Chapter Text
Jaime gives her one of those grins and Lyanna just knows this is going to be one of those days. "You're hopeless," she tells him nonetheless, taking out the lighter from her purse. "You could just buy one." This she whispers under her breath, because despite the obvious annoyance she'd feeling at the moment, it isn't enough to put an end to this.
"But it's so much better when you give me a light." He takes a long drag of his cigarette and hands her back the lighter. "Anything exciting in your life lately?"
Some would say that what they have is not friendship. Because it's not. Friendship. It's rather like they are brother and sister. And why shouldn't they? Lyanna sighs and drags her fingers through slightly tangled hair. Serves her right for forgetting to bring something to pin it up with. "Besides Jon getting a fever, no. It's that sore throat, I swear, it just won't pass."
"You could try the doctor's," Jaime lets her know, taking a sip of his coffee. "These days, I've heard they can cure most anything. Sore throats included."
"I have Nan. We're good." Her refusal is met with the same shake of the head as it always produces. Lannister already knows she won't give in and Lyanna likes annoying him with the fact. After all, it's just a sore throat. She doesn't need to go to the doctor's for just that. She doesn't even have the time to be perfectly frank. "Have you been to see her this week?" she asks after eager to change the subject.
Jaime levels her a empty stare, as if his brain were trying to connect the dots. And then he grimaces. "Been," he answers shortly, sobering considerably. "Nothing's changed. Nothing ever changes." The cigarette is halfway through by now. "Even father has stopped going."
Which is not all that peculiar. From what Lyanna remembers of Tywin, and it's not been long enough for her to forget, the man is a stoic cube of ice, despite the fact that he does indeed care for his family. She can only wonder at this sudden development. "Maybe he just did not have the time," she offers, in hopes of placating the man.
But he is not so easily led. "If Tywin Lannister cannot make the time, then who will?" This particular would she does not feel like touching. Lyanna shrugs. It's not really any of her business. What Lyarra and Tywin had is long in the past. "Maybe you could come with me next week."
Startled, Lyanna hurries to shake her head. "I couldn't. It would only agitate her. Didn't your sister use to say she was allergic to uncool?" As if Cersei herself is some sort of star shining bright. Lyanna leans back in her seat, fingers grabbing onto her keys. She should make it out of here before it all goes awry. Unfortunately for her, nothing is ever as easy as that.
"Come on, Cersei never meant it," Jaime laughs good-naturedly, as always blind to some of the lesser refined traits of his sister. "She was just mad at out parents and you fell in a bad spot." Meaning that Lyanna was simply the one Cersei could and did take her anger out on. Not that Lyanna despises her for it. She used to. But she's learned a bit since then. They are no longer those children.
"Whether she meant it or not is really not the issue," she assures Jaime. Lyanna finds that she doesn't really know what argument to give for her refusal. "I'm just very busy."
At that, her companion raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. "And yet you're here with me.
Damn. She's can't deny that. Struggling for words, the woman falters ever so slightly. "We don't do this every other day, Jaime. I barely get to see you." As if that will explain why she won't go with him.
"Excuses," he calls her out mercilessly. "Look, the offer still stands. If you change your mind, give me a call and I'll pick you up. I really think she would appreciate your being there."
She isn't going to. But Lyanna nods nonetheless. "I'll do that."
It seems that this particular interview is at an end. Lyanna looks at her watch. "My break's over. I should return to the office." Rummaging through her purse, she pulls out a bill and places it on the table. "My treat." It's her way of apologising.
Jaime accepts that with a shrug. "Do you want me to drive you back?" It's heart-warming that he remembers her car is still in service.
"If you can spare the time." Which he obviously can, because this is Jaime Lannister. He grins at her and holds his hand out.
They walk together to the car, the sleek vehicle awaiting their arrival. Lyanna climbs in the passenger's seat and waits patiently throughout the drive. There is music on the radio, some sad song that clashes horribly with the mood. But she has to admit the deep voice of the lead singer really touches a cord.
In the end Jaime drops her off in front of the building and she gets out with a polite thank you. She's still not going with him to see Cersei though. Siblings, siblings, but Lyanna's not risking her skin just to make Cersei smile. She's not even sure she wants to see Cersei smile. That right there is nightmare fuel.
There are no goodbyes. There usually aren't with them. Lyanna walks away, well aware that she's five minutes behind schedule and she might get a headache for it from the boss. But who know, the man might be in a good mood.
As soon as she enters, Reed runs up to her, his thin face red. "Stark, you're finally back. What the hell took you?"
"Is boss man pissed?" she asks, now slightly worried.
"Crazy. He's been looking for you." The man takes her purse as she shrugs off her coat. "You won't believe who's here."
There is one thing and one thing only that she wouldn't believe. And it has nothing to do with clients. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if some dead king ended up on her couch. But that is neither here nor there. Lyanna has seen cases upon cases of things most people would think impossible.
"Please don't tell me it's some other idiot who wants to sue their parents for not recognising their crazy identity change." Her head is already protesting. It's her job to win cases, sure, but that doesn't mean she does agree. But money is money and as long as it pays the bills, she's good. "I'm not reading through my biology again."
Reed laughs. "I remember that one. But no, you can keep that biology book closed. Although, you might wish you'd opened that when you see what's waiting for you." He hands back her purse.
Slinging it over her shoulder, Lyanna gives him a long look. "Stop trying to frighten me. Jaime just proposed that I drive down with him to see his sister. My heart just can't take it." The man chuckles. "Laugh now, but I might bring her here one day and then we'll see who's laughing."
"Don't," Howland deadpans. "I'll see you after your meeting."
Taking her leave of the man, Lyanna takes the stairs to the second floor, wondering who indeed has come to see her. But her mind is not there. If this meeting runs long she'll have to ask Howland to pick Jon up again and bring him by. Or Nan could. But she's not been well these past two weeks. Maybe it would be best to ask Howland to do it.
For a brief she considers sending out a message to her son, but then thinks better on it. Jon will only be distracted. The last time she let him know beforehand that he'd be coming to work with her he ended up drinking too much soda and it made him sick. That is simply not a mistake Lyanna plans to repeat. Although it is a fond memory because they also got to spend some quality time together.
Shaking such thoughts away, the woman becomes aware that she is very near her destination. Already she can hear voice, in particular that of her boss, trying to stall. Taking a deep breath, she places a hand on the knob and turns it.
The door opens with a small sound, admitting her in to a sight that does not only turn out to be unexpected, but entirely unwelcome at this very point. "Stark, where have you been?" The sense of déjà vu is lost on her because Lyanna's gaze is stuck on the second man in the room. Farman, however, is not about to let her live the shock. "Stark!"
"Lunch break," she finally offers with half-a-mouth. "I apologise for the tardiness." Walking around Farman she approached her desk, placing her purse on the flat surface. "So, Robert, what brings you here?" Turning around, Lyanna nods towards the man whom she had identified by name.
She never really thought she'd see him again. And in such circumstances too. Farman looks between the two of them but after a moment he excuses himself, leaving Lyanna with her potential client. Leaning against the desk, the woman tried her best to maintain a mask of indifference to his presence.
"That's cold, Lya. Even for you." Robert Baratheon says, sitting down. He still looks the same.
"Robb, don't start. If you're here to waste my time–" the warning is quickly cut off, however, when Robert presents her with a file.
"No. I'm here for entirely different reasons." It is just now that she notices a small scar on his cheek.
Lyanna takes the file and opens it. She reads through the first page at high speed. Her eyes widen in wonder. This cannot be true. It must be some joke. She continued to leaf through the voluminous file in complete shock. If it is a joke, then it's the most tasteless one she'd ever witnessed.
"What the hell have you landed yourself in?" the woman asks after a few moments of silence broken only by the shuffling of paper. She closes the file and slams it on her desk. "She's accusing you of rape," Lyanna points out unflinchingly. And there it is, the ugly truth. "Your own cousin."
