#i could never be tired of arthur/elia prompts!

[samwpmarleau]

Prompt; elia having a flashback of time when rhaegar used to be nice and write and perform songs for her before anyone else but is distracted when Arthur brings a big teddy bear for her. Sorry if i am being too demanding and flooding your inbox.

She still finds it hard to believe it’s come to this. Today would have been their eleventh anniversary, and now she’s boxing up what’s left of his belongings, the white line around her finger not yet faded from where her ring had been for so long, the ring itself in a box ready to return to him with various other valuable knick-knacks she’d gotten over the years.

She’d thought for a while about keeping it, perhaps to sell, perhaps to melt down the setting but keep the diamond to put in a necklace or bracelet, perhaps simply to retain as an heirloom. Ultimately, she’d decided against it. While it brings her simple regret now to think of how happy it had once made her, she knows the regret could easily become insidious bitterness.

Most of the other stuff is just superfluous crap: forgotten button-downs; a broken watch that neither of them had remembered to take to the jeweler’s; a few of his nice fountain pens. Yet she hesitates when she scrounges through the attic and comes across the keyboard she’d once bought him.

It’s dusty now from disuse, and had been sentimental more than anything else, since he was plenty rich enough to buy himself a grand piano ten times over. But she remembers the times he did use it, and the memories tug unpleasantly at her heart.

He still writes and performs songs so far as she knows, but it’s been years since he did so just for her. He used to do it all the time, for birthdays or anniversaries or when she was sick, or just because. Oh, how spellbinding and soothing his voice had been, how soulful his lyrics. He never declared a song finished until she had offered her thoughts, had heard its tune. Some songs he never performed, even for his own family; the songs were simply theirs. Hers.

They had loved each other once. Maybe it hadn’t been the love that’s in all the fairy tales they told the kids at bedtime, but a love made of respect and friendship and perseverance.

Feeling not quite herself, she plugs in the instrument and begins to play one of her favorites of his, woven to her fingers in muscle memory. Her mother had taught her piano when she was little, but she hadn’t truly taken to it until Rhaegar’s passion for music had encouraged her to try again.

It’s bittersweet, dancing through the familiar chords. He had hummed it when she needed it most, during her difficult labor with Rhaenys and her agonizing one with Aegon and the postpartum depression that had ensnared her for six weeks after them both. During her father’s funeral, when she had to maintain her composure. It had not been the only thing that helped her pull through those trials, but it had calmed her.

The song isn’t particularly long, having been composed early on before he’d perfected his methods, and the final note reverberates around the room like a dirge. She shuts her eyes, trying to keep any further memories of the good days at bay. It’s no use reflecting on those, not when their divorce has been newly finalized and she’s shed god only knows how many tears.

“You play beautifully.”

She doesn’t startle; Arthur had mentioned he would be coming over this afternoon to pick up the boxes and bring them to Rhaegar’s apartment for her. She’s grateful that he had volunteered for the task, for she wouldn’t be able to guarantee her actions or emotions if she were to see Rhaegar face-to-face right now. Even mediation, in which they were reminded in endless detail of the terms of their prenup, had been an utter slog to get through.

“It’s one of Rhaegar’s old tunes,” she answers. “I found the keyboard and got hit by nostalgia.”

Arthur climbs up the rest of the ladder and sits beside her on the floor. “As it happens, I found something, too.”

He holds out a stuffed bear with a polka-dot bowtie. Touched, she asks, “You got this for me?”

“Yeah, I was picking up a couple things for my nephew’s birthday and I saw that,” he explains. “I know the past few months haven’t been easy, so I thought this might cheer you up.”

Elia smiles at his sweetness. “It does. Thank you.”

She hadn’t been certain whose side Arthur would take once she and Rhaegar set their divorce in motion. He had been Rhaegar’s friend first, after all, and some of their other mutual friends had sided with Rhaegar or tried to be moderate, giving a myriad of worthless explanations that in some cases made her wonder if they chose him because they too had those skeletons in the closet.

But Arthur had chosen her, principally citing her own argument–if Rhaegar’s eye was caught by another woman, then he should have ended the marriage then and there, not carried on the deception–and summarily cut ties.

However, that also left the two of them in a weird place. He’d never been just her friend before, and she’d never known him especially well. Sure, they’d had plenty of conversations and had similarities Rhaegar couldn’t properly relate to, like coincidentally having grown up in the same area and thus sharing turns of phrase he didn’t understand and cuisine he couldn’t handle, but they hadn’t really had reason to spend a wealth of time together.

Arthur has helped, though. Not just with his support, but with trying to piece together why Rhaegar may have done what he did, and that it had nothing to do with her. Her pride and self-esteem are nowhere near restored yet, but it’s a start.

“Is this going, too?” Arthur asks, gesturing towards the keyboard.

She ponders that. It had been a gift, an expensive one at that, and she does enjoy playing. Plus, Aegon has already shown a keen interest in music despite being only seven, and she could save this for him one day.

But that would mean that even in such a small way, she would be sharing something with Rhaegar that had been given out of intimacy, and she doesn’t want that. Their children are both of theirs; the keyboard had been for him.

