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It was almost three hundred years after Aegon’s Conquering. The year would be changing in just a week, and he had been married to Daenerys for almost a full year. The year had gone so quickly, but of course, he had spent most of it in Essos trying to source food for Westeros.

Maelle was already two months old and she was no longer the small, shrivelled, red faced newborn. She was chubby and more alert, the redness and swollenness of her birth had eased to reveal porcelain skin that was softer than anything else Harry had ever touched. Her hair continued to grow until it was like a spiky black halo around her entire head and Dany cursed it daily with a ‘why won’t it just lie flat? Why does it stick up so?’ and Harry would smother a laugh and a smile, knowing that his daughter had taken his hair. The Baratheon hair. The Potter hair.

Harry was more protective than he had imagined of himself. He couldn’t help it, he hovered over his babe and liked her being close to him. He didn’t know if he would have been like this regardless of his own childhood, both of them, or if it was made worse by knowing that Cersei would try to kill his daughter off for spite.

It didn’t matter because he couldn’t help it; he did hover over Maelle, and he refused to leave her alone. He only really trusted her to Dany or to Balon. Anyone else was hovered over if they had his precious child.

This fear, the hovering, was made worse when, just days before the year turned, Cersei and Joffrey turned up at the gates of the Red Keep demanding to be let in. Absent any news from the capital, from her two little spies in Lancel and Tyrek, she had come herself to see if he’d had a boy or a girl.

Harry had reluctantly given the order to give them admittance to the Red Keep and he’d immediately posted Ser Arys on the serpentine steps, with orders that no one, especially not Cersei or Joffrey, was allowed to cross them into the lower bailey.

Dany and Maelle were within the holdfast already. Dany was showing her babe off to the dragons, who were overly curious about their non-scaled, non-winged sibling. Harry was grateful that they were out of sight and out of reach. They would stay that way too, as there was no way that Harry was going to go back to living with either Cersei or Joffrey in the Red Keep. They would be going straight back to Storm’s End.

Cersei was dressed up in a gown of blood red and gold, her fingers thick with rings and wearing a necklace of gold with a ruby the size of a robin’s egg nestled at her throat.

Joffrey was no less ostentatious in a red doublet, black breeches, and a cloth-of-gold cloak that had a hood pulled up over his head, blending in with his golden hair.

“Harian, my love. It’s good to see you.” Cersei said, all soft, honeyed words and false sweetness.

Joffrey looked at her with a scowl. “Why are you speaking to him like that?” Joffrey demanded.

“Yes, why are you speaking to me like that?” Harry asked curiously.

Cersei laid a hand on Joffrey’s arm to still his anger and she tried to rescue the situation that he had ruined the moment they had arrived. Yet, she still wanted him on the throne, a boy with no patience, a terrible temper, and absolutely no forethought.

“We received the birthing announcement at Storm’s End, but nothing since. I was worried.” She lied, her face the picture of concern, but her mind was all savage sharpness. She was hoping that the baby had died.

“Father rode immediately for the capital to meet my babe. What more needed to be done?” Harry asked, staring straight at her, letting her know that the barb was for her, that he knew he’d snubbed her and he’d done it purposefully.

She tried to control her expression, but her entire face tightened, her jaw tensed, her hands flexed as if to form fists, but she managed to stop herself from doing that just in time.

“That babe is my grandchild.” Cersei tried. “I have a right to see them.”

“That babe is my child.” Harry snapped. “I say who sees them or not.”

“Where is the babe?” Cersei tried then.

“In the holdfast with Daenerys. You are not permitted to enter the godswood or cross the serpentine steps. In fact, don’t get too comfortable, as neither of you are staying.”

“We have guest rights.” Joffrey told him.

“I’m surprised that you know what that is.” Harry replied mildly. “But as you’ve just arrived and neither of you have had any bread or salt from me, and neither will you, I am not at liberty to offer you guest rights. Go back to Storm’s End.”

“I’m staying here!” Joffrey raged.

Harry shook his head. “You can go back to Storm’s End or you’ll be fostered at Casterly Rock. You are not staying here.”

“I am your mother! I want to see my grandchild.”

“Out of the question.” Harry replied. “I don’t want my child anywhere near you.”

“Harian…”

“You will address me as Your Grace.” Harry cut in, knowing that it would just about kill Cersei to use such a venerated title for him.

Harry watched as she swallowed hard. “Your Grace, I ask that you allow us to stay, by grace of being your family members.”

“You’re no family to me. I don’t want you here.”

“Harian, calm yourself.”

Harry relaxed a little as Tywin arrived. No doubt alerted to Cersei and Joffrey’s unannounced visit by a swift servant.

“Cersei, you should not have come.”

“I’ve heard no word on my own grandchild!” Cersei argued.

“Why would you have need of such information?” Tywin asked.

“I am entitled to know information about the babe, I do not even know if I have a grandson or a granddaughter, or even what they have been named! What am I to tell anyone who asks me about the babe? It is an embarrassment.”

“You tell them that you aren’t trusted near my babe.” Harry said pointedly. “You tell them that you weren’t a mother to me and you will not be a grandmother to my babe.”

The red flush crept up Cersei’s neck to her ears. Her thoughts immediately turned angrier…and violent. She wanted to hit him. To hit him and never stop. It amused him to know that she wanted to do it and couldn’t.

“Harian…”

“You will call me by my title.” Harry corrected firmly.

Cersei inhaled deeply, as if to calm herself. “Your Grace, I believe that your father has turned you against me, that you are not allowing me to see my grandchild because of him.”

“Why would you want to see the little brat anyway?” Joffrey sneered.

The urge to hit Joffrey was instantaneous and almost overwhelmingly strong. The flash of violence must have shown in his eyes because Joffrey’s eyes widened and Cersei immediately pulled Joffrey back a little, out of his immediate reach.

“The only brat here is you.” Balon snapped angrily.

Harry eased down a little, smirking at the thought that his lover was so protective of their child already that he wouldn’t stand for Maelle to be called anything by anyone.

“Mind your tongue when speaking to a member of the royal family!” Cersei snapped back.

“The only member of the royal family present is my king.” Balon replied cattily and Harry wanted to jump him then and there.

“What do you plan to do about this disrespect?” Cersei demanded of him.

Harry laughed. “Nothing.” He said simply. “Why would I do anything when Balon was protecting my child, as is his job as a member of the Kingsguard?”

“We are the royal family too.”

“Not any more you’re not.” Harry replied viciously. “I deny you guest rights and I want you out of the Red Keep.”

“It has been a long journey.” Cersei tried.

“I have no care.” He told her.

“I…I am with child.” She confided, a little quieter then. “Would you throw out your unborn brother or sister?”

Harry checked with his magic and found that she was a full four months pregnant already. His little plot was almost coming to fruition.

“What trickery is this?” Tywin asked her.

“It is no trick. I am four turns pregnant.” Cersei admitted.

Harry read from her mind that she had tried numerous times to take moon tea to rid herself of what she knew was Robert’s child. She couldn’t believe that she had drunk so much wine as to ever think that Robert was her beloved Jaime, or her substitute in Lancel, and she was sickened with herself. Her mind was a mess of thoughts circling on how she had been unable to abort him, and how she was unable to abort this growing babe, and she was cursing the resilience of Robert’s seed, as if it hadn’t been Harry’s magic that had saved him and his magic that was keeping that unborn babe secured to her womb.

“I don’t want another brother or sister!” Joffrey whined, as if he were much younger than he was, as if he were a toddler with jealousy issues.

“Are you ever going to grow up?!” Harry demanded. “You are almost four-and-ten, you’ll be a man grown in just two years and you speak like a babe still.”

“You don’t get to tell me anything!” Joffrey raged.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Grandfather, perhaps now is the best time to send him to Casterly Rock?”

“I won’t go!”

“You’re not sending him anywhere!” Cersei hissed angrily. “You have already taken two children from me, you won’t take them all.”

“You can stay, for the babe you carry, but he is not. You can either go back to Storm’s End together, or Joffrey is going to Casterly Rock while you remain.” Harry announced calmly, watching Cersei’s face, watching her mouth as it trembled.

He’d given her a terrible ultimatum. She didn’t want to be separated from Joffrey, her golden child, the only one she had left after he’d removed Tommen and Myrcella from her venomous grasp. But, on the other hand, if she did wave goodbye to Joffrey, then she would get to remain here, in King’s Landing, where she thought it would be easier to kill him, Robert, and his child, making way for Joffrey to be king.

She was silent, debating it with herself for so long that Harry snorted, interrupting her thoughts and desperate attempt at plotting on the spot.

“Fine, then you will both head straight back to Storm’s End.” He said firmly. “Those are the only options I will accept.”

“I will stay here.” Cersei said quickly.

“Mother!” Joffrey screeched, looking scandalised and sounding betrayed.

“I will inform Kevan that he is to ride to Casterly Rock.” Tywin said, but he gave Harry a quick look. A look that told Harry without the need for words to tread carefully.

“Mother, I don’t want to go! I won’t!”

“It won’t be for long, darling.” Cersei tried. “Just until the babe is born.”

“I don’t care about that baby, I don’t want you to have it!”

“Come with me.” Tywin ordered.

“I won’t! You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I said come with me.” Tywin said, his voice so deep and authoritative that even Harry cowed away from it. He had never had that tone directed at him. Never.

Joffrey floundered for a moment and he looked to Cersei to help him, but she averted her gaze quickly, also knowing exactly what that tone meant. Harry wondered if she had been on the receiving end of that tone before.

Joffrey stumbled forward a step and Tywin’s hand clamped like a band of iron around his upper arm and dragged him off, to send him straight to Casterly Rock with Kevan. Their last sight of Joffrey was his cloth-of-gold cloak flapping behind him.