"I didn't rape her," Robert hurries to reply. She notices that he never denies having had intercourse with the woman though. Disbelief colours her features. But he's not done. "We had an argument and I lost my temper. It got out of hand, I admit it. But I did not rape her."
"How out of hand?" Lyanna demands, her hackles rising already. She knows all about Robert's temper. When he declines to reply, she repeats her question, each word coming out tersely. "You have to tell me," she feels compelled to clarify when he still offer nothing.
Robert flashes her an angry look. Nonetheless, he manages to unclench his teeth enough to produce words. "I pushed her, alright!" The begrudgingly offered information is something Lyanna can only sigh at. This is one of those cases, she thinks. "Look, Ned said you would help. But if you won't, just tell me now."
"No, I'll help. For Ned." And because in spite of his temper, Robert is not abusive. Not in that sense. "I'll need some time to study this," she points to the file he's brought along. "It might take a few days."
"I have all the time in the world," he chuckles bitterly, holding one hand up, palm facing her. It drops down to his knee a moment later. "It's not like I have anything waiting for me." At her puzzlement, he clarifies. "I lost the team."
But of course he would. Lyanna gives a slight sympathetic nod. "You have a place to stay, don't you?"
"I rented one." He stands to his feet. "Lya–" But she's already shaking her head.
"Let's just focus on this, Robb," she tells him. Maybe she'll have to go down and see Cersei after all. The gods must be laughing themselves silly just about now. And Lyanna finds that she really does miss that biology book.
The shrill ringing brings her to a halt. Lyanna mutters a curse, hand stuck in her purse, pushing away at its contents in search of her phone. She is so late. But really, she can only blame herself for it. When she finally catches the device, she lifts it out and slides her finger over the screen. The ear bud swiftly delivers the gruff voice of her father.
"I've called you six times," the man starts, without as much as a greeting.
"I didn't even see that. I am so sorry," her apology is lost in the loud honking of a car. The vehicle stops abruptly, its hood nearly crashing into Lyanna. "What the Seven hells?" she yells out at the driver.
"Lady, the fucking light is red!" the man yells back at her. Which she hadn't seen, of course, as she is in a hurry. Lyanna ignores him, scurrying across the length of the street.
"Father, can I call you later? I'm really in a right hurry now." If she keeps this up, they'll be taking her measurements for the coffin. This is the third car this week that's nearly crashed into her and it's only Tuesday. "I promise I'll call before eight."
"Fine, but don't forget. Like you did last time." As if he'd let her live it down. Lyanna nods her head, for a second forgetting he can't see her. "I'll talk to you later then."
"Bye, dad. I'm hanging up," she says. "Talk to you later."
How that that's over and she has finally reached the other end without needing to see the hospital, Lyanna can breath easy. She wonders if Jon is mad. If he is, she decides, she'll buy him something nice as compensation. Still, Lyanna cannot explain how she forgot to call Reed. She could have sworn she sent a message at least.
Robert's file had been so engrossing though. It's not as if she meant to forget about picking Jon up. Next time, she'll stamp it on her forehead and not repeat this mistake. She'll make it up to her son the woman assures herself. They have managed through similar situations before. Somewhat calmed by the notion, Lyanna can already make out the gates of the school. Relief floods her. Almost there. Just a little more and she'll have reached her destination. Damn that car of hers for breaking down when she most needs it.
The closer she gets the more apparent a figure becomes. A small boy is leaning against the main gate, a backpack at his feet. That is Jon. Recognition is instant. Seeing him like that, Lyanna picks up her face until she's caught somewhere between walking and running, the awkward pace accomplishing almost nothing. The heels won't allow for more though.
Jon sees her too, because he picks up his backpack and stands up straight. The look on his face, however, does not mirror hers. The sullen boy walks towards her almost as if he's dragging his feet.
Soon enough she'd standing before him, holding her arms spread open. "Jon, I'm sorry I'm late," Lyanna says, waiting for him to come to her.
He stands just out of her reach, making no move to enter her embrace. "Can we go home now?" Jon asks, eyes so much like her own glinting with chilling coldness. "I'm tired and hungry."
At this response the mother's face falls. "Jon, I already said I was sorry." He resists any attempt of hers however, and persists in his current mood even as she forcefully takes his hand. "Give me your backpack," she continues. "I'm sure you've carried it around long enough."
"It's fine," her son refuses with that same flat tone that always drives her to the brink of sanity.
"Jon, please, let's just have a nice evening, okay? Mother is really sorry for being late. But it won't happen again." This is really the best she can do. Her little boy cannot understand the burden it is to raise a child on one's own and keep the house afloat.
With surprising strength, Jon yanked his hand from her grip. "You always say that!" he cries out, features morphing in rage. "It's never true. This is always the same. You're never there." His outburst is matched with an appropriate kick of the leg as the child stares angrily up at her.
The reaction wakes in her a similar fury. She takes hold on the child's shoulder and violently pulls him to her. "Don't you use that voice with me, young man. I am your mother, not some dog on the street you can yell at." She can feel his whole frame shuddering.
And quite unexpectedly, she feels sorry. Sorry that she's yelling, that she was late and that they just can't seem to get along these days. Her eyes fill with tears and before she knows it, she's hugging a struggling boy to her chest, not entirely sure if she should be. Ever so slowly, Jon gives up his flailing, becoming still in her hold.
"I try. I do try," Lyanna speaks softly. Gently letting go, the mother pulls back, one hand rising to wipe away at the tears. Gods, she isn't a child to be bursting in tears in the middle of the street. A flare of annoyance sweeps through her. This is nothing short of embarrassing. She has to calm down.
To her great astonishment, Jon does not pull away. In fact, the child's arms wrap around her middle, hugging her tightly. "I'm sorry mother," he speaks, voice muffled by her coat. "I didn't mean to make you cry." She feels him press his whole body weight into her.
With the speedy reaction of any mother in such a situation, Lyanna embraces him back, glad to have the loving son before her. "We could get something to eat from that place you like. Does that sound good?" At hearing that, Jon gazes up at her, hope shining in her eyes. "And maybe get some cake too?"
"Cake? Really?" The boy grins. "Can I have more than one slice this time?" He lets go and grabs hold of her hand.
Lyanna laughs. "Two, but no more." She's almost afraid of what this means. A couple of cake slices if a couple too many. "Let's be off then."
Notes:
Taking Ryuujin's advice here...I decided to just go with the flow. Don't expect much of this, but I hope it'll be mildly entertaining.
Chapter 2
Summary:
In which Lyanna is clueless to the adventure awaiting...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“You really didn’t have to come over,” Lyanna says, placing the tray on the low table. She unstops the bottle standing precariously on the edge and pours the clear liquid in the tumbler. “This one should be good.” She bought it from a guy that actually lives in the North, somewhere near the Reels. If this is not authentic then nothing is.
Rickard takes the offering and downs it all. “Really good stuff.” Lyanna will never understand why he insists on dropping by every few days. Nonetheless, she is grateful. “So, tell me about Robert.”
“What’s there to tell?” And this is about where she begins to sweat profusely at the thought of father calling mother and then mother marching down here for another lecture of the lovely Lyanna Stark you can’t remain alone for the rest of your life. As if she’s actually alone. ”He wants my help and I’m helping him.” Also she’s getting money from this. A good thing all around.
“About the case,” Rickard changes tactic unabashedly.
They have tried this for as long as she’s been a fully grown woman. Not getting her together with Robert specifically, but hooking her up. Which is no easy fit because Lyanna is a picky, choosy creature with impossibly high standards. A conscious choice meant to discourage her folks. After all, she is doing right fine on her own. Why replace it if it’s not broken?