“Yes, please. I’m moving forward.”

“You deserve to,” he says. “Well, I’d better start getting everything loaded. Is the rest all packed up?”

She takes one last look around the room, as she had methodically done previously for everywhere else in the house. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Sounds good. I won’t be long.”

He goes to pick up the first box, when she finds herself suggesting, “Hey, um…I was thinking of making a celebratory dinner tonight. You know, in honor of de-Rhaegaring the place. I’m not really in the mood yet to hear Oberyn eviscerating Rhaegar or anything, and the kids are still at their grandmother’s, so it’s just me at the moment. You’re welcome to join. If you want. It’s the least I can do.”

Arthur looks apprehensive, and she’s not entirely sure why. It’s just dinner, isn’t it?

But the expression is gone in short order. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll swing by once I drop these off.”

She smiles, feeling her mood lift. “I’ll hold you to that.”

[rogue-durin-16]

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part IV/VII)

"wrong name"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst-fluff

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @sunshineandshadowss @missmulti @accioweaslcy

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa

Warnings: language, mentions of Fred x Reader, brief mention of death ig (?) Feels

A/N: here's a Christmas fic that has no right to be this angsty lmao, enjoy nonetheless <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part I: sleepless nights

Part II: candy floss

Part III: shock therapy

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

We apparated in the Weasley front yard together at dusk at the same time as Percy did; we greeted him with a hug and entered their old home, only to be met with more hugs.

I had only stayed at the Burrow once, arriving the night we escorted Harry, and leaving shortly after the tragic and abrupt ending of Bill and Fleur's wedding.

I had attended to the wedding as Fred's date. Even if we agreed that there was nothing serious between us, we cared deeply for one another, and I was important enough for him that he asked me to present ourselves together in front of his family.

How odd it was that the second time I was staying at the Burrow, it was because I had been asked to attend this Christmas gathering by none other than George —as friends, of course—; so odd that it made me anxious, but Arthur and Molly were way too welcoming for that anxiety to carry on longer than a minute after I stepped into their home.

"Y/n, dear!" Molly held me back while George went to greet his siblings, who had arrived earlier than us. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

"She didn't want to come." George snitched, coming back to us after hugging his father. "Said she felt like she was trespassing."

"George!" My cheeks burned when he exposed me.

"Oh, darling," Molly pulled me into the house to join the rest. "You're always welcomed here, don't be silly!"

Molly had liked me since day one, even before Fred and I became a thing. I was the one to receive her when the Weasley matriarch first visited the shop, and we immediately got along. Fred had explained to me that it was because I reminded his mother of her younger self.

"You're a snitch." I whispered into George's ear as we both walked behind Molly in the kitchen direction, his only response was to stick out his tongue, which made us both chuckle.

Molly looked over her shoulder and I caught in her eyes the same emotion I saw in Ginny's the first time she came to visit the shop after the reopening.

A profound emotion rooted in hope; a bittersweet feeling coming from the thought that, even though Fred was gone, George seemed to be coming back to us.

I felt it too, whenever he smiled. It was lovely to see him actually happy; I wished I could keep him like that forever, even in the nights, when everything would come down on his shoulders, tearing apart every spark of joy might have had in the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

We weren't finished with food yet when Arthur wiped his mouth with the napkin and, clapping his hands once, exclaimed, "Alright, time for presents!" Teddy, who rested on Bill's lap, squealed, his hair turning pink; that baby was smart. "I'll get them, dear." He stopped his wife from standing up and went to get them himself.

He distributed the gifts, and I was surprised when he handed me one. "Oh! You didn't have to—"

"Nonsense!" Arthur stopped me, resuming his task with a warm smile. Everyone was happy in that moment, and I knew George's mood had a big part on that.

He unwrapped his, which turned out to be a purple and orange scarf and matching mittens. He was putting on the mittens when I tossed the wrap of my present, uncovering a cardigan formed by several tones of my favorite color.

"Put it on!" George requested excited. unbeknownst to me, it had been him who told Molly my favorite color. "Aw you look fantastic." He observed, poorly wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"Of course I do." I agreed, shifting on my chair to face him, my hands traveling to his scarf to relocate it properly.

Though we didn't notice, it wasn't the first time that more than one pair of eyes observed us that night, and it wouldn't be the last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bill and Fleur had offered to take care of Teddy since they were leaving to Shell Cottage, so Harry and Ginny could spend the night at the Burrow without the worry of the baby.

Percy was terribly tired, so he withdrew from the living room to go to sleep.

Thank goodness he did; Percy was probably the second most affected by Fred death, and after that nice evening, he wouldn't have wanted to witness what was about to happen.

Ron, Hermione and I had colonized the settee, while Ginny and George were on their feet near the table, chatting about some nonsense; Molly was cleaning the dishes. Harry had offered to help her, but she refused, so the boy decided to talk with Arthur instead.

Molly pointed with her index finger at the remaining glasses laid on the table and called for George.

The thing is, she didn't really call for George.

"Fred, darling, hand me those."