“I will have rooms prepared in the Maidenvault for you. You are still not permitted to enter the godswood, nor to pass over the serpentine steps. The moment you break these rules, I will have you sent straight back to Storm’s End, I’ll put you in the back of a mule cart if need be. Am I clear?”

“I am not a child to be chastened by the likes of you!”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her and she swallowed nervously.

“You’ll do as I say. You’re staying here by the grace of the child you carry, my sibling. If you didn’t have that, I would have thrown you into Blackwater Bay by now.”

Harry stormed off, with her shock echoing in his mind.

He went over the serpentine steps, passing Ser Arys, who was to remain on the steps.

“Why did you allow her to stay?” Balon asked softly.

“It was the only way I could think of to separate her from Joffrey, finally. He will be in Casterly Rock and then she will be heading back to Storm’s End. At least until my brother or sister is born. I will ride for Storm’s End then and bring the babe here. She can stay the rest of her days in Storm’s End.”

“You would take the babe from her?”

“Is that a hint of sympathy, Balon?” Harry asked.

“Never!” His lover insisted passionately. “I merely wondered why.”

“Joffrey is a lost cause. Tommen is not intelligent enough. I am hoping that she has a boy who can be named Lord of Casterly Rock, so I can do away with Jaime without my grandfather being too upset with me.”

“Ah, I see.” Balon said, even as Harry felt the horror from the rest of his Kingsguard at the depth of his scheming, but he refused to hide himself overly much from them anymore. He was the king and his Kingsguard were sworn to keep his secrets, always. No matter their personal feelings, they couldn’t make them known to him and they certainly shouldn’t be gossiping to anyone else about anything that he told them.

“You…you promised to allow her to stay, Your Grace.” Loras told him and got himself a beady-eyed glare from both Barristan and Balon, and two looks of horror from Preston and Mandon for daring to question him.

“I did, Ser.” Harry replied, a touch unhappily. “But I don’t believe I ever made mention of how long she was going to be staying for. She might have thought in her mind, as you clearly did, that I meant as long as she pleased, or even until the babe she carries is born, but I gave no amount of time. A few days will suffice, just long enough for Joffrey to be set on the road, as I believe that will be all I’ll be able to manage. You will find that my word is kept.”

The men around him were uncomfortable with the level of his plots and the intelligence he held. All but Barristan, whose mind was curiously blank, were thinking on his words, and on what he might do next, even Balon. Though, naturally, his lover’s thoughts were tinged with pride, not horror or shock.

“Sers, if you could keep an eye out for her during her brief stay, particularly if she approaches any servants.” Harry ordered.

“Do you want us to follow her, Your Grace?” Mandon asked him.

Harry considered it, then shook his head. “No, Ser. If she realises she is being followed, she might be more cautious. I want you all to keep to your usual duties, with the added role of guarding the serpentine steps, and only if you see her speaking to a servant, make sure you note which servant it was, and I will interview them personally, as I did when she tried to turn Dany’s servants against her.”

“You think she would try that again?” Balon asked, the protective note in his voice telling Harry, without having to peek at his thoughts, that his lover was worried about Maelle.

“I am worried that she is going to press them for all the information she can get, and that Maelle will be in danger because of it. I do not want the servants touching my daughter until after they have been vetted.”

“What about Princess Maelle’s wetnurse and nursemaid, Your Grace?” Barristan asked him.

Harry frowned. “Both are good girls. They have come to love Maelle and I don’t believe either will do her harm, but, just in case, I wish for someone to be present in the room at all times when they have her and to intervene if they even suspect something suspicious. A bag of gold is enough to tempt most, I know that from personal experience.”

Maelle would not have a life like his. She wouldn’t. He would not allow it. He would protect her until his dying breath. There would be no foul kidnapping plots involving his daughter. There would be no assassination attempts on his baby girl.

A screech was all the warning Harry had and he stiffened his spine in preparation as the large, heavy dragon landed on his shoulder, Rhaegal turning to nuzzle at him, croaking in pleasure.

“And just how did you get out?” Harry teased, using his nails to scratch along the ridge of scales that made Rhaegal make a soft chirruping noise that could only be pleasure.

“It looks like he glided from the window, Harry.” Balon said, looking up at Maegor’s Holdfast.

“Did you glide? Oh, who’s a clever boy?”

“It won’t be long until they are flying.” Loras said, a note of stressed fear in his voice.

“They haven’t acted outside of command for three turns, Loras.” Harry said soothingly. “They are more than a year old now. We have the books from Stygai, we know how to train them properly, like the dragonriders of old Valyria.”

To his credit, Harry barely stumbled over the name ‘Stygai’. He was getting better. Slowly. He still needed help in the bath, and Balon was always willing to help him, but Harry believed it was bathing Maelle that was truly healing him.

His daughter enjoyed the bath as much as Harry did…used to before Stygai. Seeing her sweet little smile as she was lowered into the warm water melted Harry’s heart every single time, as he cradled her with one arm and gently washed her off with the other.

She wailed as she was removed from the water and Harry would laugh and shush her, patting her bottom gently as he bounced her to soothe her, telling her that he never liked getting out of baths either, but that other duties called and things needed to get done.

Balon would always snigger, reminding Harry of all the times as a boy he’d refused to get out of the bath, or had had the servants top up his hot water so that he could stay in the bath for an extra half an hour.

‘Hush, Balon, don’t tell her such tales!’ Harry would always say with a laugh, but he didn’t mean it. It felt nice to joke and laugh about baths again, given that he wasn’t all that comfortable in them still.

“The dragons are becoming very large.” Balon commented, looking at Rhaegal on Harry’s shoulder.

“Very heavy too.” Harry complained. “Aerēbagon!” He ordered the dragon, who moved from his shoulder to the floor in a tangle of fluttering wings.

Rhaegal clattered around the stone, his wings looking awkward and overly large compared to his little body.

He went scrabbling and skittering over the stone and Harry watched him with a smile. A smile that fell when Rhaegal tried to beat his wings and started hovering.

He stared at the dragon hovering for a moment, then he let out an excited screeching noise and hurried over.

“You’re doing it, Rhaegal!” He said happily, throwing his arms out under the dragon, just in case. “I thought that Drogon would be the first to fly, but he’s doing it!”

Balon chuckled at his excitement, but Harry didn’t care that he was coming across as an overexuberant child. He was excited that Rhaegal was flying…well, hovering, but still, the distinction seemed petty in light of the new achievement.

The little dragon couldn’t sustain his wingbeats for long and they quickly dropped off and, as they did, Rhaegal fell.

Harry caught the heavy little dragon and pulled him safely to his chest.

“I’ve got you, Rhaegal.” He said, giving the dragon a wash of soft magic, which settled Rhaegal into nuzzling at him, his eyes lidding as if he would fall asleep. “Let us get you back to your brothers.”

Harry carried the heavy dragon into the holdfast and took him to where his brothers were. Dany was frantically looking for Rhaegal.

“Harian, oh! You found him, where was he? I turned around and he was gone!” She fretted, coming over to stroke Rhaegal with gentle fingers, reassuring herself that he was safe and well.

“He must have seen me, or heard me. He glided from the window to my shoulder, but Dany, he flew!”

“He actually flew?” She asked excitedly.

“Well, it was more like he hovered, but he was beating his wings for a good few minutes! He just needs more practice.”

Dany was as excited as Harry was, naturally, and she took Rhaegal from him and cuddled him.

“We need to be prepared now for others to see them. If they start flying over the Red Keep, or further afield, then they will be spotted sooner or later.”

Dany looked anxious at hearing that. Harry felt it too, but it was inevitable…and unavoidable. The dragons were growing at an alarming rate, and they wouldn’t be able to keep them a secret for much longer.

Harry went to Maelle and picked her up from her cradle, snuggling his baby into his arms. He inhaled the scent of her, falling more in love as he looked down at her sleeping face.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Dany teased.

“I really can’t. I love her.”

Dany gave him a soft smile, and Harry noticed that Balon was wearing a similar look.

As he had known would happen, he was coming to love Daenerys purely because she was the mother to his child and he saw her caring for their baby girl every day, but Balon, there was just no competing with Balon.

He went to his lover and rested in his strong, capable arms. Balon wrapped his arms around him and supported him, placing an arm under Maelle’s tiny body to take her weight as well. Harry felt a kiss pressed to the back of his head and he smiled. This was everything he’d ever wanted.

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The year had changed and it was getting noticeably colder. Harry was worried that they wouldn’t get in another harvest, but at least the glass garden was finished, and it had already been planted and was shown to be working. The heat that the glass generated was surprising. Walking into the glass house felt like slipping into a warm bath, but already the seeds sown were sprouting.

Harry had put aside little jars of labelled seeds, ready to be used when the height of winter was upon them, and the snow fell thick and the wind was bitter, and the food started to run low. His family would survive. His sweet little Maelle would survive.

He had sent Cersei packing straight back to Storm’s End, much to her anger and dismay, when Harry revealed to her he’d only allowed her to stay for a bare week to separate her from Joffrey. She had demanded to know why he had been so hateful, and he smirked as he looked her dead in the eye and told her that it was for all the times she’d tried to kill him.

He hadn’t given her a choice; he hadn’t let her argue because he was tired of her, and of listening to her voice. He’d ordered Preston and Mandon to drag her from the Red Keep, to stick her in a cart and send her back to Storm’s End, and that is exactly what had happened. He did rather like the power of being a king.

His baby girl was starting to get her own little personality now that she was almost three months old, and she had started smiling. Harry’s heart was lost to her all over again when she aimed a wet, gummy smile at him and Balon would laugh and tell him that he visibly all but slumped into a happy puddle. Harry teased right back that Balon did the same.