Nonetheless, she smiles. “Nice save.” Sitting down next to him, Lyanna picks up her glass of soda. “It’s a thorny one. It basically a win all, lose all situation here.” The file she’s left at the office because Farman, for some reason, wanted to take a look too. But she’s fairly certain she has reasonably summaries the contents. “For a couple of years, Robert has been in a stable relationship with the accuser. They’ve been sharing a flat for one year. She is suing him for alleged rape and abuse.”
“And he’s denying it, naturally.” Rickard leans back in his seat, head lolling backwards. “Do you have a plan of attack?”
“Common sense would dictate that two people in a romantic relationship living together do so for a specific reason.” It’s the basis of a family in any other words. However, this view has been somewhat skewed. “Or it would have before last year’s changes. Unless she’s lying about the rape and I catch her at it, I’m afraid I haven’t got all that much.” Certainly not enough to built a case on.
“How long ago did they break up?” That’s one of those brilliant questions she has thought about actually.
Lyanna sighs. “One turn past. Which got me thinking in the first place. Why come out with it after such a long time? Most rape cases like this are reported immediately by the victim. Especially given that she claims this to be a repeated violation against her.”
In fact, the accuser goes as far as to describe one such encounter. And Lyanna finds it very, very strange. “The details are jumbled, infused with emotion and not truly coherent. She is asking us to listen and believe.”
Her father shakes his head. “Then question, question, question, question. That should be enough to reveal some chinks in the narrative.” Sensible. Lyanna nods her head. “Then trip her.” This is something she can get behind.
“If only it were that simple. There is still the jury.” And this is the tricky part. “I was wondering if I could rifle through your old cases. I want to check those first.” These people are the sort who listen and believe.
“Absolutely. My library is always open to you.” She can feel the shift in his mood though. It must be reminding him of a previous case. “As for your jury, don’t worry about it yet. Take your time with Robert’s ex and whatever follows we’ll see to when it comes."
There is a brief silence, comfortable. Lyanna shifts in her seat, eyes travelling to the clock. “Bedtime,” she says, standing to her feet. “I’m going to get Jon in bed.” The explanation is superfluous, but it’s a habit. Her father gives her a nod, standing up as well.
Together they go to the child’s room. Upon entering, the first noticeable thing is that the TV is still on. Sidestepping the mess on the floor, Lyanna walks to Jon’s bedside and picks up the remote, seeing as the boy sleeps. She turns off the small flat screen, leaving the only lighting in the room a lamp. This one she leaves on, just in case her son wakes from a bad dream.
Her father is waiting in the hallway. “I can’t believe he’s ten already.” It is he who pulls the door almost closed. “It seems like only yesterday that he was learning to walk.”
The woman finds herself nodding her head. “And now he won’t stop running.” These words are not accompanied by fondness. Which is noted by the older man. He gives her a puzzled look. “I was late to pick him up today and we ended up in a yelling match.” Is she doing something wrong?
The question registers to her a moment later. Of course she is, otherwise all would be fine. What is she doing wrong? “I’m not even sure if I should be seeking professional help. This is Benjen level, dad.” And her brother is still recovering to this day. That is not something Lyanna wants for her son. “What do I do?”
Rickard pats her hand gently. “Have some patience, think about it a bit, Lyanna. The boy is on his own for most of the day.”
“He has Nan,” she points out.
“Nan is not his mother.” And there it is. The mother issue all over again.
Flustered, Lyanna struggles from words. “I can’t just drop everything, no matter how much I would like to.” The helplessness feels much like a boulder tied to her, dragging her down. “I’m trying.”
“Lya, we’ve discussed this. It was never meant to be easy.” He shakes his head slowly. “If you think you need the help, you should seek it. But try spending some time with your son first.” A gesture reminiscent of her childhood follows. Her father hooks a finger beneath her chin, pushing it up gently.
It’s not long before the man takes his leave and she is once more alone in the apartment. Lyanna sets to picking up the glasses and washing them. Her mind, however, still lingers on her father’s works. She’s trying to remember the last time she and Jon actually spent a whole day together. Unsurprisingly, she comes up with nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tap water pours on her hands hot and painful, leaving her skin red and tingling. Has she really been neglecting her son?
Turning the water off, she wipes her hand on a kitchen towel. When she decided to have Jon, she never really thought it would be this difficult. Although, to be honest, everyone has told her something along these lines. Her mother most especially.
She remembers it like it was yesterday. Mainly because she’s still young and the Alzheimer’s has yet to set it. To her great fortune. Lyanna places the glasses back in their place, memories swirling. She ever recalls it was a Monday when she took that store-bought pregnancy test, heart in her throat. Trembling hands and turning stomach, she had waited for those minutes to pass, one by one, cursing her decision to go to that party.
Actually she hadn’t cursed it. At that point Lyanna is not even sure she could think about anything other than those plusses and minuses. And then the result was there, in front of her eyes, taunting her. She remembers wondering how the seven hells it’s possible to manage this performance despite having taken precautions.
The only viable conclusion is that it was an accident. Plain and simple. But what an accident. The life-altering, world-crumbling, fear-inducing consequence of a bit of harmless experimentation; Lyanna is not certain to this day how she managed to get out of that bathroom, test clutched tightly in her hand, fingers breaking through the veneer of the tissue, and walk down the hall, trembling all over, to her father’s room.
She was actually so terrified of her mother’s reaction that she chose to go to her father’s. Looking back on that, Lyanna decides that it was a brilliant decision. Not that her mother doesn’t love her, but in pure Lyarra fashion, her first reaction was to ask when she was having her abortion. Thankfully, her father is an entirely different story. He took the time to actually ask her, calmly, how the situation came about.
The story is, for lack of a better word, the plot of a tragicomedy. Who would have thought that all those romance novel plots with a gross lack of credibility could possibly happen in real life? Not Lyanna, that’s for sure. That it actually happened to her must be some sort of punishment. For her lack of belief, she presumes, because carelessness does not even feature here.
The result of it she will forever cherish. Sometimes she thinks she loved Jon from the moment she found out he existed, and other times her mind tells her love happened that one time he kicked so hard she thought he might be trying to kill her.
“That’s why I don’t date.” A sentiment that Jaime has expressed before, certainly, and one that Lyanna had heard before, from a good amount of people. “I actually pity Baratheon.”
“That’s very big of you,” Lyanna allows, a half-smile on her face. She bites back the urge to laugh. “But I thought you wanted us to talk about Cersei, not her past boyfriends.” She does so enjoy needling her friend.
At this point he actually chokes the engine and Lyanna does burst into laughter. “Don’t tell me it’s still an issue.” On the other hand, it’s not quite so amusing when she stops to think about it. Jaime and Cersei are brother and sister. On a scale from normal to absolutely insane, they are dangerously close to the latter.
She supposes it’s really better for mankind that Tywin knows absolutely nothing about this and only ever found out about the drugs.
“It’s not,” Jaime grunts, throwing her a peculiar look. “She might not answer any of your questions though.” Which is very like Cersei.
That woman has never done one thing she didn’t want to besides being confined to a great house that more resembles a palace. Lyanna would mutter about rich people, but she can’t really complain. A house with one’s own staff is better than any institution, as far as she’s concerned. Cersei is really lucky on this point.
“As long as she doesn’t actually throw stuff at my head, I’m pretty sure I can deal with it.” Maybe she’s being unfair. Cersei has surely outgrown that clichéd behaviour littering poorly written rom-coms and hilariously exaggerated fits of rage. “Just make sure there’s nothing sharp she can get her hands on.”
“Got it.” His response is not really reassuring. Lyanna doesn’t pester him on that point though. After all, he’s the one driving and she very much loves her head where it is.
The car veers to the right, on a small, unpaved road. Even so, the dusty path is actually smooth and neat looking. She’s seen worse, but still, this is beginning to feel rather like a horror film. There is no one around, with fields and fields of grass stretching about. At least it’s not all.
“Was it really necessary to move her out of the city?” It’s not as if with the sort of security Tywin employs Cersei could sneak out and buy herself some Bromo or whatever else she had been taking. The streets are truly dangerous.
