Of Schemes and Kisses

Beneath the covered patio was a table full of snacks from across the seven kingdoms, a soft breeze wafting up from the view of the bay and quivering the petals of the red flower in Rhaenys’ hair. Its colour matched her dress, which bore black stitchings along the hems for decoration, but the Targaryen colours were a contrast to the cut of the dress which was clearly a Martell design. Sleeveless and low cut, the dress also had small gaps beneath her bust to show off the curvature of her waist before flowing to the ground. Although she was proud to wear such a beautiful dress and flaunt her athletic figure, Rhaenys was well aware that she would have to change before meeting her father later in the day. Across the table from her sat Robb, almost all of his skin covered by the dark brown leathers and cloths of the North, his cheeks pink from the unexpected heat in King’s Landing. He had been constantly impressing Rhaenys during their meeting: graciously kissing her hand upon arrival, insisting that he held her chair out for her to sit on, and ensuring their conversation remained upbeat and constant. As Robb finished telling her all about Rickon, his youngest brother, Rhaenys decided to seize the opportunity to remove a certain pestering thought from her mind.

“I have to ask you something, and I know it might sound a bit strange, but I was wondering if you could tell me more about you and your father’s personal guards?” she questioned as she reached out and took a hold of a cherry.

“Of course I can… My father’s guard is Theon Greyjoy.”

“From the Iron Islands?” Rhaenys wondered with raised eyebrows, recalling the name from history lessons.

“Yes, but he has been my father’s ward ever since he was a young boy. He’s practically a brother to me, and his loyalty undeniably lies with the Stark house,” Robb explained.

“And of what of your guard?” she continued with a glance up the garden path to where Jon was standing next to the Kingsguard that had been assigned to her that day. “He is a Northerner, is he not?”

“Yes, he is.”

“From Winterfell, like you?” Rhaenys asked and Robb grinned, catching on to why she was being so persistent about Jon but dismissive of Theon.

“Ah, you have spotted the resemblance between my guard and I…” he said with a short sigh, leaning back in his chair.

“Please explain that to me,” Rhaenys smiled.

“His name is Jon Snow, and he is the bastard son of my father. I’m only a few months older than him, and I don’t know who mother is. Father never speaks of her,” Robb answered, wincing slightly when he voiced the word ‘bastard’ as it always seemed like a harsher word than kind Jon ever deserved to be called.

“Does Lady Catelyn accept him?” Rhaenys wondered and Robb hesitated, his uncertainty of speaking further obvious to Rhaenys. “I only ask because I am part Dornish, and in Dorne bastards are accepted. For instance, my uncle’s paramour embraces his bastard daughters. Even though they were birthed by other women, she loves them like her own.”

“Mother did not want me to bring him to King’s Landing,” Robb admitted, attempting to be cautious about speaking ill of his mother.

“Then why bring him?”

“Because he’s my brother,” Robb said with a shrug. “Life would not be the same without him.” Rhaenys broke into a wide grin as her betrothed plopped a chunk of cheese in his mouth.

“I am very glad that you are more accepting than I thought you would be,” she confessed and he returned the smile. The last thing she had wanted was a man stuck in the old ways and unable to accept her unique way of living life.

“You are a delightful surprise too,” Robb revealed and Rhaenys’ face perked up.

“How so?”

“In every way so far,” Robb grinned and Rhaenys laughed.


“What is it, brother?” Daenerys asked as she entered Viserys’ private chambers.

“Close the door,” he ordered from his desk and Daenerys obliged, his tone conveying to her that he had a serious matter on his mind. As she crossed the room to sit before him, she couldn’t help but stare up at the massive painting that hung atop his grand fireplace. His wife looked awful in it, a massive contrast to how beautiful she truly was in reality, but Viserys had persevered with having his way in every single aspect of the piece of art because he had paid a hefty price for the artist. The pose and colour of the dress always made Daenerys cringe, but she only ever dreamed of telling Viserys how ghastly the portrayal was.

“What’s the matter?” she questioned as she settled into the dark wood chair, seeing the creases of worry burying deep into her brother’s forehead.

“I know that it is often difficult to think of Rhaenys and Aegon as our niece and nephew because they are of similar age, but that is their relation to us. They are not brother and sister, and they are not true dragons,” Viserys explained and Daenerys resisted the urge to sigh with irritation at her brother’s talk of dragons. Ever since they were children, Viserys had always taken to a greater meaning behind their house’s sigil.

“So I will give her a wedding gift that proves that I am older and more mature? Is that what you are questioning? Because I thought ordering that book was perfectly adequate-”

“No, don’t you see?” Viserys interrupted with a scowl. “Listen to what you just said- a wedding gift, for your niece, when you are not married yet yourself. She is not an older sister who is to be wed first by birth right, but a niece, Dany. Are you not insulted by Rhaegar’s lack of interest in finding you a husband?”

“Well, a little, but he told me there were no suitors,” Daenerys replied with a shake of her head.