“Can I speak with you before you address the court today?” Daenerys asked him, as she watched him playing with Maelle.

Harry looked up curiously. “You can speak to me when you like, you don’t need an appointment, Dany.”

“I would like a private conversation.” She added with a pointed look to his Kingsguard.

“Ah, I see. Sers, please wait outside the door for me.” He told them, watching as they bowed their heads and then left, no arguing, no hesitation.

Harry had kept a hand on Balon’s thigh, keeping him seated next to him. He had very few secrets from Balon and those he refused to tell him were ones that he could never tell anyone. The secrets that he would have to take to his grave.

The door closed and Dany looked nervous facing him. She pulled Maelle into her arms and cradled her, looking at her as if she could speak to the baby and not to him, or perhaps she thought that Maelle could protect her from any harsh words said to her. Harry made a promise to keep his calm then and there.

“You don’t need to be so nervous with us, Dany. You said yourself that there are three of us in this marriage. Balon and I aren’t going to be upset with you.”

“You might be.” She said worriedly, her voice rather timid.

Harry’s stomach sank as he clicked onto what she might be thinking and the dread filled every fibre of his body. He had to check, he needed to know, and yes, a quick look at her surface thoughts and he wanted to get up and run, but he gathered every ounce of his courage and he stayed where he was.

“You want another baby.” He said, his voice sounding rather hollow. Beside him, Balon stiffened up like a block of ice.

Daenerys nodded. “I do.”

“So soon?” Harry asked, almost begging her to reconsider. “Maelle is not yet three turns, surely you want to wait a little longer, to give yourself more time to heal?”

“I am worried that she…” Daenerys took in a breath, glanced up at them, then quickly back down to the baby she was holding.

“Tell me truly, Dany. What is it that’s bothering you?” Harry asked as kindly as he could manage in his horrified shock.

“I am worried that if I wait any longer, then Mirri’s curse will come into effect.” She told him. “It sounds silly when I say it aloud, but I worry about it endlessly. You need a son, I know that, you have to keep Joffrey off the throne, but what if we wait longer and the curse affects me and we can’t have any more babes?”

“That is never going to happen.” Harry tried to assure her. “Mirri was lying to hurt you, to save her own skin.” He lied. “You can have babes, Dany. Maelle proves it.”

“You promised that I could ask for as many babes as I wanted from you.” She reminded him, a note of steel to her tone. “You told me that I could have another babe whenever I wanted them. I want another.”

Harry inhaled deeply to calm his racing heart. He mustered all of his courage and he nodded decisively.

“We will need to discuss between the three of us when to do…when to…”

Harry couldn’t even get the words out, as he felt Balon slip slightly away from him, distancing himself.

“I do not want the baby born this year.” Dany told them.

Harry nodded his understanding. “Are you agreeable to halfway through the year?” He asked.

Daenerys nodded.

“Balon?” Harry asked.

“I don’t see why I should be a part of this conversation.” He said tightly.

“Because you’re my lover, that’s why!” Harry snapped at him. He regretted his harsh words immediately and he blew out a breath, trying to calm himself and he turned back to Daenerys. “We will try in the sixth moon of the year. That will give us a babe in the third moon of next year.”

Daenerys nodded, but she looked upset that she had caused strife in his relationship, but Harry had promised her more babes. The fault was his for not realising that she would want a baby so very soon after Maelle had been born. He had been hoping for a few years between each child.

Dany stood quickly with Maelle and made her escape, but the tension she left behind was thick.

“You knew I would have to lie with her again.” Harry explained calmly. “You knew I was going to have more babes. You love Maelle, don’t you?”

“You know I do!” Balon growled, as if he didn’t understand what the one had to do with the other.

“You know I don’t like this either, don’t you?” Harry asked then, a little quieter, a little more unsure of the answer.

“A man can like lying with both men and women.” Balon told him.

“Yes, Oberyn likes to flaunt his love of both enough for me to understand that and I know that you have slept with both before me.” Harry nodded. “Do you truly believe that that’s what’s happening here?”

“I don’t know.” Balon confessed.

“You never asked how the wedding night went. Out of respect for you, I told you no details, but did you not even ask your sworn brothers for what might have happened that night?”

“Were you injured?” Balon demanded then, looking at him, looking him over as if any injury from a year ago might still be there.

“No. Balon, I was sick afterwards.” Harry told him. “Barristan and Arys found me on my knees in my bedchamber, vomiting into my damn chamber pot.”

“But…why?”

Harry sighed, but he smiled at his dope of a lover too. “Balon, I love you. In the name of duty, I was forced to sleep with a woman. I’ve never slept with a woman before, you knew that. You knew I didn’t like women and that they don’t…that I’m not pleased by a woman’s body. The act of having sex with Daenerys to create Maelle was so terrible for me that I vomited afterwards from the disgust I felt at what I’d done.”

“You never told me.” Balon said, sounding upset this time.

“You never asked.” Harry reminded. “And out of respect for you, I said nothing about that night.”

“I would have wanted to know that you had been sick, Harry.” Balon assured him, slipping an arm around him and pulling him in to rest against his chest.

“I’m not sure I can do it again.” Harry admitted quietly. “The first time was traumatic enough, but a second? So soon after…”

“I’m not angry with you.” Balon told him after a long pause, holding him tight and comfortingly. “I was shocked that she wanted another baby so soon, too. I know you need more babes. A son at the least, but…I thought at least a few years.”

“I did too, but if she feels ready for another babe so soon…I promised she could choose when we had our babes, because she actually has to carry them. I never thought what the impact of that would be on me. On us.”

“We will get through this.” Balon said soothingly, rubbing at his arm. “You only slept with her once and got Maelle. You are both clearly compatible with one another. Perhaps it will only take once this time as well.”

Harry was going to make absolutely damn sure of it. One session, a bit of magic, and he could slink off to go and vomit while his babe took root.

“I hope so.” He said to Balon, turning his head to tuck himself under Balon’s chin.

“Come here, my love.” Balon said, easing Harry into his lap so that he could hold him tighter, closer. “We have not had the time, or the privacy, to sit like this in some time.”

Harry smiled and he let go of all the tension in his body. He let himself go boneless on Balon, slumping into him, relaxing and just feeling his lover touch him, their bodies pressed together as close as they could manage.

“It feels nice.” Harry said softly.

“I’ve missed this.”

“I’ve been so concerned about everything, I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

Balon chuckled. “No. You’ve had greater concerns on your mind.”

“You are my greatest concern. Never forget that I would burn Westeros to ash for you. I could probably do that a little easier now too, with three dragons.”

Balon laughed then. Properly laughed, and Harry’s mind relaxed, unwinding from the terrible tension that had started to cloud it.

“I have said before, I don’t want you to do that, though maybe we could take a little more time during the day to just sit like this again. I know the harvests are playing heavily on your mind, and that winter looming has you stressed, and now your father is insisting on a tourney for Maelle’s birth, but allow me to take some of that from you at least once a day, like this.”

It felt too nice to say no to more of this. He hadn’t properly relaxed like this in months, maybe not since he’d become king, or maybe even before he had, back before he’d been poisoned by The Strangler on his sixteenth birthday. That was a year and a half ago. He really needed to take more time to rest and relax.

“Yes.” He said. “More of this.”

He turned his head just slightly and Balon bent his head to kiss him.

It was unhurried and it was loving. They stayed wrapped around one another, just kissing, absorbing the love of one another…and then clothes started to be removed.

Harry was desperately trying to remove his doublet, an ornate sewn-on jewel snagged in his hair, when someone knocked on the solar door.

“Go away!” He demanded harshly.

“Your Grace, a small council meeting has been called.” A steward called out timidly.

“Balon, get this thing out of my hair.” He told his lover, who was trying to smother a giggle at the state of him. Louder, he made sure the steward could hear the order in his tone. “I said, go away!”

“But, the small council meeting, Your Grace.”

“They can wait for me!” He raged. “Ser Barristan, no one disturbs me!”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Harry heard his Lord Commander answer, before Harry heard him chiding away the steward.

“The problems we encounter when we try to have sex during the day.” Balon chuckled, as he held Harry’s doublet in his hands, finally freed of his hair.

Harry reached up to rub the tender spot that had been pulling.

“I swear, being the king, I thought I’d have more freedom to be with you.”

“Only if you were willing to shirk your duties.”

“Oh, I am certainly at that point!” Harry let out a soft growl.

Balon growled right back, playful and loving once more, and Harry adored it.

They were naked in quick order, but they slowed down again, just touching and kissing again, this time against bare skin and not clothing.

“I love you more than anything.” Harry declared.

“My sweet, strong antlered lion.” Balon named him.

Harry’s hand automatically went to the pendant still around his neck. It was the only piece of jewellery he never took off. Even his ring of kingship was sometimes left with Tywin to stamp official documents in his name, but the antlered lion pendant never came off.

Balon noticed what he was rubbing, and he grinned, bending to kiss him, harder, more passionately.

“I’ll always be yours. No matter what happens.” Harry told him, weaving his hands into Balon’s thick, dark hair and using it to guide their mouths together.

They broke apart, gasping, aroused, and Balon bent slightly to grip the back of Harry’s thighs, lifting him so that he could hold him in those strong, muscled arms that had been sculpted through daily archery practice and swordsmanship.

“I will always belong to you, Harian.” Balon told him seriously, resting their foreheads together for a moment. “My heart was lost to you a long time ago; it only seems right that the rest of me should follow.”

“Balon! I never took you for a poet, my love.” He teased.

“Shut up.” Balon told him, sitting down on the settee and bringing Harry with him, settling him in his naked lap.