“She bought DNP. That was the last straw.” They pull up in front of a mansion at a long last. “I really thought father meant to lock her up in some asylum.”
“Well, he changed his mind and that is what counts. But Dinitrophenol? Really?” It’s legal, taken moderately, but the manner in which Cersei used it is troubling. “She took both at the same time?” That would explain the hospitalisation.
“Both,” the man answers. He opens his own door, exiting the vehicle.
Lyanna follows at a slower pace. She’s in no hurry to be in Cersei’s presence. It’s no wonder her mother doesn’t even speak a word about Cersei anymore.
The door is opened by a middle aged woman. “She’s been very anxious the whole morning,” the caretaker lets Jaime know without as much as a greeting attached. One has to wonder just how anxious Cersei is at this point.
No doubt she’ll find out. Lyanna enters along with Jaime. This is already shaping up to be a lovely visit.
“Okay, Jon. Well, Howland will pick you up and you and Meera can hang out by the office,” Lyanna explains to her son. This time she has not forgotten to speak to Reed and he’s agreed to pick her son up. “You be good now. See you soon.” She waits for his promise on that. “Okay, bye bye. Love you!”
The door opens and Farman steps in, his thick eyebrows so low that they actually cover his eyes. “Stark, here is your file.” He hands her Robert’s case, wrapped up prettily. “I expect you to give this your best.” Why that should matter to him is a complete mystery to Lyanna, but who is she to argue.
“Of course I will.” She puts her phone away. The file rests on her desk, awaiting her inspection. “If that would be all.” She can only hope it is. Far be it from her to act ungrateful, but there are times when the desire to scratch the man’s eyes out is so strong that she can barely help herself. Somehow, though, Lyanna manages to smile and wave at the turned back of the man. Whatever makes him leave faster. She’s all for it.
Before she can get to work, a knock on the door interrupts her. With mild annoyance, she looks up only to see Jeyne standing in the doorway. She’s holding two plastic cups. “I hope I’m not intruding,” she says, a small grin on her face. “I thought you might like to celebrate getting your hands on this case.”
Motioning her in, Lyanna shushed the other woman. “Your father just left. He’d probably burst a vein if he caught me procrastinating.” Jeyne giggles, not believing for one moment that her father might do anything like that. She never does. “Just you wait.”
“So much negativity. Is that anyway to start at it?” Jeyne sits herself on the couch. She holds the cup up for Lyanna to take. “It’s decaf, don’t worry. So, how do we feel about this?”
“Not that good,” Lyanna admits. “I just have a bad feeling about this. You know how rape cases go.”
Despite not being heavily involved in the family business, Jeyne has some knowledge. “Well, your client is counting on you.” There is a spark in her eyes as she says it.
“Not helping.” She wonders if Ned would forgive her if she does lose. Then decides he will. They’re family. He’s morally obliged to; at least so she thinks. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m doing all this.”
The other woman gives her a long look. “Because you have a good heart.”
“If I had a good heart I would have tried out for the Sisters of Mercy.” No, goodness of heart, Lyanna considers, has the least to do with it. “I envy you. You get to stay at home with the children all day.”
“And I envy you,” Jeyne returns. They exchange a look and burst out into peals of laughter. “
“No, you don’t,” Lyanna says. Jeyne would die if she had to stay away from her children for more than a couple of hours.
“I don’t,” the other agrees. At least she is being honest about it.
They manage to speak a little while and Lyanna holds back from mentioning Cersei, unsure if Jeyne is yet over that incident. In the end her friend takes her leave.
Robert’s file beckons to her now and Lyanna, having celebrated and relaxed beforehand, is just about prepared to take her notes and start digging. It is perhaps for that reason, that very specific reason, that she is, for the second time in as many hours interrupted in the middle, or rather beginning, of her work.
If Jeyne was a welcome interruption, the unknown man entering her office put her ill at ease. One of those reactions that speaks more of her than of the visitor, Lyanna finds that it only increases as the unknown person takes his sunglasses off to stare at her rather insistently.
“Lyanna Stark?” he questions, sitting down on her couch without as much as a by your leave. She gives him a cutting glare for the enormous effort he’s shown to be polite. “So you are Robert’s girl?” The faint accent is not helping his case.
“In his dreams,” she answers tartly. “Don’t tell me Robert is so eager for results. I told him it would take a bit.” And when she does see the man, she’ll knock him upside the head.
But her visitor simply leans backwards in his seat, stretching one hand along the headboard. “I am not here at the request of your client, Miss Lyanna. My intention is to warn you, if you will. Convince your client to plead guilty. Otherwise this could turn out ugly.”
Now this, she thinks, is not something she sees everyday. So Lyanna does what feels natural, in fact what anyone with half a brain would do. She laughs. In the man’s face. ”Are you threatening me? Honestly?” Standing to her feet, the woman attempt to calm herself by clamping her lips shut.
It’s not working.
“Who exactly do you think you are?” she questions.
Without a hint of jest, the man fixes her with his gaze. This calms her with alarming alacrity. “We are the Targaryens.”
If that is supposed to mean something to her, Lyanna is sorry to say that she is probably socially stunted, because the name tells her nothing. Unwilling, however, to give him even an inch, she allows a thin smile upon her lips.
“You could be descendants of the Father himself for all I care.” Holding the folder up, she waves it before the man. “This is my case. And I’ll protect my client however I see fit.”
He smiles back at her, but it’s this predatory stretch of lips, as if he’s pleased by her response. “We’ll see, Miss Stark. We’ll see.” The man stands to his feet, looking her up and down with infuriating audacity. “You have three days to consider the matter.”
That’s peachy. Even Jon allowed her three months to make up her mind. “Nice try, buddy, but I’m not changing my mind. Now, you should leave. Before I call security.”
The man does leave. But somehow this does not end up feeling like a victory. Now she has to find out who in the bleeding hells these Targaryens are and what their connection to her case is.” This is giving her a headache.
Notes:
So, more mildly entertaining nothings.
ADD.: I meant to put this in but forgot.
Bromo-DragonFLY is a psychedelic drug. Similar in effects to LSD, it differs through a longer period of activity - about two/tree days.
Dinitrophenol/DNP is essentially marketed as a weight loss product. Used as a drug it causes high metabolism and eventually ends with the consummer vomiting blood. What fun!
Educational segment over. Remember kids, stay in drugs, don't do school.
Chapter Text
Lyarra sighs, her rose tinted sunglasses sliding slightly down the bridge of her nose. “You always go to him. I wish just once you would come to me with this sort of problems.” Her fingers are fiddling with the decorated pipe, pressing into the swan-like neck. “Are you listening?”
Like a fat kid at the burger joint for their turn, Lyanna thinks, not without a drop of humour. “I am always listening.” For a brief moment she considers adding another always just for good measure. But she doesn’t, because that would surely anger mother. Her cup meets the saucer with a soft click. “And I came to you now.”
Her mother rolls her eyes, well visible behind the lenses. “Don’t get smart with me.” She takes the glasses off and hands them to Lyanna. “These are really nice.” There is a smile and her face and it’s frightening how she went so fast from anger to pleasantness. Must be where Benjen gets it from.
“I know,” Lyanna replies nonetheless. She takes the glasses back and places it in her purse. “And I’m really grateful I can count on you for this.” She only hopes regret won’t leech off of this decision by the end of the week. Which Lyanna feels she might indeed be regretting this, because, the gods know, her mother can sometimes be spectacularly ill-behaved at times. Not so much out of malice than from a sense of carelessness.
But she’ll take her chance and hope that it all turns out well. The gods know she needs something for Jon to look forward to. Her mind made up one hundred percent, Lyanna looks at her empty cup thoughtfully, in two minds on whether she should linger.