“Because he was saving the best suitor for his own daughter. How do you think the realm will react to your niece being wed before you? If the king offends you like that, then why should the commoners respect you?” Viserys said, his fists clenching as he feared that his little sister was not understanding the great humiliation Rhaegar was causing, unintentional or not. When she remained quiet, he slid a book across the desk to her and pointed at a paragraph he had spent the last hour rereading. “Read. This is history, facts- I’m not lying to you.” Daenerys bent over the neat writing and took her time to learn about Lady Florys of Brightmyre. Her older brother was the head of the house and prioritised his offspring’s wellbeing over hers, leaving her unmarried and unwanted as she grew old. Once the head of the house fell ill he arranged the only marriage available, but Florys lost all respect by wedding a man of such low status and was unable to become the house leader once her brother passed, turning the family name into ash.

“I understand what you are saying,” Daenerys said as she forced her eyes away from the final sentence. “I will arrange to speak with Rhaegar and find a solution.” Viserys snorted a laugh of disapproval and Daenerys crossed her arms, knowing that she did not have to speak to find out what her brother was thinking.

“Do you really think that he will listen? He clearly is not particularly concerned about you.”

“Who would be potential suitors?”

“Well I know that the Tyrells are planning on wedding Loras, but there is also Renly Baratheon, that Greyjoy who has arrived here… and Robb Stark, of course,” Viserys finished with a smirk. Daenerys exhaled with disbelief.

“You are not suggesting that I steal Rhaenys’ betrothed, are you?” she clarified with surprise. Viserys shrugged and reached to his right to pour a glass of wine.

“Not exactly steal… But you have to admit that wedding him would bring you, us, the Targaryen house, a great amount of power and renown. And who deserves that more? I think it is you, a true dragon, not Rhaenys, a mere half-dragon half-snake.” Viserys slid the full glass over to Daenerys and poured another for himself. She lifted the cup and swirled its contents, contemplating her next move carefully. Eventually she raised the glass and grinned at her brother, admiring how crafty and truly caring for the family he was.

“Let’s put a stop to Rhaenys’ wedding then,” she agreed and they clinked glasses.


As handmaidens cleared the table of uneaten foods, Robb and Rhaenys stood side by side to watch ships leave the harbour and continue their conversation which had now progressed to Rhaenys discussing her own family. Robb listened on intently, but was also distracted by her hand. It was resting on the edge of the balcony and he was constantly debating whether or not she was silently asking him to hold it or if he was imagining any hidden signals. He had hardly been in King’s Landing for a full day, had barely spent any time with her, and yet… Robb raised his hand and gulped.

“Rhaenys,” Rhaegar’s voice cut the air like a knife and jolted Robb into a stiffened position. The couple turned and saw the king striding down towards them, the handmaidens sweeping themselves to the side in elegant curtseys, and two Kingsguards and Jon trailed behind Rhaegar. He came to a stop before the table and looked over his daughter, the corners of his straight lips pulled down once he noticed how much skin she was showing. “Robb.” He nodded to his daughter’s betrothed and Robb gave a quick bow.

“Your Grace,” he said as he straightened, praying that Rhaegar had not seen his attempt to shift closer to Rhaenys.

“I apologise for interrupting, dear, but I must speak with your soon to be husband,” Rhaegar announced and Robb tensed further. He had only spoken with the king once, and his father had been present to answer most of the questions with a masterful diplomatic skill, but now Eddard was nowhere to be seen. “We have a lot to cover before I can truly give my daughter to you.”

“Of course, as you wish,” Robb said as his stomach tossed with anxiety. Rhaenys offered her hand and Robb kissed it goodbye, sending her his classically charming smile before making his way around the table towards the king.

“And another thing,” Rhaegar continued and Robb halted in his tracks. “As you will be spending a lot of time with me, you will be under the protection of my Kinsguard and will not require your personal Northern guard.” Rhaenys flicked her eyes across to Robb and noted the stiffness of his body and the confusion in his eyes, pitying him as she had just been told about how important it was that his half-brother was with him.

“Then who will he guard, father?” Rhaenys asked since she had the authority to question the king, something she could tell that Robb currently desperately desired.

“You,” Rhaegar answered and the betrothed pair exchanged a look of surprise.

“Me? Why?”

“He will become the official guard of the both of you, for when you are not under the protection of a Kingsguard. I have seen him sparring and he is talented; a fast learner and able to defeat opponents despite his size,” Rhaegar explained and Rhaenys couldn’t help but give a tiny smile at Jon who was holding back a large grin himself, mostly from the humungous compliment from the king. “Surely you would prefer the privacy he would be able to give the two of you, compared to one of my older Kingsguards?”

“Whatever you think is best, father,” Rhaenys smiled politely, though she was not particularly convinced by his reasoning.

“Good. Report to me on how well he does his job, and no doubt a knighthood will be on the horizon for the young man,” Rhaegar said to his daughter before addressing Robb again. “Shall we?” Robb nodded and hurried after Rhaegar up the path to inside the Red Keep, the Kingsguards following but Jon stayed behind with Rhaenys and the handmaidens who continued clearing the table.