The room fell silent.

It took a moment for her to realise, but an instant later, Molly was covering her mouth with her hand, her glassy stare fixed on the wrong named twin.

My eyes frantically travelled to every single person in the room, who had gone livid. We all seemed to be holding our breaths, waiting for some kind of explosive reaction.

Then my attention was drawn to George, whose, until that instant amused gaze, had turned blank and expressionless.

"Darling—" Molly's voice shattered with a single word. As Arthur went to console his wife, Ginny led her older brother aside and whispered things only he could hear, attempting to sooth him. "It slipped..." Molly cried.

I stayed sat on the couch with Hermione and Ron, the three of us frozen; I felt like I was an intruder witnessing a very intimate family moment.

"George don't—" we heard Ginny raising her voice before her brother disapparated. "Bloody hell!" She spun around and walked to me. "Y/n, speak to him, he'll listen to you." She practically begged, nodding her head at the window, prompting me to look at George standing alone at the edge of the cornfield, already making his way in.

"I-I..." I didn't need to look around in order to acknowledge all the eyes laid on me. "O-okay." I blinked away my own tears and rushed to the door, only to be stopped by Molly's shaky hand.

"Please- tell him I'm sorry."

"I don't think he'll blame you." I reassured the wrecked mother, offering her a comforting smile before making my way out and jogging into the cornfield myself.

"George?" When I didn't obtain an answer, it dawned on me how dumb it had been to dive into that area without knowing where to go. "George?"

I yelped when something tugged on my sleeve, making my body pivot on my heel. "You know how easy is to get lost in here?" The ginger questioned in a raspy tone, the hand that had been on my sleeve going down to mine, which invited him into my hold.

"She didn't mean— I reckon she just... Saw him in you for a second."

"I know." Though his eyes did look a bit red, he was calm.

"You alright?" I inquired, taking my hand to his cheek, on which he leaned.

"I just..." Sigh. His right hand travelled up to his face to hold mine in it before pulling away. "I need a moment alone."

I nodded. "Don't take too long or you'll catch a cold." He hummed affirmatively, and I half-heartedly left the cornfield and headed to the Burrow.

I excused George, assuring them he would be okay and, though the previous light-hearted environment didn't return, the tension in the air dissipated a bit.

A few minutes later, George came in; his mother welcomed with open arms and he returned the hug, having a small conversation against Molly's shoulder before making a beeline to me, sitting by my side.

I felt my cheeks flushing as he leaned on me, putting his head on my shoulder; suddenly self-conscious at the closeness between us. Somehow it was different being that close the privacy of our flat, than outside of it. Though it felt somehow inappropriate, when his long fingers intertwined with mines, I indulged him, trying hard not to meet neither Hermione's nor Ginny's eyes —they had been staring so much that I had noticed them an hour ago.

I was completely unaware of Molly's gaze laid on us too.

George, whose eyes had been closed, sit up straighter to whisper in my ear, "Can we go back to the flat?" My eyes met his and I realised we were even closer than I had thought in first place.

"I thought we were staying the night?" I murmured, trying in vain to keep his family out of the conversation they were pretending not to hear.

He leaned a bit closer only for me to hear his words. "I don't think I can sleep in my room."

"Do it for your mum." I squeezed his hand and he sighed. "I'm gonna stay in that room with you." Another sigh, but this one was of defeat, letting me know that I had talked some sense into him.

HERMIONE'S P. O. V.

At the beginning of the evening, when George and Y/n had first stepped into the Burrow, Ginny had come to me, urging me to observe them closely.

At first I didn't know why she would say that, but after the wrong name slipped out of Molly's lips, I started to get a hold of the matter, but it seemed so surreal— it just couldn't be.

Though the way Y/n's cheeks lighted up when George took a seat between us did remind me of the way I used to react when Ron got a tad too close to me in our sixth year.

After a while Y/n seemed to forget about our presence and eased besides George, making their bodies get closer.

When we decided to call it a day and the ones left in the living room started to retreat to their rooms for the night, Y/n got up without letting go of George's hold at any moment and, thanking Molly for her hospitality, they made their way upstairs.

Had my eyes not been trained on them, I would have missed the way George's hands went to Y/n's waist as his chin fell on her shoulder.

I left the sofa and walked to Ginny before she and Harry could slither to their dorm. "Are they...?"

"Not sure." Ginny replied with knitted brows. "What'd you think?"

"I... Don't know." I confessed.

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

We entered the dark room, illuminated only by the light provided by the night sky and started to discard our clothes in silence without looking at each other.

I was the first one to finish, making my way to my old bed and catching a glimpse of Y/n's silouhette while she threw a tee on.

I was utterly, hopelessly in love with her.

I had known I loved her for quite a while, but the feeling that had made my heart swell and my stomach flutter when she got into the cornfield without giving it a second thought in order to find me, that was something else.

I had also felt it when she had found me lifeless in Fred's room a couple of months ago; that feeling had been the reason why I found the strength in me to come back to life.

I was young, but I just knew what I felt went further from only love.

