving slights and pardoning fretful wrongs while the other held it's strength and power, punishing wrongs done in malice."

The crowd now remained silent as the back and forth of swing, parries, and blocks from the Prince and the knight became a fascinating dance of steel.

"I fear you would lack such a side and will suffer for it." Queen Alyssane looked at him with tired eyes.

This dance then turned back to battle as Daemon missed a beat in the rhythm, and Ser Gunthor pressed for the attack.

"My reign will never be one of tyranny and fear. May the seven strike me down should I ever fall to that path." He replied, outraged.

But while the knight's swing reached far, his son proved far more nimble and dodged while he wore an identical heavy plate as his opponent.

Alyssane laughed at his overzealous response. "Oh my poor boy, of course, you'll never be Maegor come again."

Ser Gunthor now grew bolder in his swings, and as a man familiar with swordsmanship, Baelon knew the signs. Daemon fed into this as he weaved through the strikes but never committed himself.

"But goodwill is garnered and cultivated." She said, caressing his head like a boy again. "And while your prowess and exploits would do much to impress the lords and men of the realm, the ladies and women would know nothing else from you."

It was a common saying amongst the small folk; "the men loved the king and tolerated the queen. The women loved the Queen and tolerated the king." Never had he expected to know its true meaning.

"No," Baelon said as he brushed aside his mother's hands.

His mother wanted to say something against it, but Baelon had heard enough. "I don't need another wife. I'm happy as I am. Alyanna was and will always be the only woman I will ever love." Baelon said, feeling as if his love was standing just beside him.

Lyanna Stark

"Why did father want me in his solar?" The youngest wolf of Winterfell asked with courtesy. She had been riding along the bank of a nearby river chasing a bird when a rider found her before informing her that her father had requested her presence in his Solar.

Lyanna would occasionally ignore that and decide to wander outside until dusk, but the face the rider made and his voice as he spoke made Lyanna aware that this wasn't something she could delay. She had found the sun and the weather excellent for a ride, and her mount had been more than happy to see her again. The fresh air of the morrow and the sound of the river nearby were excellent for a ride. The only thing missing was a Dragon flying above her. Lyanna had always been fascinated with Dragons, she had yet to see one with her eyes, but she hoped she would see one soon enough.

Knowing this was important business, Lyanna decided to ride back to Winterfell; finding her chambers, she took a quick bath, getting rid of the smell, wearing a blue dress, and a handmaiden did her hair.

The door was opened by her oldest brother and heir of Winterfell, Rickon Stark. Her brother was always a large man with a hairy beard and long hair. Many in Winterfell called him a Bear Man due to the size of his body. He was walking her to their father's solar much to her suspicion. She knew how to walk there. She didn't need her brother leading her.

After asking the question, her brother looked as if not knowing how to answer, his lower lip twitching, the words were on the tip of his tongue just to spill them out, but he pursed his lips into a thin line, his sharp grey eyes looking at his sister.

"You know as much as I do, sister of mine, but I suppose it has to do with Father's recent letters with the King." Her brother said with a slight frown, but the growl made it clear that he wasn't happy.

"King? You mean Jaehaerys Targaryen?" Lyanna asked, completely taken aback. The North was always the outsider when it came to Westeros; many in the South thought of them as Savages, therefore, they never really tried to tie with them, and neither did the North.

House Stark had been in Power for over eight millennia. Why change it now? Even if King Torrhen Stark had to bend the knee, and therefore The North was under the Rule of the Targaryen King, that still changed little to their way of living; House Stark still married their sons and daughters with daughters and sons of the North, never with the South. So hearing that her father was sending letters to the King wasn't something she had expected.

"Do we have another King, sister?" Her brother japed, lighting up the mood. Lyanna couldn't help but wonder why her father would care to send letters to the King.

I will know soon. She concluded as her brother opened the big double door that led to their father's solar. The hearth was ablaze, two Wolves made of stone in a sitting position right next to the hearth, the shelves filled with books reaching all the way to the ceiling, the wood was carved, a Wolf head at the top. Their father was behind the desk reading a letter, a quill in his left hand. A half-written letter to his left. The only sound heard was the sound of the fire crackling.