Harry giggled, light-hearted and feeling younger than he had in several years, certainly before he’d ever worn a crown. He nibbled his way up Balon’s chest, he took some time to suck at a nipple, before following the line up Balon’s neck and to his jaw.

Harry was thankful that they kept oil in every room of the Red Keep. A little vial was kept hidden in every solar, and this one was no exception, as Harry felt one of Balon’s fingers rub teasingly around his entrance.

Harry made a soft sound, like a half sigh, half moan. Balon kissed him again and Harry reached up to cup the strong jaw he loved, holding Balon’s head still so that their kiss could deepen, even as that finger slipped easily inside him.

Harry broke their kiss on a moan, his hips already rocking into Balon’s, trying to seek out some friction.

“You wouldn’t believe that I’d bedded you just last night.”

“I can never get enough of you.” Harry insisted. “Take me again.”

“Any time you wish it, my love.”

Harry’s hips rubbed up against Balon’s, then over his stomach, Harry cried out when that gave him the friction he’d wanted.

Balon chuckled darkly at him and pinned Harry’s hips with just one arm, so that he couldn’t repeat his movements.

“Balon, no, please.” Harry begged.

“I love it when you beg.” Balon told him.

“Please!” Harry begged again and Balon rewarded him with another finger, stretching him, stroking his insides, seeking out that little gland that made him scream.

Harry used his arms to wrap around Balon’s broad shoulders, kissing and nipping at his lover’s neck, at his lips, trying to coax him into giving him what he really wanted.

“I love you.” Balon told him, right before he slid himself into Harry’s body.

Harry shuddered at the feeling, at the affirmation of love. He really couldn’t love Balon any more than he already did, but every morning he woke up loving him more than he did the night before.

With Harry being on top, he had more control in this position, and he used it. He lifted himself slowly, then dropped back onto Balon quickly. He kept this rhythm for as long as he could stand, listening to Balon moan and watching him quiver, feeling him try to take back control, but Harry was in the position of control now…until Balon surged to his feet, gripping hold of him tight, still snugly in his body, and strode over to the wall.

Harry was slammed into it, not hard, but roughly. His legs automatically wrapped around Balon’s waist, his arms clung to those powerful shoulders, and he could do nothing but hold onto Balon to keep himself from falling and take whatever his lover gave him.

The thumps were loud and couldn’t be disguised as anything other than what they were, but Harry was louder; begging, pleading, moaning, and then at the point of his release, screaming.

His tensed body slumped all over Balon, who was holding up his entire relaxed weight, and his lover cummed with a soft grunt in Harry’s ear.

They were breathing hard, their chests heaving as they stayed there, pressed against the wall together, and then Balon found the energy to move, taking them back over to the settee, still snugly inside his body, and they sat, cuddling.

Harry was drifting, dozing, when Balon gave him a small shake.

“Come on, love. You have a small council waiting on you.”

Harry groaned unhappily. “I could use a nap.”

“After the meeting.” Balon chided.

Harry grunted, but he allowed Balon to clean him up a little with a bowl of water and a cloth, then he remained pretty much boneless and lethargic as Balon dressed him, then cleaned and dressed himself.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Balon teased.

“No, but neither do I want to move.”

Balon laughed. “One or the other, my love.”

Harry huffed, but sat himself up. “Fine, let us go and see what my councillors are complaining of today.”

“And see if it was worth being disturbed over or not.” Balon chuckled.

“Seriously, unless someone close to me has died, nothing is worth being disturbed over when I’m with you. If it is more preparations for that damn tourney I don’t even want…”

Balon stole another kiss from him, cutting off his words. Harry sighed into Balon’s mouth and kissed him back for a moment and then they were straightening themselves up, Harry was trying to get his sweat-soaked hair into some semblance of order, but soon gave up, and then they were leaving the solar, ignoring his rather red-faced, bashful Kingsguard, and making their way to the small council chambers. Harry seriously hoped that it wasn’t something else to give him even more worry and stress. More sleepless nights.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Harry left the small council chambers feeling both weary and fucking angry too. His Kingsguard remained tight to his back, all six of them following him closely, made more alert by his anger.

 “I swear I am cursed!” Harry complained.

“It’s not a curse, it’s people not respecting you.” Balon told him.

“Surely Baelish knew what I would be forced to do! I gave him a clear set of instructions! He was to go back to his ancestral seat of The Fingers and stay there, was that not clear?!”

“It was clear, Harry.” Balon told him, following after him as Harry stormed through the Red Keep.

“Did he think I would go back on my word? That I would spare him if he married Lysa Arryn?!”

“No, he knew, but the Eyrie is impregnable. Just like during your father’s rebellion, if you demanded that he give himself over, he could just hole up in the Eyrie.”

“No, he can’t.” Harry said angrily. “Winter is coming, he’d freeze to death. He’ll have to come down to the Gates of the Moon.”

“He is the lord of the Eyrie, you can’t just kill him though.” Loras tried. “The Valemen would rise in rebellion.”

“Robert Arryn is the lord of the Eyrie, no matter who marries his mother. She was a Tully before marriage, and Robert is Jon Arryn’s son.” Harry pointed out, trying to calm himself down. He wasn’t angry with any of these people, he was angry with Petyr Baelish for forever grasping for a bit more power.

“We all know here that he is sickly and I would bet it isn’t long before we get a death announcement.” Balon said.

Harry cursed, because he could see clearly that that was the likely outcome. Baelish would want to take the Eyrie for himself, he would want to be the actual Lord Arryn of the Vale, and not just the father to him.

“Lysa was so protective of her son, why would she allow this to happen?” Harry demanded.

“Not everyone is as clever as you, my love.” Balon told him with a fond smile. “She likely doesn’t see the danger of it.”

Harry scoffed. “How can you not see the danger of that?!”

“Some wouldn’t and, as per Lady Arryn’s letter, she loves him.”

Harry rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they came back down again.

“Baelish is a slimy, oily, conniving little man. I knew that as a child, I knew I was going to remove him from my small council before I was in double digits.”

“As I said, there are very few people in this world who can compare to you, Harry.” Balon told him.

Harry scoffed.

“No, I am serious. I’m not just flattering you for the sake of it.” Balon told him. “Harry, you were outwitting grown men as a three-year-old babe.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Ser Swann is correct.” Barristan interjected. “The way you could speak as a babe, the way you could use logic and reasoning at such a young age, it was like you were already grown in your babe’s body.”

Barristan would never know exactly how close he was to the truth there, and Harry hid a smile.

“See, even Ser Barristan, who has arguably known you the longest, agrees with me. Harry, you are beyond compare. I know you don’t see it yourself because, as your lord grandfather keeps telling you, you’re much too modest, but it is the truth. Of course you can see what Baelish is planning, of course you can see the danger of it, but there are very few who can see such a thing without you pointing it out to them first.”

“I would not have seen it, Your Grace.” Mandon Moore confessed. “I am angry that this slimy, little man, as you name him, is trying to murder the son of my former liege lord.”

“Ah, of course, Jon Arryn brought you with him from the Vale.” Harry nodded. “I remember.”

“This is Baelish’s way of trying to claw back some power after you stripped him of everything two years ago.” Balon said. “He is making a bid for the Vale, to make himself the head of one of the great houses. He will get a son on Lysa Arryn, then kill Robert.”

“I can see it as clear as day.” Harry nodded. “It’s why I can’t understand that others can’t see the same.”

“Because we are not as clever as you by half.” Balon said teasingly. “But believe me when I say that it is the truth. No one is going to suspect Baelish of killing the boy.”

“Especially not Lysa Arryn, as protective as she was of Robert, from her gushing letter, she fancies that she’s been in love with Baelish since she was a little girl. Love blinds wit and makes a fool of all of us.”

“Even you?” Balon asked.

Harry laughed then. “Especially me! Am I not the biggest fool when I am with you?”

“Second only to me.” Balon assured him and Harry gave him a sappy grin.

Harry made it to his private solar and he invited all of his Kingsguard inside, then shut the door. He went to his desk and threw himself behind it.

“I did warn that if Baelish left The Fingers then he would be in breach of his exile terms and subsequently executed.” He mused. “I could order his execution. He can’t stay in the Eyrie proper with winter closing in and I doubt very much that the lords of the Vale are on bended knee to welcome Baelish as their young lord’s new father.”

“You think they would give him up if the crown demanded it?” Balon asked.

“I am…hopeful of that, yes.” Harry said, unscrewing the cap from an inkwell and picking up a quill pen. He considered what to write for a moment. “They won’t have any love or loyalty towards him. The lords of the Vale have been pursuing Lysa Arryn’s hand since Lord Jon died, and here comes this nobody from The Fingers who is suddenly married to Lysa and is trying to declare himself Warden of the East and Defender of the Vale.”

“Jaime is still the Warden of the East, isn’t he?” Balon asked.

Harry nodded absentmindedly at the question, thinking of other things, considering everything carefully.

“Perhaps if you gave Robert back the title Warden of the East, then Lysa would hand over Baelish?”

“The man she’s professing to have loved since her girlhood? That is unlikely and I can’t have my Warden of the East be a sickly boy prone to fits and temper tantrums. The Eastern defences of Westeros are of paramount importance and I have been thinking seriously about who to name to the position since I became king. Robert is just seven, he’s too young to be a lord, too young to be a Warden, and much too weak and sickly besides.”

“Who were you thinking of naming to the position?” Loras asked him.

“I was thinking of naming myself.” Harry confessed honestly. “But the idea will need more thought, I already have plenty of duties and responsibilities to juggle already, adding the eastern defences to that as well...” Harry trailed off and shook his head. “The idea needs more thought.” He repeated.