"What's on your mind?" She was already slipping under the covers by my side, her arms wrapping around me and bringing my back closer to her chest.

You, I wanted to say. "Not much."

"Liar." She tugged on my shirt and I turned on my other side so we would be facing each other. "C'mon, it's just me."

Words blurted out of my mouth, escaping my control. "Do you see him when you look at me?"

And I wasn't making anything up; It was, in fact, on my mind. It had appeared during the walk through the cornfield and it hadn't left, but Y/n's scent, touch and words had backed that thought to a corner of my mind.

She wondered, tucking one of my locks away from my forehead. "Sometimes, but not like you think." She must have sensed my inquiry because she explained further. "There are small gestures, jokes— things like that in you, that remind me of him." Her eyes were roaming all over my face, her hands bringing mines to her heart. "When you're happy, like tonight— I can't quite explain it but... it sorta seems like he's still here. So yeah, you could say I see a little bit of Fred when I look at you." Her eyes finally met mines. "It's not a bad thing— you love him so much that we can still see him through you."

"Loved." I corrected her, my thumb drawing circles on the back of her palm. "He's dead." A tear rolled down my cheek, but Y/n caught it with her fingertips before it could reach the pillow.

"Love never dies, Georgie." Her replied seem to carry more significance that someone would see at first sight, but I was too tired to discern it.

I couldn't tell if she had scooted closer, or if I had unconsciously leaned on, but the tips of our noses were nearly touching.

Initially, she didn't attempt to put more distance between us, and I couldn't help but let my hopes get high. I waited for a sign, something that would let me know I could close the gap between our lips —oh, how I craved to feel her lips—, but the sign didn't come and we stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before she casted down her eyes, immediately breaking the spell.

"Goodnight, Y/n." I whispered, turning my back to her.

"Goodnight, George." She mumbled back, coming closer to cuddle me.

[onthesandsofdreams]

To Find a Bride

Fandom: ASoIaF Pairing: Fem!Ned x Rhaegar (Main), Male!Elia x Ashara, Fem!Jaime x Male!Lyanna (Side) Rating: T Summary: Rhaegar Targaryen is in need of a bride, what better place to find her than in the Tourney of Harrenhal. And as it happens, a certain Wolf-maid catches his eye and the more he knows her, the more he wants her. Words: 2435 Notes: Written for the @asoiafrarepairs‘s ‘A dream of Spring’ event. Day 7: Free Day | Fill a Prompt: Female!Ned Stark X Rhaegar Targaryen, Female!Jaime Lannister X Male!Lyanna Stark, Male!Elia Martell X Ashara Dayne. Tourney of Harrenhall, where Rhaegar has to decide who shall be his future Queen.

Read @ AO3

Rhaegar is tired. Exhausted really. But his father has given the order, and he must comply. He needs to decide who will be his bride. It’s not a decision he takes lightly, and it’s one that he must measure well.

“Brooding again, Rhaegar?”

Arthur. Rhaegar turns, “Wouldn’t you, if you were in my place?”

Arthur grins, “No, I can think of worst things to do, then choose a woman to wed.”

“Of course you would find this amusing.”

“Marry my sister then,” Arthur shrugs. “She would make a good wife, better Queen.”

At that, Rhaegar allows himself a tiny smile. “Have you missed the fact that Prince Elio Martell courts your sister already?”

“No,” Arthur sighs, dejected. “But it was just a suggestion. I know both Lannister ladies are not a good idea, unless you want to antagonize the King. And one of the Starks, it seems that Lady Cerelle has caught the eye of the second son of Lord Stark. But then again, nothing is set on stone as of yet.”

Rhaegar nods, it had not escaped his notice. After all, he needed to know about the possible ladies as much as possible. “Indeed. But I doubt Lord Tywin would approve, he’s either hoping that I or Viserys weds either daughter. And as you say, nothing is set in stone. I can only hope for the best.”

“Speaking of Starks… My sister speaks highly of Lady Eddara. Perhaps you could get to know her?”

Rhaegar frowns, somehow, Lady Stark has managed to somewhat slip out of his mind. A mistake that he needs to fix, apparently. “Perhaps that would be a good idea,” he agrees. “I have not seen her much.”

“She’s on the shy and quiet side of things, I’m told.” Arthur gives him a pointed look. “Perhaps an invitation is in order?”

“Yes, I could speak with Lady Stark.”

“Then, I shall arrange it, but as a forewarning, she does have three brothers. And her older brother, Lord Brandon is on the protective side.”

“My thanks Arthur, and I will heed your warning.”

“Good.”

*****

Rhaegar meets Lady Eddara Stark after they have broken their fasts. Arthur and Ashara trail behind, as escorts, for which he is grateful. They follow at a respectful distance, not too far so they will be out of sight, but not close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation. And it seemed to be like Arthur was not wrong about her brothers, the three of them had been polite, but there was an edge to their words that spoke of retribution should anything happen upon their sister.