A slight discomforting shift is never far when she’s in the presence of her mother. More knowledgeable minds, by which she means the old psychiatrist that lives two floors down and for whom Lyanna has done some shopping at some indeterminable past, have warned that it is a sign of unforgiving attitudes on her part. A load of nonsense, of course. It is in par with believing in the horoscope, the predictions of maegis and the less known, but not less charming leaf reading, as if leaves will tell one anything. At all. She looks at her mother’s face. The desire top get up and leave now that her business is concluded remains undeniable, almost tangible in its power.
“So,” her mother picks up softly, a sly look upon her features. The daughter suffers a moment of confusion. And then she’s back to herself. “How is Robert?”
The alarms start ringing at this point. Lyanna leans back in her seat, somewhat put out. But she’s anticipated this, so her response does not fail to come. “As well as can be expected. Naturally, a bit scared.” Okay, so he is very, very scared and Lyanna still has made no actual decision in his case. After all, she’s only meeting with her little informant today.
Which is a pain, as two days are already gone and her nails are already short enough. Alas, Poole will bring her whatever she needs today and everything will turn out fine. She hopes.
“But really, to be accused out of thin air. and such a nice man too,” Lyarra sighs. It’s not really a secret that Robert can charm the bark of a tree if he so wants and her mother has rarely shown fortitude in resisting charming men. “You will get him out of trouble, won’t you?”
“If I can prove his innocence.” Even partly. It would be a coup. The young woman is aware, however, that such a feat requires a lot of help. She can only count on Robert for it at this moment. The bother. “If you’re so interested, then perhaps you should meet up with him.”
The words leave her lips without her meaning to. Lyanna cannot make up her mind whether the impulse to injure has to do with the admiration exhibited or with the direction of it.
The look in the other woman’s eyes speaks of genuine hurt, as if she can feel the seed of malice. “No. You know I don’t meet up with your brother’s friends.”
“Of course.” Lyanna gives a light no, as if she doesn’t know any better. “I think I’ll go by Benjen’s a bit, if you don’t mind, mother.”
“Certainly you may. He’ll be glad to see you.” She actually leads Lyanna to the small balcony connecting the two apartments. The conjoint flats face the sun at about this hour so Lyanna finds herself shielding her eyes until she gets her hand on the doorknob and turns it.
Mother doesn’t follow her in, but leaves with a wave of her hand and a smile. Lyanna steps foot into the sunlit room, looking around carefully. The unused space is rather dusty. Benjen must not be putting his hands on those dusters still. With a shake of the head, she continues on her way, entering a hallway.
From her vantage point she can hear the voices on the TV. It’s a form of the High Lysene tongue she’s hearing. Lyanna rolls her eyes and hopes it’s a good series, otherwise her brain is likely to implode. Without a second thought she enters what serves as the living room and finds her brother lounging on the couch.
Benjen looks up at her entrance, his mien not moving an inch in its expression. “Well, hello there,” she greets with a wide smile. “How is my favourite brother doing?”
He shrugs, but sits up nonetheless at her approach. Lyanna wraps her arms around him and presses a small kiss on his cheek. “Nothing to say to me?”
“Hi,” he mutters into the light material of her blouse, as if that is conversation enough for him. Benjen lets go and sits back on the couch.
Lyanna follows without complaint, her eyes moving to the screen.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, until her brain can catch up with the latest plot. “Wait, did they actually plot together to kill the king?”
“Yes.” The short reply has her looking at him squarely.
“But why, I thought they wanted an alliance.” These period dramas are confusing. She’s glad Jon is not old enough for any of them yet. It would be insanely boring to sit through one.
“The uncle did.” Her brother proceeds to explain to her the intricate weaving of this particular plot. Lyanna cannot help but wonder how he can actually retain so much information on this. Benjen goes on and on.
Poole actually laughs at the look on her face. Lyanna is just about certain she looks like a tomato. Which is an easy enough feat, given that she tends to flush extremely when the blood does happen to rush. Drat. “So not only are they cousins, but the Targaryens have strong ties to the underworld?”
“It’s more than just ties,” the man explains, accepting the drink she hands him. “They are arguably one of the few families controlling anything from investments to political life.”
“If they are so strong, why haven’t I heard of them?” Granted, she usually does not buy the newspaper unless she known something of concern will be in it. But this is rather strange. She doesn’t recall the name being all over the news, or linked to any prominent figure. Most of these clans, as they are sometimes called, do happen to be in the spotlight every once in a while.
“Most people without direct ties to the family are in the dark about this.” Poole downs half a glass of juice. “Do you want the in-depth version, or should I make this quick?” He has brought her some documents, but it’s better to have it from the horse’s mouth, as it were.
In consequence, her reply goes somewhat the like, “The lengthier, the better.”
Vayon swallows the rest of his drink with loud gulps. “Very well then, m’lady.” He opens the folder’s opaque cover, pushing it backwards. “The family itself is rather old, first attested in the six hundreds. Of course there is speculation they are tied to the dynastic ruling family of Westeros, House Targaryen. But that is neither here, nor there.”
It would be difficult to prove they are at any rate. In the tree hundreds a series of battles ravaged Westeros and many important documents had burnt. The stuff of legends. And if they are tied to the Targaryens of old, it makes no matter, as the Seven Kingdoms is a democracy at this particular point.
Poole continues. “They started out as part of the bourgeoisie, not even climbing to the upper echelons until sometime during the eleven hundreds when a Vaegar Targaryen allied himself with Q’ar of the Summer Isles in a profitable venture. And this is where their ascension starts. Gradually, the family gathered more and more wealth until they were almost of a level with the Iron Bank of Braavos, having co-opted a small number of other wealthy families to form a trade union.”
In these conditions it is stranger still to have not heard of them. Lyanna tenses slightly as the man speaks on. “By the thirteen hundreds, though their name featured less and less in news aimed at the masses, their influence on the political scene grew exponentially with a marriage between a Maegor Tragaryen and a Magella Tyrell. From there on a line of successors follows through the fourteen, fifteen and sixteen hundreds, but they are rarely if ever in the eyes of the public.”
“But I suppose their influence still grows.” This story is very familiar. It’s much like placing the history on her own family to face a mirror. An inverted one, of course, but, good gods, this is very strange indeed. “And so we arrive to the seventeen hundreds.”
“Quite so. The current head of the family, by his name Aerys, has a permanent home in Lys where he lives with his sister-wife, Rhaella, and apparently their youngest daughter. They have two sons, the oldest running of several businesses in King’s Landing and the younger studying in Oldtown.”
Spoiled rotten, that’s what those children are, Lyanna decides without further ado. An Oldtwon education is a dream. She shakes her head and concentrates on what dear Vayon is telling her. “Since it cannot be that the younger one send anyone, I’d say it’s the eldest son you need to worry about.”
She is handed a picture. Lyanna takes it gingerly, her eyes roaming the profile of a man. “This is blurry.”
“Notoriously hard to capture on camera, these Targaryens,” Vayon quips. “At any rate, that is Rhaegar Tragaryen. The child is Rhaenys, his daughter and oldest child.”
“He has another?” Lyanna continues to stare at the profile, for some odd reason finding familiarity on that face. It must be the silver hair. She places the photograph on the table. “Say I wanted a meeting with this man, how would I go about scheduling it?”
Despite the fact that he bears some resemblance to a man she knew a decade ago, Lyanna is fairly certain it’s that blasted silver hair. He could have dyed it for all she knows.
“My suggestion is to forget that course of action. This is one man you don’t want to meet.” Her father’s helper gives her a hard look, as if to emphasise the point.
It’s settled. She’ll demand an audience with this Rhaegar Targaryen and tell his exactly what she thinks of his attempt to obstruct the law. “Point taken,” she says to Poole, lest he run to her father. “What if he seeks me out?”
“I doubt he would; best pray he doesn’t.” The man stands up. “I’ll do some more digging and try to get a bit more, but I doubt it’ll be of help.”
“Are you suggesting that I give up the case?” Preposterous, of course, but he wouldn’t be the first and she knows very well that she won’t. Not during this lifetime.