Harry sat in silence for a moment longer, then dipped his quill and started writing.

“The Eyrie will give up Baelish to the crown. If, for no other reason than to be rid of him. Lysa can’t go against her lords if they demand her action because they will be her actual army if it comes to civil war, and I doubt Robert is old enough to understand what is happening.”

“If they still won’t give him up?”

“Then, the Vale will be declared enemies of the Iron Throne and we will be having a civil war on the cusp of winter.”

“You told me that a civil war would be the last thing you needed right now.” Balon said.

“I was jesting when I mentioned it, though now it is almost a reality. Perhaps I should stop jesting about things that will rip Westeros asunder? But, any sort of war, civil or otherwise, is still the very last thing I need right now, but what choice does Baelish leave me with his actions? I cannot allow a region to ignore my words, my orders. If I ignore the situation now and allow Baelish to do as he pleases despite the orders I gave, more men will try the same. I cannot afford to let them walk all over me. I have to make a strong stand and punish this harshly, as an example to anyone who might be thinking of also ignoring my words.”

Harry stopped writing and put his mouth to his fist, elbow resting on the table, as he thought about this issue and if there might not be a better way to deal with it, but he had warned Baelish what would happen if he left The Fingers, and Baelish had done just that, perhaps hoping that marrying Lysa Arryn would afford him some sort of protection. It wouldn’t.

It stank of desperation, though. Baelish’s last-ditch attempt to claw out some power for himself, regardless of the risk to his life. He must be utterly penniless by now, since Harry had put his lucrative brothels under the crown’s control and The Fingers were notoriously poor.

Harry blinked back into his own head and he looked down at the letter he had written to Lord Robert Arryn and his Lady Regent, Lysa Arryn. He had ordered them, in stern words that couldn’t be misunderstood, to send Petyr Baelish to King’s Landing to be executed by the King’s Justice for breaking a royal decree.

He rolled the little piece of parchment into a tiny scroll, then, right on the fold, he put a blob of gold wax, then thrust his signet ring into it.

“Do you want me to take the letter to Grand Maester Gormon, Your Grace?” Arys asked him.

Harry took the tiny scroll and passed it over. “I want it sent straight to the Eyrie, Arys. Baelish is to be here within a turn, or the entire kingdom of the Vale will be declared enemies of the Iron Throne.”

Arys nodded, took the little scroll from Harry’s outstretched hand, and hurried off. Harry threw himself back in his chair and he groaned.

“A civil war on the edge of winter, the gods help me.”

Balon bent over him and kissed his lips and Harry hummed happily.

“It might not come to civil war.” Balon said soothingly.

“Nonetheless, I will start preparing for a civil war. I would rather be prepared and ready than be caught sleeping.”

“Are there any regions of note that you feel might not aid you if you call on them, Your Grace?” Barristan prompted pointedly.

Harry thought about that seriously, because it was a good question to ask.

“All of them due to the coming winter?” He said, then shook his head. “I would imagine that the Riverlands wouldn’t turn against the Vale. Lysa Arryn is Lord Hoster Tully’s daughter, after all. The North, maybe. Lady Stark and Lady Arryn are sisters. The Crownlands, Stormlands, and the Westerlands will be with me, for certain; that’s something, at least.”

“I will prepare the men-at-arms here in the capital, if you will it, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Ser Barristan.” Harry said, feeling like a small load had been taken from his shoulders.

Whatever else happened, he really hoped that this didn’t come to civil war. It was autumn, winter was coming, and he needed the people working the fields and orchards to gather in as many harvests as could be managed, not fighting and killing one another or burning the harvests before they could ripen.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

Maester Colemon had handed the letter with the royal sigil stamped onto it straight to Lysa…Petyr tried to hide the panic he felt at the contents of that letter, which too many people now knew about for him to take it and destroy it. He would have much preferred that the letter had been handed to him, unopened, but these Valemen took the Arryn words of ‘High as Honour’ much too seriously.

“My Lady, we cannot risk war with the Iron Throne.” Colemon hissed at Lysa.

“I don’t understand why King Harian would order this.” She said fretfully, her pale, watery blue eyes going to her weakling of a son, Robert, who was playing with his dolls on the weirwood throne of the Arryns.

“I can protest my innocence, but not in King’s Landing.” He tried. “Lysa, my love, allow me to write back to the capital. I am sure this is some misunderstanding.”

He had hoped that the boy would forget about him. He had waited as long as he could while starving and shivering at the stone tower of House Baelish, and surely the boy king had more things to be worrying over now. Winter was coming, he had his own babe who was getting her own tourney, which wouldn’t come cheap and he knew how poor the royal family truly was, and Seven Kingdoms to rule. He had hoped that he would slip through the net and be pushed aside for larger concerns.

It was foolish to risk a war with autumn announced and winter coming. Then, Harian was only seventeen. He was a young ruler and he had an even younger wife, the fifteen-year-old Daenerys Targaryen.

He had heard that Harian was still at odds with Robert Baratheon, his own father, and with the Stormlands being that much closer than the Vale, he had hoped that the young king would focus his eyes that way, instead of his way. He had hoped that all of these things would add up to him being ignored for the time being, while he moved plans along to safeguard himself as the Lord of the Vale.

“It must be a misunderstanding.” Lysa agreed, though Petyr could tell that she was frightened. Her voice trembled and her eyes were wide.

“My Lady, please, we cannot risk such a thing. The raven from King’s Landing was direct and named Lord Baelish specifically.” Colemon tried, giving him a beady-eyed glare. “The raven insisted that if we refused to hand Lord Baelish over within a turn, then the Vale would be declaring war with the Iron Throne. With winter upon us, this is very ill-advised.”

“How can they execute Petyr?” Lysa demanded then. “He has done nothing wrong.”

“Exactly, my love.” He seized his chance. “It is a misunderstanding and I beg the chance to put this right before our gracious, young king does something he cannot undo.”

“Would this have anything to do with the manner of your exile from the capital?” Maester Colemon asked him then, his face stern and sharp. Petyr wanted to curse him, but let out a practiced laugh instead.

“Exile? Maester, I am not sure what you are thinking, but I wasn’t exiled! I chose to leave the small council and the capital.”

“For what reason?” The Maester said unrelentingly. “Such a vaunted position, highly respectable, why leave?”

“For my heart, of course.” He simpered, moving to take Lysa’s hand and watching her fleshy cheeks blush. “She did not wish to return to the capital, not after the Lannisters killed her gentle lord husband and had threatened to take away our darling Lord Robert. I could not be apart from her, but she wanted to stay in the Eyrie. I had to compromise for my heart.”

“Oh, Petyr.” Lysa sighed and then kissed him.

Petyr had to close his eyes and imagine Cat, but even that was difficult as Lysa gripped and grasped at him.

“Anything for my love.” He said suavely, bending to kiss Lysa’s knuckles. “Please, allow me to put this right before you throw me in chains and put me to cart for King’s Landing.”

“That won’t happen.” Lysa swore to him.

“Thank you, Lysa.” He said softly, breathing over her face and watching her swoon.

“My Lady, please!” Maester Colemon burst out. “We cannot win a war. We will have need to move down the mountain to the Gates of the Moon once winter hits; it is not as easily defended as the Eyrie. We will not last out against an army from the crown.”

“Who is at war?” Came the thin, reedy voice of the sickly Robert.

Lysa gave the Maester a glare, even as she hurried to her son, smothering him in fleshy arms.

“No one, my sweet baby. No one will hurt you. No one.”

“Oh.” Robert said, sagging into his mother’s arms. “If we were at war, I could have made them fly.”

“You could have, my baby, but no one is at war. We are safe here, the Eyrie is impregnable.”

“We will have need to move down the mountain soon, my Lady.” Maester Colemon reminded her again, as patiently as he could manage.

“Will we be at war then, Mother?” Robert asked.

“No one is at war, my sweet baby.” Lysa said, nervously fluttering her hand through Robert’s thin hair. “Petyr will put this right, it’s a misunderstanding.”

“It is.” He confirmed calmly, even as his mind worked on just how to word a letter to get himself out of this mess. As long as he stayed out of King’s Landing, he had hoped that the decree to return to the Fingers and stay there was merely the boy king posturing; he hadn’t realised that the words were literal…that would be a good place for him to start.

“But if there was a war, I could have knights.” The boy said, as if war were a game for him to play.

“You can have all the knights you want without a war, sweet boy.” Lysa told him. “You are Lord Robert Arryn of the Vale, you have knights here, as you will it.”

Robert was overly excited about that and he started trembling faintly in all his limbs, which the Maester spotted immediately.

“Perhaps a leeching first, my Lady?” He suggested.

“No!” Robert shouted, suddenly angry. The trembling increased. “I don’t want to be leeched!”

“My Lord, your blood needs thinning.”

“I am the lord and I say no leeches!”

“Baby, it helps you.” Lysa said soothingly. “How about I feed you while you are leeched?”

Robert calmed a little at that suggestion while Petyr tried not to show how disgusted he was that a seven-year-old boy had never been weaned from his mother’s breast. Lysa had done this to Robert. She had made him weak in her attempts to make him strong, and he knew the Vale lords felt the same. Who had ever heard of a boy so old still at the breast?

He just needed an opportunity, some more time, but Harian had left him none. He had immediately written to the Eyrie demanding his execution and now he could feel all of his plans slipping away, slipping through his fingers.

He had told Lysa not to send any ravens announcing their marriage. He had insisted that they keep it secret for a time. He had even tried to phrase it that he had wanted her to himself for a while, and she had giggled like a little girl, had blushed and playfully slapped at him like some teased maiden, and he had thought she would do as he had asked, but she hadn’t listened. She never listened. She had wanted to declare their love for the entire world to hear; she wanted everyone to know that she loved Petyr Baelish, that he had chosen to marry her, and that is what she had done, and now he was in this mess, trying desperately to cling to his position…and his head.