Rhaegar had no intention of hurting Lady Eddara, much less allow any harm to come to her. Eddara curtseys, greets him with a small smile, one he returns. Her eyes are deep grey, like smoke from a pyre. She’s tall, taller than other women, her hair falls mostly freely from her hair, only some pieces hold it away from her face. And her face is solemn, large and solemn. And he sees a part of himself reflected on her face.

“Have you ever visited the Riverlands before, my Lady?” Rhaegar asks. It’s a good way to start a conversation.

“I have,” Eddara replies. “I visited with Lord Hoster Tully, I wanted to meet Lady Catelyn, so my father arranged it.”

“Ah, yes, Lady Tully is promised to your brother, is that correct?”

“Aye my Prince, she is to marry Brandon soon. We will depart Harrenhal for Riverrun, in fact. We are looking forward to the wedding.”

“Then I shall endeavour to wish your lord brother good wishes on his upcoming marriage. But, tell me about yourself Lady Stark. I confess that I know little of the North, and whatever little I know, I know because of my uncle Aemon.”

Eddara smiles at him. “It shall please both Brandon and Catelyn, I think.” She dims a little. “I am not very interesting my Prince. Life in the North is not as full as excitement as I imagine life in King’s Landing is. But if you insist, then I shall tell you.”

“I do insist, my curiosity has been sparkled.”

“I read my Prince, I manage Winterfell. Have done so since my mother passed, take care of our people and my brothers. Help my father as best I can. I play the violin, I can’t sing, I’m sorry to say that I’m not a good dancer either.”

Rhaegar’s curiosity grows as he watches her talk, her serious face lights up when speaking about her life and her family. “What books do you enjoy, my Lady? I myself am quite the reader.” He frowns. “Though some dislike it.”

“It’s better to be a well read King than not, my Prince,” Eddara’s voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “And I enjoy poems, history and legends.”

Rhaegar’s head snaps towards her after her first words. That is a dangerous thing to say, he knows. “Perhaps so,” he matches her tone. “Poetry is a noble pursuit,” this time his voice returns to a normal tone. “And history must be learned, I do admit to liking the legends myself.”

Eddara gives him a tiny smile. “I have always thought that legends must have a smidge of truth, do you not think so, my Prince? Else, how could they come to be?”

Intriguing, Eddara Stark is intriguing. “Indeed.”

*****

Rhaegar himself is not much of a dancer, he dances because he must. So he walks towards Lady Ashara and requests a dance, she curtseys and obliques, but he does not miss the baleful glare both Martell princes send his way. Elio and Oberyn are twins in all but birthwater, it would do ill to antagonize them, but, he must on this occasion.

Lady Ashara is sweet and kind, regales him with tales of Dorne and of her and Arthur’s childhood, she praises his singing and he thanks her. They continue to speak while they dance, and when the music stops he bows and returns her towards her table.

Rhaegar also dances with Lady Cerelle Lannister, earning a glare from Lyan Stark. Cerelle continues to look back, almost as if she were looking for her sister. Lady Cersei’s face is smiling, but it does not reach her eyes.

Then, Rhaegar dances with Lady Cersei and she preens. He pretends not to notice, Lady Cersei sings his praises, carries herself with pride, but he dislikes the edge of smugness that hides in her voice. The song ends and he returns her to her table, Lady Cersei is almost reluctant to let go.

Lastly, Rhaegar requests a dance from Lady Eddara, she bows and takes his offered hand. “I must warn you my Prince,” Eddara says. “I am not the best dancer, so I beg your forgiveness in advance should I step on you.”

Rhaegar shakes his head. “Forgiveness is not necessary, my Lady. Accidents happen, but I am told I am a good dancer, perhaps I could teach you.”

“Then, I’d be honored to have such an excellent tutor.”

The music starts again and Rhaegar begins to lead, “Tell me my lady, what was it like to grow with brothers?”

Eddara’s face lightens and her eyes sparkle. “They were terrors my Prince. Absolute terrors, but I love them dearly, I can’t imagine my life without them. Once they decided to band against me, I was pelted with snowballs. Fortunately, some of our men got in and helped me to pay them back in turn.”

At the end of Eddara’s tale, there is laughter in her voice and Rhaegar finds that he likes the sound. He wishes he could hear her laugh out loud. “That seems hardly fair, three against one.”

“It wasn’t,” Eddara replies, laughter making her eyes sparkle. “But the reprimand that they got from our father was worth the cold.”

“Then I am glad. And see my Lady, you are dancing quite well.”

Eddara blushes. “Perhaps because my Prince leads so well.”

At the end of the song, Rhaegar finds himself reluctant to let her go.

But sees Lady Cerelle dancing with Lord Lyan Stark. And Ashara Dayne has not parted with Prince Elio. Things were interesting now.

*****

Rhaegar’s curiosity about Eddara Stark has only grown. He sees glimpses of an iron hidden underneath a calm exterior, she might lack her brothers fire, but her intellect more than makes up for it. And he knows because he has been able to speak with her more, he will admit to go out of his way to do so. He has no regrets. And at her insistence, he calls her Eddara. Ned doesn’t suit her much, even if she insists she doesn’t mind.