“Consider it carefully.” And that is all he says before taking his leave. Lyanna sees him o the door of the office. “Come by whenever you can. My door is always open to you.”
Vayon Poole nods his head and with that he is gone, leaving Lyanna alone.
She sees herself back to her seat, pickling up this second file and looking through it. Maybe she should be concentrating on the patriarch of the family. Lys based or not, the man must be capable of controlling his children. Lyanna’s eyes travel to the picture.
“There is nothing you can do to take this case from me,” she tells the unmoving picture. The gall of some people. Yes, this is what she’ll do. She’ll call him out and tell him exactly how much she cares about his desires. A smile appears briefly upon her features. “You just try it.” This will be grand new adventure, her mind is telling her, to which Lyanna can only hope it will not be the case. Much as she likes adventure, it belongs on a screen, not in her semi-orderly life.
Gods, oh, gods. But the possibilities.
The cross look on the man’s face tells her she hasn’t picked the best way to discharge this volley. “It’s alright, Robert. There is no need for your head to explode over this.” Her method of calming him doesn’t seem to be working either, although, to be entirely fair, it might be because of the implied insults thrown in there; just for effect.
“I am calm.” Despite the fact that he says that, his grip tightens on the edge of the table. “You can’t give up the case.” The decisive manner has her raising an eyebrow. Robert; he never learns.
“I want to know what sort of danger you’re putting me in. So you either tell me, or I drop this and walk away.” This is her test. Of course, she’s not thinking for a moment to drop this, but Robert is the sort who would grow ill-disposed given too much confidence that it’ll go his way.
“I already told you. There’s no real danger.” They’ll see about that, Lyanna decides, for the moment allowing her mien to change to melt away the severity and show some compassion. “Whatever is, it’s between Shaena and me. Her brother won’t get involved.”
Just how well does he know this brother, Lyanna wonders. Not very, she would like to bet, but it might backfire, so she accepts the assertion. “I trust that you are telling me the truth.” He must be lying through his teeth by the look he gives her just then. Lyanna smiles, comfortable with the situation. Good, he should feel guilty at treating a person who wants to help him like this. “Now, let’s go over this again, shall we?”
Lyanna pulls out his file, opening it at the last page, her notes. “You started dating this woman a little over two years ago, yes?”
Roberts gives a brief nod. “And since moving in together, problems have started to appear?” He gives her a similar gesture. Like most couples then, Robert and this Shaena have found that sharing a small space, even with someone one likes, can lead to disasters. And people keep asking her why she doesn’t date. “So, tell me, what led to this?”
For a few moments, Robert stares at her as if he were a zombie and she the last piece on brain on the face of the planet. It disconcerts her enough to sit a bit straighter. No, no, no, no. He is not doing this. She clears her throat. “My answer, if I could have it.”
“I have no idea. We just started fighting.” Spoken like a man.
Lyanna nods her head, although at this very moment she wants to shake him so hard that all his memories come tumbling out. “Try to remember what led to the big arguments.” Results are all good and well, but she needs causes. Results are fixed, they rarely lend themselves to manipulation. Causes, well, those can be worked upon.
Robert looks deep in thought. Would it be abominably rude to laugh at that look of concentration on his face?
Jon slurps lightly, swallowing his Yi Tian noodles. Lyanna turns up the volume of the flat screen. “Oh, look,” she points to the daughter of the motion’s hero. “She is going to get kidnapped.” Her son makes a small sound of disagreement, but the food never leaved his mouth three. She can hear him perfectly though. “Of course she is. Just look at her face. That is definitely an I-am-waiting-here-to-be-kidnapped face.”
And this will give Stevron Shett a reason to go around punching criminals. Not that Lyanna can complain. He looks so good doing it. “Just you wait.”
As if to prove her point, the girl in the motion cried out as the window breaks, glass flying everywhere. She stumbled backwards over the bed and yells again at the sight of a man climbing into her room. “Told you,” Lyanna mutters, unconcerned for the character even for a moment.
“Mom, are you finishing that?” Jon asks, pointing his carved chopsticks to her package of food. Lyanna shakes her head, pushing it towards him. The boy liked his food.
“It’s a wonder you’re not full,” she says with a smile, watching him scarf down another portion. At this rate, they’ll be going to the Yi Tian restaurant often. “Bon appétit.” Lyanna’s attention returns to the movie.
Shett is currently bashing in the face of some poor drug dealer, hells bent on taking whatever information he’s after. Lyanna picks up a morrow cookie, breaking it in half. She pulls out the small strip of paper, placing it on the table, out of the way. The sweet dough is good enough to much on, as far as she’s concerned.
Now that blood is everywhere, in pure action motion style, and the baddies roll on the floor in pain, it’s time for the plot to advance. And thank the gods for that, this motion had been going on for more than an hour already. It’s good, but not that good.
Before she has time to blink though, a loud knocking is heard on the door.
Who in the seven hells knocks on door anymore? Don’t they know to pull the ring for that?
With a shake of the head, she rises from her comfortable seat and makes her way to the small hallway. Switching the lights on, she takes a look through the eyeglass and the blood freezes in her veins.
This can’t be happening.
She steps backwards, but her mind tells her it’s already too late. The knocking grows more insistent. Lyanna curses softly.
With quick steps she returns to the living room. “Jon, stay here for a few minutes and don’t come out until I come to get you. Okay?”
Engrossed in his motion, the boy gives a nod. That being enough for her, she closes the door to the living room and comes to the door again. “Just a moment,” Lyanna calls out.
The keys turn in the lock. Her heart hammers with powerful thuds.
The door squeaks, sliding open.
“Miss Lyanna.” A familiar face greets her.
Notes:
Well, that escalated quickly.
Chapter Text
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He leans against the small portion of jutting wall looking for all the world as if he were a mere visitor. Lyanna is tempted, for a brief moment, despite warnings to the contrary, to close the door in his face, grab a kitchen knife and claim home invasion. Given she knows what she does by this point, however, her reaction is a tiny bit different.
“Why should I?” the woman asks instead, eyes fixed upon the man’s face. “Would you invite a stranger in your house?”
He looks her up and down, the appreciative glint not lost on her. Déjà vu. “Oswell Whent. There, we’re not strangers now.”
Placating as it is to know his name, Lyanna remains stuck in her place. “It’s not been three days,” she feels compelled to point out. What is it with people not keeping their word? Is it that difficult to abide by a previously made decision?
“Oh, I don’t want that answer yet,” Oswell assures, trying to side-step her, pushing against her frame when she doesn’t budge. This second method proves fruitful as, even trying her frame is simply not capable to oppose his. So Lyanna lets it go and steps backwards.
Oswell, as if he weren’t in her home for the first time, proceeds to leisurely discard of what look to be expensive shoes, his jacket is placed alongside hers. Lyanna notes the way his eyes rest on Jon’s jacket and that protective instinct so very familiar to all mother takes over.
“Well? What are you here for?” Hands crossed over her chest, she taps her foot impatiently. The man gives a short glance before shaking his head. He does not, however, look at her son’s jacket again. Which is all Lyanna ever planned to accomplish.
He turns towards her fully and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. “Do you mind if I smoke?” There is no waiting for her reply because he’s already going to the closed door of the living room and pushing it open. Lyanna follows with haste, her son’s name on her lips.
But Oswell has already seen Jon. There’s no saving this. “Jon looks at the two of them in the doorway, a curious look on his face. Unsure of how to proceed and not wishing to frighten the boy, Lyanna waits in tense silence for something to give way. Anything.
And it does.
Whent holds one hand up in harmless greeting. “Hey, there!” He walks in the room and sits down on her couch. “Oswell Whent,” the man introduces himself, hand automatically going for the important ritual considered quite important in the civilised world.
Jon, surprised, but certainly flattered, does not hesitate to respond. “Jon Stark.”