A cough, father's eyes left hand stopped writing, looking over the top of the letter. His large grey eyes look at his children.

"Daughter is good that you are here in time." Her father's deep voice echoed in the solar; despite his age, his voice was still commanding and very deep.

"You asked for me, father?" Lyanna asked, straightening up like a proud wolf of House Stark.

"I have news of your betrothal?" Her father said casually, dropping the letter he was holding and laying it on his desk before crossing his fingers in front of his face, his chin resting lazily on top of his fingers, giving his daughter a look.

Lyanna almost gasped at hearing that. She had known naught of any betrothal. She knew she was of age, and sooner or later, she would marry someone for the good of their house like her mother, grandmother, and so on have done before her, but to be told like this out of nowhere, not even a warning, as if her future wasn't important to her.

Lyanna was ready to protest, to shout, or perhaps leave the chamber in anger when her brother spoke first, his voice cutting through the silence like a sword through flesh. "Who is my sister marrying?"

"Prince Daemon of House Targaryen." Her father answered right away, his cold grey eyes sparkling just a little, looking at her brother now, knowing his spite towards House Targaryen.

Hearing who the man would be, Rickon's face turned slightly red, a growl escaping his mouth like a Wolf.

"You want your daughter, my sister, to marry one of those Dragon lords that took everything from us? If it weren't for them-" "Quite Boy." Their father commanded, slamming his hand on the table, the room echoing with the sound.

Standing up on his feet, his figure shadowed both of them, two meters tall and as big as a bear, wearing cloaks that made him even more enormous. Her father looked down on them, and Lyanna felt like a little girl again who was about to be scolded for bad behavior.

"Your mother wants this match to happen. The old times will never come back. Boy, you better understand this sooner rather than later. Your mother thinks House Stark needs more power and influence, and Prince Daemon is a perfect husband. The King himself has approved of this match." Her father said with his deep voice showing them the letter signed by the King himself.

On the desk, her father had been writing what Lyanna guessed to be his response, but she knew whatever she said 'Yes' or 'No' would change little. The only thing she would get out of it was a punishment from her father and a long lecture from her mother about the importance of family and the house.

Lyanna knew there was no running away from this. She would marry whether she liked it or not. Prince Daemon Targaryen, despite being in The Heart of The North, the name of the prince was known even in The North. His reputation wasn't exactly something people kept quiet about.

Lyanna had heard tales of the South from her friend, Joana Poole. She loved to gossip about the South, telling her that one day she would go South, one day she would ride her horse across beautiful green fields, and marry a handsome Knight that would protect her from everything. Lyanna thought that was a little too childish. The way she spoke sometimes made it seem like The South was nothing but flowers and rainbows everywhere, good knights, beautiful maidens, and a perfect King.

Lyanna had learned from her mother at a young age that The South was anything but that Lysa Stark-Locke was a strict mother, but Lyanna loved her as much as she loved the rest of her family.

Lyanna didn't know what to think of a Prince she had never met, but if she could see a Dragon, she would give this marriage a chance. Who knows, I shouldn't judge someone I have never met. Perhaps he will be someone I will love eventually, she thought, trying to picture Daemon Targaryen. She pictured a tall, handsome man with silver hair and a beautiful Dragon.

"Father, you should reconsider this, don't forget what South did to us, what House Targaryen. We would-" "I don't need you telling me of our history, boy. You think because you know how to swing a sword, you can kill a Dragon. Torrhen Stark made the smart decision to bend the knee. Whatever people might think, I would have done the same thing unless you want to see Winterfell go out in flames and be remembered as Harrenhal does to this day. Don't fool yourself. People laugh at Harren The Black. They don't remember him as the brave man who didn't kneel to the very end, but as the Fool who was burned in his own house." Their father countered, now standing in front of them, the desk behind him.

Her brother fell silent, knowing their father didn't care what he had to say. Seeing his son was done complaining. His grey eyes moved to look at his daughter, who had been quiet the whole time. "Daughter, what is your decision?"

"I Accept."