“So, able to defeat opponents larger than you, but unable to beat a girl?” Rhaenys clarified, playfully taunting Jon. He remained standing tall and confident, seemingly unaffected by the jest as he rested a hand on the hilt of his sword and glanced over his shoulder to quickly scout the area.

“Well, as long as no women come to kill you, I won’t have any difficulties,” he replied in such a serious tone that Rhaenys was shocked until he turned back to face her and she saw his grin. She relaxed and chuckled, glad that at least one of her guards had a sense of humour. The others in the Kingsguard were significantly older than her and took their job seriously, which was reassuring but also boring for her.

“You should wear a helmet when you are on duty,” she remarked and Jon glanced up to the sky, squinting from the bright sun.

“Not in this heat, I would faint,” he commented and Rhaenys found herself laughing again, pondering the possibility that she was tougher than her new guard.


After switching a Kingsguard for Jon at the closed door of Rhaenys’ bed chambers, Robb opened the door to his guest room, the magnificent sight of it still pleasantly surprising him and Jon. Interrupting its grandeur was Theon, sprawled on the couch with a mug of ale in one hand and a bunch of green grapes in the other. Jon gave a short snort of laughter and Theon straightened himself at the arrival of his friends, tipping his mug backwards and sloshing some of the beer down the front of his shirt. Robb ran a hand down his tired face in disbelief, wishing he had the energy to tease Theon.

“How much have you had to drink?” Jon called out from the opposite side of the room as he started to untie his armour, heading for the dressing screen.

“I’m not drunk,” Theon spat as he rubbed his sleeve on the stain. “But you two took have taken so long to get here that I probably should be! What have you been doing?” Robb slid into the chair across from Theon and let out a long sigh.

“I spent the morning with Rhaenys, but then the king spoke with me up until now. He and his councilmen, they’re all lecturing me on how to be a king,” he explained. “And no doubt judging my character while they’re at it.”

“So how did you fare? Do you think they like you?” Theon wondered and Robb gestured for Theon to throw him some grapes. He caught the lopsided toss with ease and paused to enjoy the sweet and fresh taste of the south’s fruit before answering.

“I think the king does. Petyr Baelish is of course kind and helpful, but the others… it’s difficult to read them.”

“Are you concerned they won’t approve of their possible future king?” Theon joked.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Jon said as he walked around the dressing screen, now in a comfortable and light outfit that made his armour feel like sacks of potatoes. “It’s like you’ve been born and raised to be the perfect husband for a princess.” Theon shuffled along the couch to make room for Jon who grabbed the bottle of ale, pouring a drink for himself before topping up Theon’s.

“Speaking of the princess, you said yesterday that you would tell me today what you thought of her…” Theon began, hoping that Robb would finally spill his juicy thoughts on his betrothed.

“Do you want to hear about her personality, or do you just want to talk about her appearance?” Robb groaned, too fatigued to be interested.

“You know me, I want to hear about how she looks. She’s supposed to be the fairest lady in Westeros, and I’ve only had the pleasure of seeing her from afar,” Theon complained.

“She’s gorgeous,” Robb said with a sigh, but it wasn’t enough for Theon.

“And…?” he pestered and Jon rolled his eyes, wondering what Theon would be like if he took other things in life as seriously as he did his women.

“Just imagine the face of a Targaryen, from the drawings in the history books, but then cover that with the Dornish colours. Her skin is so browned that I look like snow next to her, it’s so strange,” Robb explained and Theon leaned forward in his seat.

“And her body?”

“Everything I could ask for,” Robb answered, having no idea how to even begin explaining the female form to Theon. He knew nothing, and he was certain that he would make a mistake and Theon would tease him. “Is it just me, Jon, or does she seem like she has defined muscles? She had a sleeveless dress on today and I felt like her arms didn’t belong to someone who would sew or write poetry.”

“She trains with a spear every afternoon,” Jon said with a nod and the other two raised their eyebrows with interest, wondering how Jon knew and why Rhaenys practiced with a weapon daily. “She told me.” Jon decided it would be best to not mention losing the sparring match to her for many reasons.

“Well that could be a turn on,” Theon shrugged with a glance at Robb whose face remained blank as he tried to process the information.

“Arya would like her,” Jon pointed out and a tiny smile crossed Robb’s lips in agreement.

“Do you think she would be strong enough to throw you on the bed and have her way with you?” Theon wondered, earning two bemused expressions before laughter filled the room.

“Enough of that; she’s a person, Theon, and a princess at that. You should treat her with more respect,” Jon said even though he was aware that Theon was far beyond a point where he could change. His faith laid with Robb being honourable and changing the subject.

“I bet you’ve already found the closest brothel,” Robb said and Theon immediately nodded. “Tell us what you found in there.” Jon groaned with disappointment as Theon launched into details, Robb listening intently in hope that he would pick up on some ideas for his married life.