If this were a parallel universe, Lyanna is certain that this is the way she’d be introducing a potential date to her son. Just to accommodate him with the idea. Not that Jon would actually try stopping her. Still, in the context in which this is happening, her heart is just about prepared to burst.
It occurs to her that she’s standing rather uselessly in the hallway, staring at the two. Making her way in, Lyanna gives the guest a harsh look. “Anything I can get you?” she asks begrudgingly. Since he’s here on seemingly friendly terms, she’ll act her part.
“No, thanks.” He pats the available spot next to him. “I was thinking you might be interested in an offer.”
That has her attention. “Jon, you can see the rest of the movie in your room. I have a bit of work to do,” she tells the boy who is already groaning at being sent away. The mother levels him a telling stare. Now is not the time.
But of course, Jon, who has a frightful temper she is sure he didn’t get from her, sits up and in protest dashes to his room, banging the door. Tempted to go after him, Lyanna sits down instead. “I don’t have all night,” she tells Oswell Whent who is observing the scene with a decidedly amused expression. What a smug bastard, she thinks rather meanly. This man deserves to be booted out of her home just for this. If only she could.
“You wound me,” he jests, completely at ease. Is this his modus operandi, importuning women and trying to flirt his way into their good grace? Does that even work? “My boss wants to speak to you about something.”
“Then your boss had best seek me out at my office,” she replies, forgetting for a moment that they are speaking about a rich, smug and possibly slimy character – a Targaryen in other words.
To her distress, Whent actually starts laughing. It’s not a brief show of amusement, but actual laughing. As if she’d just told the best joke this year. “I’m afraid that’s not an option. I’m here to pick you up.”
“And what’s the offer?” Lyanna questions with a heavy voice. She can imagine, but she’d rather hear it.
“The offer is that you come with me quietly and this all goes nicely, talk to the boss and then we all go our own way.” And he says it’s not about the case. Lyanna reckons the guy’s insane. Or lying. Probably lying.
“I could refuse.” This doesn’t serve her very well. Oswell pulls out a gun. She’d be impressed if she weren’t trembling. Are they really the mob?
“You could,” he agrees. “But you won’t.”
Of course she won’t. She’s not insane. “I can’t leave Jon alone.”
“The kid comes with us too. That’s not a problem.” Somehow this doesn’t make her feel better. But she supposes she must do what she must.
“I need to change.” And possibly call Ned. Or text. Which ever she manages.
“Try anything,” the man warns, gun bouncing lightly on his finger.
“As if I would.” It’s just Ned. This is kidnapping. Ned will be able to help. Or so she prays. Damn her for buying an apartment on the tenth floor.
In the end she doesn’t manage to do anything other than put on a semi-respectable outfit. What with the guest loitering in the doorway. So Lyanna sees herself dresses as smartly as she can given the fact that a creepy dude is staring and goes to get Jon. Her son, clearly unaware of what’s going on, has no protest to offer at the small excursion.
And so the three of them leave.
A car is parked outside. There is a man inside. Lyanna has never seen him before in her life and she’s really not interested to know anything about him.
“Where are we going?” Jon asks, hand in hers, his pace relaxed despite her best attempts to subtly hurry him along.
“You’ll see, kiddo,” Oswell answers for her. It’s unnerving, the way he can act as if he’s not the bad guy in all this. And her poor son is actually buying it. And why wouldn’t he? After all, When hasn’t done anything particularly despicable yet. To his knowledge.
Her and Jon climb in the backseat, settled comfortably in a luxurious car. Must these people flaunt the fact that they have money at every given opportunity? Gods damn it. She hates them all. The drive is accompanied by introductions and music on the radio. It’s not even anything sinister. Just some pop songs, contemporary ballads. She could hurl. Lyanna takes Jon’s hand surreptitiously. Unworried, Jon is more concerned with the lights outside than he is with her.
This has escalated at a pace she did not anticipate. Lyanna can safely say she is displeased and frightened at the same time. She’s more scared, true, but she’s also wanting to wrap her hands around Robert’s neck and give it a squeeze; hard. She should have refused to take this case the moment Poole came to her with that file. Why is it that her pride always gets her in trouble?
After what seems like forever, a little over an hour actually, they are out of the city. The sole reason for which she’s not having a heart attack right this moment is because she can see the residential area ahead. At the very last their bodies won’t be dumped in the middle of nowhere. Cold comfort.
“We are nearly there,” Whent lets her know, turning towards her. He gives Jon a brief grin as the car pulls to a stop once a little past massive gates.
To her great surprise, Lyanna is not seeing a palace in front of her. The house they are brought to is a neat looking, modern home, the architecture meant to inspire comfort rather than boast wealth. She steps out of the car, insistently holding onto Jon’s hand, despite the fact that her son keep trying to pull away now that they are out in the open.
The car driver goes on into the garage.
“Come on,” their guide for the moment says, leading them to the door. He doesn’t ring the bell, but simply opens. They are expected.
On the inside, it is mostly the same. There is an air of comfortable familiarity to the light blue walls, the floral pattern seemingly at odds with a criminal mastermind. Lyanna looks around curiously and just as she is about to speak, a boy comes out of a side door, carrying a tray.
This must be the other child. Lyanna is looking into a pair of violet eyes and her heart somersaults. It’s the face and colouring, she tells herself. But there are a lot of Valyrian descendants in the Kingdoms. This means nothing. Suspicious as her mind is, however, doubt is already worming its way inside, an insidious agenda close at hand.
“Jon, this is Aegon,” Oswell proceeds to introduce the boys one to the other. “Hang out together a bit while your mother and I see to some business.”
A tad shy in the face of strangers, Jon accepts the suddenness of the change with only a slightly worried glance to Lyanna. And even that, she suspects, has to do with a refusal on her part. So she nods her head.
“Don’t worry,” Whent tells her after Jon is lured away with a promise of console games from the other boy. “If we wanted you harmed, you would have known it.” How comforting. If she could spit out nails. “Let’s go. The boss is not particularly patient.”
Well, isn’t that just the way to write a script there? After this, she thinks she’ll write a novel. It could sell well. A catchy title would only help. Lyanna hears a crash ringing out from upstairs, her eyes instinctively trained on the presumable point of origin. But Whent seems unconcerned, not breaking pace. So she can’t stop either.
Led into a wide room, Lyanna is instructed to have a seat. She obeys, thoughts travelling to her son. Just because he’s with another child, doesn’t mean he’s safe.
“Something to drink?” Oswell asks her, pouring himself what looks like ale.
While alcohol would probably work to loosen her up a bit, it might well make her more vulnerable. So she simply requests water. If it tastes weir, she’s not taking another sip. What she gets is rose water, because, most probably, tap water or even bottled water is not something that can be found around here. At least it tastes good.
“When you said he wasn’t particularly patient, I expected he’d be here.” Her words produce a smile on the man’s face. She holds back a snort of disbelief. Just how much amusement can he find in her situation?
There is no reply to be had as Oswell looks at his wristwatch, downs the content of his glass and is out the door with surprising speed. Left alone, Lyanna sits up. She’s done enough sitting for the moment.
Looking around the room, she’s wondering whether she can get away with finding a phone. There is not even one in sight. Blast. Technology, never there when she actually needs it.
The misfortune of not having instruments to aid her in an eventual escape cannot be contemplated at length, unfortunately, as her solitude is broken when a man enters the room.
Lyanna’s heart stops. If she were a superstitious person, she might have said that there is a ghost before her. There is no other way to explain the striking similarities that are currently being pointed out and underlined by her very own mind. The tragedy is that she doesn’t seem to have passed the sensibilities of a fifteen year old. And he is still looking much like he had then.
Men and their strange ability. Well, to be fair, there do seem to be some changes. Becoming changes, mind.