Once, full of curiosity, Rhaegar asked, “What would you do, Lady Eddara if two of your bannermen were arguing and wanted your judgement?”

Eddara looks at him, then blink surprised. She doesn’t answer immediately, instead she thinks for a moment. Rhaegar doesn’t rush her. “Well,” Eddara starts. “I might travel to the lords, but I would take a pair of servants with me.”

“And why is that?”

“Lords can twist words, say something that is not true. But servants talk to each other, and the Lords tend to ignore them, so I would have my servants listen and talk, hear what has been said on both sides of the issue and then make my judgement.”

Rhaegar is impressed. “Cleverly thought, Eddara.”

“Thank you my Prince.” Eddara blushes. “I try to learn from my lord father. He has taught us all, even me.”

“Then Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

*****

“Tell me about your Godswoods Eddara, I have never seen one as grand as Winterfell’s sound to be.”

“It’s quite big, my Prince.” No matter how hard Rhaegar has tried, he has not managed to make her call him Rhaegar. It’s her manners, he knows. But it’s vexing. “The Heart Tree is large, unlike any other here in the South, it’s face carved and almost sorrowful, the red sap gives it a gnarly air, but I like it. The woods are dark and there is a pond near the Tree, there’s a certain something there I can’t quite place. It almost feels like magic, truly it’s… magnificent.”

The ends of Rhaegar’s lips curl upwards. It’s always quite pleasant hearing Eddara speak of Winterfell, the North and her family. She truly comes alive during those particular topics. “Lord Brandon said it was grand, but you make me want to see it.”

“Perhaps one day my Prince will visit Winterfell, I shall endeavour to show the Godswoods to you.”

“Perhaps one day, Eddara, perhaps one day.”

*****

“Have you made up your mind?” Arthur asks one eve, after they have retired. “Because you seem quite taken with Lady Stark.”

“She’s different.”

“Different good?”

“Quite.” Rhaegar answers easily. “She’s quite… something. I like her.”

“I know,” Arthur says, a smug look to his face. “And people have noticed. Yes, you have danced and spoken to several ladies, and yet, you seek Lady Stark outside of formal obligations.” 

“She’s head and shoulder above all others.”

“Then it sounds like you’ve made up your mind Rhaegar. Oh Lord Tywin will be displeased. And so will Lady Cersei.”

Rhaegar’s mouth twitches. “They will indeed. But it seems that Lady Cerella is quite taken with Lord Lyan.”

“Indeed. They seem inseparable.”

“Lord Tywin will be most displeased.”

Rhaegar resists the urge to laugh. 

******

Rhaegar dons his armor for the joust. Prize in mind, he squares his shoulders and readies himself. He’s got a lot of competition to win if he’s to crown Eddara.

One by one, his opponents fall. Each one drawing him closer to victory. Until only Brandon Stark and Ser Barristan are left. Brandon falls easily enough, Ser Barristan is harder to beat, but in the end, he triumphs. Waves to the cheering crowd and takes the crown of blue roses. 

Rhaegar can almost hear everyone hold their breaths.

And Rhaegar looks for Eddara, finds her sitting next to Brandon and Lyan, close enough to the arena that should not be a problem for him to give her the crown. He spurs his horse forward until he’s standing in front of Eddara. “My Lady,” he says as he offers the crown. “For you.”

Eddara blushes fiercely, but takes the crown. “You honor me, my Prince.”

Rhaegar ignores the glares he’s getting from both Brandon and Lyan, and simply smiles at Eddara, “Not half of what you deserve.”

*****

“With respect, your Grace,” Brandon’s voice is cold. “What exactly do you intend with my sister?”

Rhaegar should be offended, but he isn’t. He’s been expecting this. “To ask your Lord father for her hand in marriage.”

Brandon is left speechless. His eyes widen and his mouth falls open. Moves his lips but no words come forward. “I - well.”

Rhaegar bites down a smile. It’s almost hard to believe how easy smiles come to him now, especially when it comes to Eddara. “I mean that Lord Stark. The King has graciously granted me the leave to pick my bride. And I have chosen your sister. I sent a raven to your father two days ago.”

“If that’s the case,” Brandon pulls himself up to his full height. “Then, allow me to be an elder brother and say this: If you hurt her, you deal with me.”

“Then, rest assured that I will not do so.”

“I’ll hold you to that, your Grace.”

“I expect nothing less.”

*****

Rhaegar hears from Arthur that Elio is formally courting Ashara now. And he knows that Lyan has written to his father about Cerelle’s hand. He wishes both couples luck, to Elio and Ashara to their faces. To Lyan and Cerelle in his head.

*****

Before they have to part ways, Rhaegar makes sure to speak with Eddara once more. “I have already sent a letter to your lord father, and the King. If they agree, our betrothal will be announced soon.”

Eddara, nods solemn. “Then I hope all goes well.”

Rhaegar squeezes her hand, “Do not fear, Eddara, I doubt my father would have an objection. And I would think that Lord Stark would at least consider it.”

*****

Three weeks after Brandon and Catelyn’s wedding, Eddara is summoned to King’s Landing. Rhaegar goes and receives her, drawing her into his arms. Around them, the commons whisper, he finds that he does not care.