All of his plans were coming to ruin. He had lost everything, all because of one boy. He had believed the time was ripe to act, so he had gotten Lysa to kill her husband and then he had gotten her to send that missive to her sister, blaming the Lannisters. He had orchestrated everything and let chaos reign. He had planted the seeds of discord and watched them grow. It had almost come to war, one he could have survived. He could have gotten Eddard Stark executed and then he could have had Cat to himself, as his wife. He had been so close to tearing down those arrogant, sneering lords, leaving himself primed to take the Iron Throne, with Cat as his Queen, but he had been thwarted by a mere boy.

Harian Baratheon, gifted the kingship at just six-and-ten. He couldn’t understand Robert’s thought process, why he had given up the kingship in favour of a child. To give the ruling and responsibility of the Seven Kingdoms to one so young, it was negligent and very much like Robert, who had, foolishly, never cared for the position, nor had he utilised it to the fullest. Petyr hoped he regretted giving it up now that Harian had proven himself to be so stubborn and so unlike his father. He hoped the rift between them would become a yawning chasm into which they both fell. He fervently wished that father and son would come to battle, and that they would take each other from the game board so that he would have an easier time stepping into the void they left behind. That would have the added benefit of taking out the boy who was hounding for his execution. He needed to try and orchestrate a reason for the Crownlands and the Stormlands to come to battle, for Harian and Robert Baratheon to set upon one another. He needed more information from both regions, but messengers were slow and ravens few and far in between. He needed to know what both men were doing, what they were planning, and if he could get away with a few more turns of defying Harian Baratheon while he tried to settle other matters first. A civil war with a different, more problematic region would be a perfect distraction…if he could manage to cause one.

He followed sedately behind as Lysa led Robert by the hand to her own bedchamber, to the bed where he was forced to lie next to her, on top of her, and he tried not to let his revulsion show. She was a poor substitute for Cat, but she had been the only way he could see to climb the ladder once more after his exile from King’s Landing. He needed position, respect, and funds if he were to try to salvage his crumbling plans. He had to survive by any means necessary. He had married Lysa to gift himself the Vale, so he could assume the title of Lord Arryn after his exile from the capital and from the small council. He would think of another way to be rid of Eddard Stark so that he could take Cat for himself. He needed more time. He needed to make new plans and try to implement them as soon as possible. He had to do his all just to survive now that Lysa had exposed him and his movements to Harian.

“Lie down, baby. I will protect you. I will look after you, always.” Lysa simpered to Robert, who was already grabbing at her gown, tugging the bodice away from what he wanted.

Robert had never had solid foods. He had never even tried anything that wasn’t his mother’s milk, and he was short and stunted because of it. Petyr wondered if it would be easier to get rid of Robert and then Lysa…no. His plans must move forward as he had conceived them. He shouldn’t second-guess himself now just because Lysa had put his life in danger.

Robert was tractable, prone to anger and fits, yes, but weak and, without his mother, he would be nothing. A weak, stunted boy could be led around much more easily than a grieving woman, who could be unpredictable and full of wroth. Lysa could say and do anything in her grief at losing her only child. No, he would have to get rid of Lysa first. She knew too much. He just needed some time and an opportunity. He cursed the boy king for his decrees, for not allowing him to leave the Fingers. But most of all, he cursed Lysa for being unable to keep their marriage a secret as he’d insisted, even for a few more turns while he put his plans to safeguard himself into motion. He could hardly wait to be rid of her. It would have to be done sooner now, with the king on his tail and the Vale lords trying to oust him. He would kill Lysa and then take control of Robert as lord regent of the Vale, and then, once he was situated, he would kill Robert also and take control of the Vale truly, as Lord Arryn. Then, he could start planning anew to attain his true goal, with power and wealth, and an army, behind him. He only needed a little more time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

The tourney was overly lavish. Harry hadn’t wanted it, but it was for his daughter, Maelle. The entire of the Seven Kingdoms had been invited to celebrate his daughter’s birth, every noble house, every minor lord, hedge knights, squires, mystery knights, freeriders, even lowborn brawlers without proper armour had been invited to put their name down for the champion’s melee because Harry had decided to use this tourney to fill the vacant position on the Kingsguard. The prize was not going to be a hefty purse that the treasury couldn’t afford, but a white cloak.

Tywin had tried to ‘curb his enthusiasm’ as he’d named it, by trying to get Harry to stipulate that only men knighted from noble houses could enter the tourney for the white cloak, but Harry had been steadfast that the tourney be open to all. With a civil war with the Vale brewing, his Kingsguard needed to be at full strength and whoever won the tourney would be deserving of the position. Or so he hoped. As a result, he had not put any restrictions on who could enter and, at last look, the list of names had reached over one hundred entrants. The melee was going to be complete chaos, he knew, but the excitement in King’s Landing was infectious. A tourney would take the worries from the smallfolk over the coming winter, if only for a short time.

It was going to be a day for Harry and Dany to show themselves to Westeros as a united pair. Their daughter between them as they watched the melee tourney for the victor who would protect them and their growing family, serving them for life. It was no small oath to make, but the honour of joining the Kingsguard couldn’t be passed up. Especially for a second, third, or lower son who could have no hope of land or titles of his own.

Kevan, finally free of his duty of escorting Joffrey to Casterly Rock, had returned quickly with his sons, Willem and Martyn, neither of whom had entered their names for the honour of a white cloak. Lannister conceit, no doubt.

Robert was in fine form; jovial, jolly, yelling at the top of his lungs…and drinking too much for Harry’s comfort, especially so early in the day. He made a note to keep an eye on his father, who had yet to even mention his unborn, but growing fifth child, though only his second who was actually legitimate.

Harry had splurged a little on Maelle’s outfit for the tourney. She was in white wool to keep her warm in the Autumn breeze, but that was overlaid with a fine, delicate net of gold Myrish lace. It was made with real gold thread. Her tiara was gold with black jet as a nod to her Baratheon heritage. It was attached to the bonnet she was wearing (not her head or hair), which was white lace with gold details etched onto it, including a very large, embroidered Targaryen three-headed dragon on the back of her head. Dany had liked that little touch.

They were taking a carriage to the tourney grounds. Harry had wanted to ride Gryffindor through the city, but he had been beaten down by his Kingsguard, who insisted that his safety had to be paramount. His safety and Maelle’s. It was easier for his Kingsguard to protect them if they were in the same carriage. So Harry was with Dany and Maelle, and his Kingsguard had the carriage all but surrounded.

“Is this the best way to give away the honour of a position on the Kingsguard?” Dany asked him as they trundled through the streets. “Surely you must have someone in mind you could have chosen.”

“Several someone’s.” Harry admitted. “My grandfather had a list also. All of those who were candidates have entered their names on the melee lists, so we’ll see who emerges as the best.”

“What if someone cheats or tricks their way to the position?”

“We will be watching, Dany, and so will the master of the games. Anyone who uses such ploys will be disqualified as we will deem them not honourable enough for the Kingsguard, and I am sure the smallfolk would agree with us. I will lay out the rules of the melee before it begins.”

“I don’t understand why you’d leave it to chance when you can pick the strongest.”

Harry thought of the Mountain, Gregor Clegane. “Sometimes, the strongest person isn’t the best fit.”

“So why are you having a contest of strength?” She asked, sounding frustrated as she held tightly to Maelle, who was squirming and already trying to rip off her bonnet.

“You’ll see, but the melee isn’t just brute strength. It requires intelligence and strategy to emerge victorious.”

“You claimed before that the melee was merely idiots running at one another and beating each other with various weapons.”

Harry laughed. “I did, and a lot of those who drop out in the first wave are those who will dive right in, waving their chosen weapon in the hope of hitting someone. Watch the men on the outside, those who will pick their targets, the ones who watch their backs. You’ll know who the others consider a threat as they will team up to try and eliminate them quickly.”

“Will you teach me as we watch?”

“Of course.” Harry assured her. “If you feel embarrassed about it, I will pretend to tell Maelle.”

Dany gave him a small smile and nodded. “I dislike that I know so little about Westeros and the customs here.”

“That is no fault of yours.” Harry said. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You belong here, Dany, as much as I and Maelle do.”

Dany gave him a shy smile and they lapsed back into silence. Harry could hear the cheering smallfolk as the royal carriage passed them in the street.

Daenerys’ bloodriders and Dothraki handmaidens had stayed within the holdfast to watch over the three dragons. Only Doreah, the Lyseni girl, had come to accompany Dany. She was in the next carriage, along with Maelle’s wetnurse and nursemaid.

Even once the carriage had stopped, Harry was forced to wait for his Kingsguard to open the door. He hated the fuss and the pageantry of it all as he stepped out to cheering and calls of good wishes. He held a hand back and helped Dany out of the carriage, as she held Maelle tightly. Everyone was craning their heads to see the new Princess as Harry had opted to bring her to show her off to the smallfolk. He wouldn’t hide her behind castle walls from her own people like Cersei had done with Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. He did wrap an arm around Dany, his hand poised to shield Maelle if needed. Not that it would be as, as soon as the three of them stepped away from the royal carriage, Loras tucked himself tight to Dany’s other side, using his own body to block Maelle. Balon was on Harry’s other side, touching him and, in Harry’s opinion, teasing him.

Ser Mandon and Ser Barristan were at their backs. Ser Arys was in front of them and Harry didn’t know where Ser Preston was currently, but he was no doubt around.

They were escorted to the tourney grounds, waving and smiling at the cheering smallfolk, and then settled on the royal platform, sitting above everyone else. There was a cradle between his and Dany’s chairs, as he had asked for, for when Maelle inevitably got overtired and would need to sleep. He already knew that the melee would take several hours. She was only fourteen weeks old and he wouldn’t have anyone dictating what she should be doing at such a young age.

Dany was standing at the railing, Loras and Ser Barristan beside her as she looked out over the tourney grounds, Maelle in her arms, both of them looking at everything with the same look of curious wonder that made Harry smile softly.

Harry moved his head, breaking his own gaze away from his girls, and he made himself busy. He moved to the cradle, running his hands over it to ensure that it was well-made and wouldn’t give his daughter splinters. He took apart the pillow, looking for hidden objects, and he did the same to the blankets and mattress, pressing his hands onto everything.

“Is everything in order?” Balon asked.

Harry nodded, remaking the cradle. “Yes. I will take no chances with her, though.”

“I know.”

Harry went to the railing himself, offering a wave to the clamouring crowds who were already cooing and clucking over Maelle, who was staring at everything with wonder. This was the first time she was seeing the tourney grounds. It was her first venture outside of the Red Keep, in truth, and her blue eyes were everywhere; there was always something new to catch and hold her attention.

Harry wrapped an arm around Dany, his other hand going to cup the back of Maelle’s head protectively. His daughter looked at him because of the touch, then held her arms out to him. Harry smiled and took her, allowing Dany to observe everything at her leisure without having to focus on their daughter.

Harry carried Maelle down the steps and into the stands for the nobility, allowing them to fuss over his daughter. No one dared to touch her with Balon glowering down at them, with dead-eyed Ser Mandon on Harry’s other side and Ser Arys behind him. Ser Preston had shown up and he was protecting the royal seats on the platform, making sure that no one tampered with the cradle, their chairs, nor their flagons of wine and water.

“You are looking well, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, I’m feeling well.” He said, smiling down at his daughter as she babbled and waved a chubby fist as she caught sight of something that she liked.

“The Princess is certainly in high spirits.”

“She is, she is enjoying the fanfare and the colours.”

“How is Her Grace doing?” Someone else asked.

Harry gave the man a steely look, trying to figure out his reason for asking. “She is also in high spirits.” Harry said mildly. “It’s not an everyday occurrence to see a new member of the Kingsguard welcomed.”

Harry made small talk for a while longer, dutifully introducing Maelle to the nobility and, to much humour, introducing everyone to his daughter properly, as if she were grown and able to comprehend the information. But it would help later, when he started to describe everything that was happening in the melee to her, for the sake of her mother, who was too embarrassed to admit that she didn’t know Westerosi customs after a life lived solely in Essos.

Tywin arrived and interjected himself smoothly at Harry’s side and, glad of the support to the conversation, Harry relaxed enough to keep taking some time to coo at and burble over his own baby, which made Maelle grin at him with a toothless, gummy mouth. He couldn’t wait until she started laughing. He hoped it would happen in the coming weeks.

When the tourney grounds were teeming, and everything was in place and prepared, Harry went back to the royal box, where Dany was waiting to take their daughter for him, so that he could address the crowd and the brawlers in the marked-out melee area. The master of ceremony for this tourney competition had done well to anticipate the size of the field, given the prize of a white cloak. There were close to one hundred and fifty fighters in the fighting area below.

Robert, who was seated just below Harry, closest to him on one side of the royal platform while Tywin and Kevan were the closest on the other, was already calling out wagers to those near him, picking out favourites among the vast crowd of melee participants.

The energy around the tourney grounds was high and excited. The white cloak was on prominent display, neatly folded on a pedestal, reminding everyone of what today’s prize would be.

“Her Grace, my Queen, and I would like to graciously thank these valiant and courageous participants who have entered the list for this melee tournament.” Harry announced, his voice raised to be heard by as many people as possible. “The prize for the victor of this tournament is a white cloak and the last position on our Kingsguard.”

The vast crowd of smallfolk went wild. They loved the legends of the Kingsguard more than anything and seeing a member get picked, right before their eyes, was a rare thing indeed. Their excitement and anticipation was only adding to the atmosphere of the tourney grounds as they called out for their favourites, much like Robert, perhaps even people they knew who had entered. There had been no requirements, as long as they had their own supplies. Their own armour and weapons. Even then, Harry could see those without proper armour or bits and pieces so old they were rusted through in places. He grimaced. There were going to be injuries, many of them, and possibly even fatalities as he saw one man clad in bits and pieces of old leather and wielding a blacksmith’s hammer; no true weapon of battle or war.

“You have been read the rules of this tourney.” Harry addressed the men below him. “Any man caught breaking these rules, of cheating, will be removed from the tourney!” He warned seriously. “Her Grace and I demand the very best of you. If you have need to try to cheat your way onto our Kingsguard, we deem you unfit for the position!”

The smallfolk cheered, and there were several shouts, incoherent to Harry as he was too far away to make out words.

“High Septon, please bless these proceedings, if you would.” Harry said, turning to the man who had been seated below him.

Harry turned to check on Dany and Maelle, as the High Septon droned on about how the Seven would assist in choosing the perfect victor. How they would lend their aid, their wisdom, their strength to the man they thought was best suited to the position and that, in the end, the victor would be chosen by the Seven if he was virtuous and pious.

“You speak very well.” Dany told him.

Harry smiled, even as he took a sip of his favoured Meereenese apricot wine from his goblet.

“I have been doing it for a very long time.” Harry answered. “My grandfather taught me how to speak with people when I was still a young boy.”

“I have noticed you have a certain lack of care for any faith.” Dany said quietly.

Harry shook his head. “It is important to make a show of it, but I no more believe in gods than I believe all the lickspittles around me truly enjoy my company.”

Harry sat for a moment and looked down on all the men gathered for the melee tourney, as they all listened to the High Septon drone on.

“Have you seen any who has caught your eye?” Harry asked, perusing the candidates below.

“You don’t wager.” Dany said almost teasingly.

“That doesn’t mean I cannot have favourites.” He teased right back.

“There are a few who look promising.” Dany said by way of answer.

Harry agreed with her, there were more than a few who seemed promising. He hoped the victor was someone that he could get on well with, but he needed his Kingsguard up to full strength, especially now that Maelle was here and a civil war seemed, if not likely, then at least hinted at.

“My darling ladies, would you do the honours?” Harry coaxed, indicating that the High Septon had stopped speaking. “Just tell them to begin, Dany.” He added quietly.

Dany looked a little nervous as she stood slowly with Maelle in her arms. It took her a moment to be able to speak, but Harry was trying to expose her slightly to ruling, to being a Queen, and at times, she was going to have to address large crowds. It was better to start now, with a mere tourney for their daughter, for a member of their Kingsguard, than to have need of such a skill for the first time during a crisis.

“You may begin.” Dany said loudly, her voice shaking, but the men gathered below all bowed to her and then the melee started in earnest, even as Dany hurried back to her seat, clutching Maelle.

“Well done.” Harry praised.

“It was terrifying.” Dany admitted.

“You spoke clearly and no one would have noticed the momentary pause as Maelle was twisting in your arms. It would have been assumed that your attention was on our babe.”

Dany took a calming breath. “Now, what is happening below? This looks to be a mess.”

It was a mess too, Daenerys wasn’t wrong, as a dozen groups of men were battling one another ferociously, all of them wanted the honour of the white cloak, but only one among them was going to be granted it.

Robert was shouting and bellowing beside them and he was almost drowning out the noise of the battle below, even as Harry looked at Maelle and pointed to the battle and started explaining what was happening, as if to his daughter, but Dany was listening attentively, watching closely as Harry explained the tactics he could see happening and who was doing better than the others.

“Oh, and now that was pure determination and skill!” He said as one of the better fighters got taken down by a hedge knight in mismatched armour, but wielding a very fine, freshly honed sword. “Did you see that, Maelle? That is what you get when you are overconfident and arrogant, he thought he had that hedge knight beaten, so he tried to play up to the crowd and he got beaten for it. The hedge knight was patient and took his opportunity when he saw it, that is skill.” Harry praised.

He let his gaze skim the tourney grounds again, watching more groups come together, sometimes pairs of one-on-one combat…there was a very energetic battle going on at one of the edges of the tourney grounds and, using Maelle, Harry directed Dany’s attention to them.

“See the one with the morning star? He is highly skilled with it, though I believe Ser Swann is the expert in wielding a morning star.”

“You are correct that the man has great skill with the weapon, Your Grace.” Balon spoke from behind them. Harry hated that they had to be so formal with one another out here in public. “I am sure he will win this fight.”

He did, too, several minutes later, when his opponent made a mistake and took that deadly morning star to the helm. The crowd roared their approval of the victor, and the arc of blood that followed the removal of the morning star…if that man wasn’t dead, he would wish that he was with that sort of injury. Harry’s head hurt just thinking about the headache that would follow.

It took hours. Maelle had been fed twice by her wetnurse, had had her smallclothes changed by her nursemaid, and had a small hour-long nap in between all of that in the cradle between Harry and Dany.

It was exhausting, even as they were presented with small nibbles of food and snacks to keep them going, all from bowls that had been vetted by the Kingsguard.

There were only a few labouring fighters left, dented, bloodied, exhausted, but still standing, still fighting for the honour of the white cloak of the Kingsguard.

Harry was bored stiff and he couldn’t imagine that Dany was enjoying this either. Maelle was getting fussy and the crowds were getting more than a bit raucous as the violence of the day bled into them. Harry saw several gold cloaks wade into the crowd to pull apart two men who had started brawling.