Lady Eddara Stark is received with all the honors she deserves. And the night of her arrival, during the feast, King Aerys announces their betrothal. Rhaegar kisses his bride-to-be softly, and smiles at her blush.

Around them, people cheer.

[janiedean]

Prompt where Lyanna and Elia raise their three children together because Rhaegar has disappeared and he shows up again during a Stark/Martell family reunion to find both his ex-lovers are together?

(hi anon for the part where I’m filling old prompts that y’all thought I forgot: have fun)

–

It’s probably very cliché that it starts when they literally crash into each other at the supermarket.

Or better: Elia’s cart crashes against Lyanna’s while she’s distracted because her eldest daughter is running off towards the sweets counter, and Lyanna is just glad she had her own kid on her back and not in the front.

“Sorry,” Elia tells her, “you know how it is with -” she says, and then she never finishes the sentence.

Lyanna imagines why - finding yourself in front of the woman your ex-husband had a fling with, who caused your split and who also has a kid from that same ex who has also conveniently vanished into thin air before he was born is probably not what Elia had in mind for today.

“Er,” Lyanna says, “no problem. I know.”

Elia looks at her, taking in the situation - Lyanna has a feeling she didn’t even know Rhaegar had disappeared also when she is concerned. She’s wearing some of Ned’s old clothes that he gave her when she said she needed something that no one would miss when her kid started teething, she hasn’t had a shower in two days and the only blessing is that Jon isn’t awake for this. Elia, on her side, looks tired but at least - well, put together. Sort of.

“Shouldn’t he be around?” Elia asks, and Lyanna doesn’t know if she’s glad that she didn’t beat around the bush or if she wants to disappear into the ground.

“Er, he hasn’t been since the seventh month. Family matters. You know.”

Elia sends her a fairly understanding look, which Lyanna had not expected.

“I think I do,” Elia sighs. Her second kid, the one in the cart, makes some kind of displeased noise and the other one calls for her mother from where she’s standing at the sweets aisle. “Listen,” Elia says, “guess we haven’t got time now, but maybe - if you ever want to get coffee sometime and trash talk our common ex, your brother has Arthur Dayne’s number and he has my brother’s.”

Then she runs after her daughter and Lyanna is left standing grabbing at her cart and wondering if she’s ended up in some kind of alternate universe.

–

They see each other for coffee.

Turns out that when Elia finds out how things actually went, she shakes her head and says, see what happens when you don’t even try to see the other side.

“Sorry that he dumped you like that,” she says.

“I get by. I mean, my brothers do help out.”

“I know, but - it’s still not okay. Well, if you ever want to make the kids hang out, I won’t say no.”

It’s obvious that she means it. Lyanna wants to cry in relief - damn it, she hadn’t even known Rhaegar was married when they met each other.

She calls Elia another time.

And then again.

–

Once, they bring the kids to the park all at once even if they don’t tell them how exactly they’re all related.

“Well,” Lyanna says after half an hour, “given that the only kid in existence who’s ever managed to not make mine cry is his cousin, maybe we should tell them at some point.”

Elia sips from her frappuccino and takes a deep breath - her bright orange scarf stands out against her black coat and the snow surrounding them. Their kids are making a snowman together, more or less. Or better, Rhaenys is doing most of the work, but never mind that.

“Really?” She asks.

Lyanna shrugs. “The daycare girls keep on saying that he’s terribly sweet on his own and they’re glad he basically never cries but that whenever he’s dealing with other children it’s a disaster. Robb’s basically the only one he likes. Until now.”

“Well,” Elia replies, “I don’t see why not. I mean, fuck’s sake, it’s not as if we have to make their life miserable because Rhaegar was a complete idiot.”

Lyanna has nothing to add to that.

They tell them (well, Aegon and Rhaenys - Jon is one, it’s not as if he’s going to remember that conversation). It goes definitely better than they had imagined. They end up making sure they hang out more often.

After all, it’s really not worth it to poison their lives over their father being a complete idiot.

--

“My landlord so wants me gone,” Lyanna tells Elia a year later while they’re having tea at her studio apartment. The kids are out with Ned, bless him and Cat for volunteering to take all of them for the day.

“Really?”

“I can only take so many hints that he doesn’t want single mothers in his establishment. As if I don’t pay rent on time.”

Elia’s dark eyes turn on hers, and she seems to be thinking it through. Then she glances at the three pictures attached to the fridge. One is Jon and Robb, another was taken at the park when Jon and his half-siblings were sortofbuilding that snowman, the other is some artsy black and white picture Cat took of her and Jon the week when she brought him home. No one should be allowed to look artsy when they’re basically passed out with their kid sleeping on them on Ned’s horrible old yellow sofa, but somehow it came out good and she put it there for - she doesn’t know why. Maybe to remind herself that, from the outside, the result of falling for a guy who doesn’t tell you he’s married, then leaves his wife to be with you when you end up pregnant and then disappears off the face of the earth because his family doesn’t approve can... well, look somehow better than it feels sometimes. Not that she’d change things now, but - sometimes she just wishes she had been smarter about it. As if it’s of any use crying over that now.