He was almost glad when one man fell to exhaustion and another was cut down by one of the last fighters left. Another stumbled and was taken advantage of and then it came down to two remaining fighters. One-on-one and the anticipation of the crowd grew.

“Finally, the end is in sight.” Harry sighed, just for him, Dany, and whatever Kingsguard members were close enough to hear him.

The melee had come down to one of those men that Tywin had picked out, Ser Robar Royce, who was the second son of Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone, and a mystery hedge knight who was several inches taller than him and battering him down with a decidedly deadly skill in swordsmanship.

Harry watched eagerly as the end of the melee was in sight and he was about to claim his final Kingsguard knight. It was tit-for-tat; both fighters were exhausted, trying to goad themselves into a proper fight, but neither had the energy left after the hours of fighting that they had already put in. It was a rather anticlimactic end, but Harry found he didn’t mind as long as the tourney was finally over.

Robar overextended himself, likely through fatigue, and the mystery knight took savage advantage of it and ended up sitting Robar on his arse, his sword to the shorter man’s throat, claiming the victory.

The crowd was in high spirits, shouting and screaming.

“Let us get this over and done with.” Harry said, standing and offering his hand to Dany, who took it as he pulled her to her feet, as she cradled their fussy Maelle.

Harry led her to the railing and plastered a smile on his face.

“Congratulations to our victor!” He called out, riling the crowd further. “Her Grace and I are happy to welcome you to our Kingsguard. Ser Barristan, if you would do us the honour of swearing in your new brother.”

The crowd cheered themselves hoarse for Ser Barristan the Bold, who was the one to unsheathe his sword to swear in the mystery knight. The High Septon was there with holy oil to anoint the winner and Harry watched curiously as the knight was hesitant to remove their helm.

“We would have a name from you!” Harry cajoled good-naturedly. “And a face to go with it.”

The helm finally came off and Harry’s stomach plummeted. He knew that face. He could scarcely believe it, even as Brienne of Tarth stared up at him defiantly.

The crowd fell silent as they realised that something was wrong, but with her short hair and broad face, dressed in plate armour, she was not recognised as a woman by Westerosi standards.

“Harian…” Harry heard Tywin start to warn him from his right, but there was nothing he could do, the damage was done. Brienne had won this melee tourney on her own merit, before all of those watching as witness.

Perhaps this would be for the best, in truth. He was trying to overturn centuries of male-dominated precedent in inheritance laws so that his daughter, Maelle, could follow him as Queen in her own right. He could use this as a stepping stone. A woman sworn into the Kingsguard as a knight. He held his smirk back by the skin of his teeth.

“I, of course, recognise Lady Brienne of Tarth.” Harry called out loudly, his voice carrying, and there was an immediate muttering and outcry from the crowd. “Can I assume you would wish to switch titles from Lady to Ser?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Brienne said quickly, going to one knee before him. “I would serve you faithfully, I beg only the chance to prove myself.”

“There is no need to beg, Ser.” Harry replied. “You have already proven yourself before men and the gods here today. Her Grace and I have witnessed your valour, your bravery, and your cunning strategy as you emerge victor of our daughter’s melee tourney. The prize was a white cloak and the final position on our Kingsguard, and you have earned that prize. Ser Barristan, proceed.”

Ser Barristan swore in Brienne as a member of the Kingsguard without so much as a scowl of disapproval. The High Septon was a little more hesitant, his fingers shaking under the frown of Lord Tywin Lannister, but Brienne was anointed as a knight, she was sworn in as a member of the Kingsguard, and Ser Barristan pinned the white cloak to her armour and then bade her to stand as Ser Brienne of the Kingsguard.

“Is this wise?” Dany asked, watching through wide, worried eyes.

“We will speak about this later, out of earshot of the public.” Harry said kindly, calmly. “I will explain my actions then.”

Dany nodded, even as she smiled gently for the crowd and offered some small waves.

The feast that followed was more lavish than Harry had wanted, but Tywin had beaten down his complaints and protests with mentions of it being the last sign of opulence for a while, until spring, or even summer, came around once again, which, if Harry’s fears held true, could be a decade from now.

Harry allowed people to approach him, to meet Maelle under the gaze of all seven members of his Kingsguard. He even allowed several men to fawn over Dany and her beauty, though he gave a very stern rebuke when one took things too far. It was Balon who escorted that man away, rather angrily. Harry wondered if he was that upset at the remark to Dany, that it impacted upon Harry’s honour, or if he was harbouring some misgivings about his new colleague and Harry going through with the ceremony still.

Harry was already preparing to face Tywin on the matter, Robert had already made his feelings known, uncaring that they were in public and people were listening in, but Harry had steadfastly stuck by his decision. As he had pointed out, Brienne had won the melee, so she deserved the prize that had been on offer, regardless of her sex. She had bested everyone else who had entered; it wasn’t fair to discount that achievement after she’d already won it. He wouldn’t do it.

Maelle was getting distinctly grumpy as the afternoon wore on. She wanted her bath, her soft, comfortable nightgown, and perhaps her cradle also. She was trying, with increasing frustration, to rip off her bonnet, screeching as she caught her hair underneath in a tight grip as she pulled and Daenerys was looking at him for an indication of how to act in public.

“I believe I’m going to take her back to the holdfast.” Harry said, holding his daughter on his lap to try and soothe her, to distract her from her bonnet, but she wanted it off…desperately. Nothing was distracting her from her mission of tugging it off.

“I will come with you.” Dany said quickly, downing her utensils and standing, gaining the attention of those who had been watching the royal family.

Harry stood with the baby, wrapped an arm around Dany, and then he just left the feast, with no explanation. He wanted his family back in the holdfast; he wanted them to be comfortable and away from the heavy scrutiny of the nobles and smallfolk alike.

The Kingsguard followed closely, hurrying them into a waiting carriage.

The moment the door was shut, Harry untied the bonnet and plucked it gently from Maelle’s head and the first thing his tiny daughter did was rub her head against Harry’s doublet.

“Oh, was your head itchy, darling?” Harry asked, not liking that Maelle had been irritated and discomfited. He used gentle fingers to scratch at her scalp. “I hate that she had to come today. Damn my father for insisting she needed a tourney so young. Royal babes usually don’t leave the holdfast until they are five…or, that was the norm when your family was in power. It changed with my tenancy there, of course, as I was just left to wander as I pleased.”

“Your brothers and sister?” Dany asked curiously.

“They, at least, didn’t leave the Red Keep, but they stayed, for the most part, with their mother. Where she was, they were taken, unless it was to a feast. Then they were secured in the holdfast, as they were meant to be.”

“What about you during these feasts?”

Harry gave her a gentle smile. “I was at Casterly Rock at this point, Dany. I was well protected and looked after by my grandfather.”

“Then, how did you know how your siblings were treated?”

“The servants talk…a lot.” Harry said, chuckling. “I was a child and they seemed to believe that I couldn’t hear them, or understand what they were saying, as I wandered past and they would wonder at the differences between me, the crown prince, and the younger princes and princess.” Harry gave a sad smile. “I learned a lot from listening to those around me.”

Dany laid a soft hand on his arm. Harry turned a true smile onto her and wrapped his arm around her.

“Our children will never be treated in such a manner. I won’t allow it. I have no preference between daughters or sons, my oldest or my youngest. I will love them all and treat them all the same, Dany, I swear it.”

“You are a good father.” She assured him. “The way you love Maelle, how you treat her well, it pleases me.”

Harry looked down at his baby girl, who was much happier out of the bonnet, and he cuddled her close.

It didn’t take long to get back to the Red Keep, most of the inhabitants of the city were still out on the tourney grounds, waiting for the feast to finish as Harry had ordered the remnants to be given to the smallfolk.

The first thing that Harry did once they were safely in a solar was strip Maelle from the thick, heavy gown and tied slippers and everything else she was wearing, letting her breathe and move as she pleased without the heavy outfit weighing her down. He left her in her smallclothes, close to the burning fire to keep her warm as her bath was readied and she was much happier as Balon sat by her, shaking a rattle for her which kept her entranced.

“Ser Brienne, as you are new to your duties, you will be given a grace period to settle in.” Harry told her. “Ser Barristan will teach you what you need to know, so please heed him well.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She replied, looking a little nervous, but determined and a touch pleased as well.

Harry figured that he had done the right thing. Brienne would be loyal to him and his family because he had given her this chance against centuries of law and precedent. He didn’t care. He’d fought against Brienne as a child and he remembered how formidable she’d been. She likely wasn’t any less so now that she was a grown adult. He hid a smirk at the thought of seeing her batter down his current Kingsguard members. That would be very amusing and he’d like to watch as they underestimated Brienne because of her sex and she made them pay for it.

He still needed to deal with Baelish; Tyrion was slowly ripping out the corruption that the man had left behind in his capacity as Master of Coin, and Harry had been told of the first of the executions in relation to that. It was all being kept quiet, done as secretively as possible to limit the chance of anyone else hearing of it and making a run for it so that all those involved could be brought to swift, deserved justice.

He was feeling better, more secure now that his Kingsguard was back up to full strength. He believed that Brienne would make a wonderful addition, that she would fit in well with his current Kingsguard, and that she would be loyal to the royal family. It also helped to break gender traditions around what men and women were supposedly allowed to do. Harry was the King, he could change law and precedent at his will and, in this, he felt he had the right of things. Brienne could be named to the Kingsguard and Maelle would become Queen after him. He wouldn’t allow anyone to browbeat him out of his decisions, not even Tywin. His word was supposedly law, so he would ensure that the lords of the Seven Kingdoms remembered as such. If he wanted a woman on his Kingsguard, so be it, and if he wanted his daughter to succeed him as Queen, she would.

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