“I have an entire floor I don’t use,” Elia says then.

“Sorry?”

“You’ve seen the family house. I have two floors, Oberyn has the other two. Half of my half is empty and I don’t even know what to do with it, and I don’t need money on top of what I earn already. Just move in, I could use the company sometimes.”

“What? Are you sure?”

Elia gives her a half-smile that’s somehow both encouraging and somehow melancholic and shrugs slightly. “Why not? Sometimes it’s just - it’d be nice to have another adult around. Oberyn’s not in town most of the time anyway and I love my children, I do, but being alone with two of them just makes you long for any grown up to be around the place regularly. Really, I don’t mind.”

Lyanna wants to refuse, then she remembers how much she’d save from the rent money. Here she’s sharing one room with Jon and at some point it’s not going to work anymore - maybe until he’s five she can push it, but if she wants to raise a kid with some sense of independence and privacy she’d rather change the situation before then. And she likes Elia, to be truthful, she likes her a lot, and if Jon’s less than stellar social skills keep on developing this way then it’d be better if he’s around his siblings.

Well then.

“Fine, but I’m - okay, I’m a shit cook. I can do the laundry or whatever else.”

“Deal. I hate doing laundry,” Elia agrees, and holds out a hand. Lyanna shakes it.

--

Thing is: Lyanna’s never actually considered dating a woman - mostly because Rhaegar was the first man she really dated and it ended the way it did, and when you’re having a kid at nineteen it’s not like you have time for dating. And in high school all her flings were men. But she’s always sort of known she wouldn’t have problems with the prospect of dating a woman. In theory.

Living with one who has some ten years on her and is fucking scorching hot as pretty much the rest of her family hasn’t made it easy for exactly that same reason. On one side she’s happy the Martells were not the kind of stuck up rich people the Targaryens are and they had no issues with her coming to live with Elia.

(Hell, after Oberyn once clapped her on the back so hard she spit her wine because she didn’t even try to look for Rhaegar so he could at least acknowledge the baby as his own and said that she did the right thing not even worrying a bit about that asshole of a Targaryen, she stopped worrying about whether they hated her or not.)

That said, Lyanna had been sure she had kept it under control - sometimes she’ll stare and fine, she likes Elia and Elia’s not just hot, she’s beautiful with that dark skin, long raven hair and eyes of that same shade, and sometimes Lyanna envies those long eyelashes of hers and then decides that no, they look great on her, no point in envy when Lyanna’s hardly ever given a fuck about her own looks.

Anyway, she doesn’t know if maybe she wasn’t as good as she thought or what, but when one day when the kids are at Doran Martell’s and she comes back from tidying up Jon’s room and finds Elia reading in the living room and Elia tells her that they need to talk, Lyanna can’t help thinking, crap, did she figure me out?

Turns out, Elia had.

Turns out, talking meant actually making out in the middle of the living room with the two of them crashing on the ground when Elia put her foot over some Lego toy of Aegon’s and put her off balance. Then it turns into making out on the couch, which is blissfully free of Legos of any kind, and Lyanna decides that maybe this situation turned out better like this than if Rhaegar hadn’t fucked off wherever he did.

His loss, really.

--

The last thing Rhaegar expected from Elia was an invitation to the annual Stark-Martell post-Christmas family reunion. Not that he had expected anything from her after he came back to London four years after leaving abruptly, and he wouldn’t even have known how to apologize, but she sent him a message on Facebook after finding out from common friends and - well, he had gone. If anything, to apologize.

But when he gets there, he realizes that maybe there’s something else he had expected even less. Walking in on Elia and Lyanna sharing the same plate of appetizer while sitting on the sofa in a way that's certainly not friendly was jarring enough, but seeing the two of them kiss a moment later like two people who’ve been in a relationship for at least a few years -

Yeah. Wasn’t in the plans. He doesn’t come forward as he sees them part and hold hands as they go back to their appetizers, and at that point he can’t even be angry because he was the one listening to his damned father and leaving the country out of some ridiculous concept of keeping the family integrity - shit, he should have just cut ties with the old mad bastard long before then. It’s probably not surprising they moved on with their life, and they would have ended up meeting, given that they gave birth to three children one of which he hasn’t ever met, who as far as he knows are in the room which Doran reserved for them and the relatives who volunteered to be on watching-children-duty. He should go there, at some point, when he finds some way to put into words how much of an idiot he was. 

(Especially with Lyanna’s child - how is he even going to not sound like an asshole when the point of the matter is ‘I had a fling with your mother because I fell for her and I left your siblings’ mother for her but then I left her too because I was a complete fucking bastard’?)

There’s one thing, he knows for sure now, though.

That when it comes to Elia and Lyanna and anything else related to the two of them, whatever it is that’s going on between them or his part in their lives, he’s most probably too late for anything that’s not making amends, and he hopes they’ll let him do that, at least. They deserve some, and they probably deserve each other more than he deserved them in the first place.