This is not helping. Regardless of what Rhaegar Targaryen looks like, as of this moment she’s in deep trouble, because by the determined look on his face he is as aware of her as she is of him. Damn. Is he one of those guys who actually remembers the women he’s been with? That would be just her luck. The one man she doesn’t want to remember her, is the one who does.
And then there’s Jon. The bolt of lightning strikes her. Does he know about Jon as well?
Maybe she can pretend she doesn’t remember him. That could work. They met a party after all. He wouldn’t know that she wasn’t high as a kite when they were together. Surely. That calms her down. Just a bit. Not enough to not jump when he steps towards her.
This is bad.
“I’ve occasionally thought about this,” he gestures towards her loosely, “about seeing you.” Lyanna stares at him dumbfounded. “The circumstances are unexpected.” He moves even closer to her dismay. This is her chance. She should tell him she has no idea what in the hells he is talking about. But she doesn’t. Instead she remains gazing at him.
Rhaegar reached out a hand, his fingertips moving against her wrist. That’s when the paralysis wears off and she actually stumbles backwards in her haste to not be caught. “What do you think you are doing?” Who would have thought that what she’d considered a moderately ill-thought out decision would turn out to be a disastrous one.
“Greeting an old friend,” he replies smoothly, completely unconcerned at the sight of her display. This time she’s not quick enough to evade him. “Lyanna Stark.” He’s testing the name rather than speaking to her just now. “It suits you.”
“I’m glad you think that,” comes her reply imbued with an appropriate amount of sarcasm. “I’ve always wondered if you would think my name suited me.”
He must have misunderstood her meaning because he is smiling. “You and I have some things to discuss.” His hand moves against her wrist, grip tightening enough to guide her back in the chair. “Quite a few, from what I understand.”
Lyanna refuses to dignify that with an answer. The world is crumbling all around her and all she wants is for the ground to split open and swallow her whole. He knows. There is no way he doesn’t. And she is unsure if she can do anything to convince him otherwise. The calm demeanour with which he proceeds to dismantle her is not helping this either. “So?”
“So what?” she returns with more bravery than she is feeling right now. He looks at her rather insistently. “What do you want me to say?” Lyanna cannot help but hiss; ten years later and he can still make her lose her composure without it being a bad thing.
“Why didn’t you say anything that night?” His hand has just released her wrist. Lyanna rubs the limb returned to her possession quite by instinct, her mind searching form an answer. “Why were you even in that place?” Where, to be frank, no high school student should have been.
“Would you have slept with me if I had? And it’s none of your business.” For all she knows, she was one in a long string of women. Lyanna meets his stare with one of her own. This ought to earn her some points with the Warrior at the very least.
The man is smiling again, but this time amusement is absent. “On the contrary. You made it my business the moment you stepped foot in that room with me.” He leans in towards her, caging her body between his forearms. “Was it something planned? A dare? A whim?”
Bleeding hells. Is he trying to make her feel guilty? “You slept with a high school student,” she points out with no qualms. The questions she doesn’t dare tackle.
“Indeed. And as I remember it, she was quite willing.” That’s pushing it. Lyanna gives him a shrivelling glare. He is, of course, unaffected.
“What do you want?” she grinds out with all the elegance of spilled ale. This has to be the most difficult encounter she’s ever had. With anybody.
To her great astonishment the next thing she knows is a clean-shaved cheek against her own. “My son.” It’s the blatant disregard for her own person that has her sheeting. With force she didn’t know she possessed, Lyanna pushes against him. Hard.
“He is not your son.” Her voice is loud and clear, unapologetically determined. For all he knows Jon could be anyone’s. But this approach that she has taken might be hurting her case.
“Is he?” Rhaegar questions. “The dates seem to suggest otherwise.”
The level of ego behind that statement deserves a good set-down. “You are not the only man in the world, contrary to what you may believe.”
“Maybe,” he allows. Lyanna knows she’s lost though. “But I’m the only man you’ve ever been with.” She could lie, but the truth of it is that he’s the only one she did sleep with. Not from any moral standpoint, perhaps not even sentimental one. Yes, she knows there are ways of avoiding adding to the family, but since Jon she has found that even the idea is unappealing.
Rhaegar searches one of his pockets for something. Her eyes drift towards the movement.
In a moment more he pulls on her arm, her palm facing heavenwards. Something cold is deposited there.
She looks at the object, eyes wide. The thin sapphire petals of the silver rose glint happily in the light. “I figured you might want this back.” There is an additional pendant. And suddenly this feels more and more like something it shouldn’t. The silver coiling dragon is perched upon the same chain. “I’m not asking for much,” he says.
Notes:
For all of you who wanted to see Rhaegar. Now tell me you don't want to hit him. :))
Chapter Text
Not much?” Disbelief is a tightly bound chain. Fingers wrapping around the rose pendant, petals digging into her skin. She purposefully lets out the dragon. Breath stopped short, Lyanna stares dumbly at Rhaegar’s face. Her mind still has some catching up to do on it all. It’s not everyday, after all, that she’s picked up from her apartment and spirited away to a house not her own. More so in the face of current company. Indeed, there is much catching up to be done. “You are asking me for everything.”
The man gives her a questioning look at that particular statement. He shakes his head next and pulls away. “Were I demanding everything, you would know it.” Rhaegar takes a seat.
But perhaps that is not the best question to be asking. Lyanna sighs softly. The truth is he hasn’t actually made any demand of her yet. Now knowing what he wants, specifically, makes this all the more difficult. “And if you were to make such demands,” or of any kind really, “what would they be?” In the name of fairness, it stands to reason that she might wish to hear with her own ears. Know thy enemy and all that.
He smiles, an easy upturn reminiscent of a poor-timed jest whispered in semi-lit hotel room, but with enough warmth to it that it looks genuine when one is not searching for signs of amusement. “This is simple, Miss Stark.” The formal manner of address is a bucket of icy water for her. “I want to be allowed to spend some time with my son.”
“Define some time,” she presses, slight concern worming its way through. This is not just any man. She understands the demand. On a purely logical level. The motherly instinct however is another call. Like the mythical wyrm hoarding its treasures, she wants to hold Jon close and share him with no one.
And she well might. As soon as that thought finds its way to the forefront of her mind, Lyanna hauls it backwards, throwing it deep into the recess from whence it came. There are certain boundaries she won’t cross. Though it is said that all is fair in love and war, not all loves can be won like a guerrilla battle.
So she tries her hardest to calm down. And she listens.
“One day of every weekend for now.” One day out of seven. That leaves her with six days. This proposal is not the worst thing ever. That for now on the other hand gives her something to consider. “I can bring him here, or you can. Whichever you want.”
It is at this point that it hits her. She’s been thinking about herself but the problem of Jon, the actual heart of the matter, never even crossed her mind. “He’s just a boy. How do I explain the sudden presence of a father he’s never seen, nor heard of?”
The query doesn’t faze Rhaegar from the looks of it. He leans back in his seat. “So he knows absolutely nothing?”
“I was sixteen and pregnant. For all they dedicate a show to it these days, it’s not the image I wanted my son to have of me.” She clamps up on that subject and all of here partner’s attempt to coax anything more out of her are met with a wall of silence. Raising Jon is something she will always be proud of, but given her experience with the child, Lyanna has long since left the fairy tale land of optimism.
“Then we’ll go slowly.” The words capture her attention. “Let him get used to the situation and tell him after.” A wise course of action. On an adult it might even work. But Jon, Lyanna repeats to herself, is just a child. His reaction is likely to defy logic. And like all children, he’ll transfer the blame from its rightful place towards himself.
“It took you a decade to come up with this plan?” Ten years. And he never looked for them once. “Why choose now of all times? Suddenly discovered a longing?”
Just before a storm breaks out, there is a gathering of clouds and a deep silence. That is what the look on Rhaegar’s face puts Lyanna in the mind of. Fear of thunder, however, does not keep her from maintaining a cool façade. For the moment, that is.
“A couple of days,” he returns without much feeling. “I do not make a point of continuously observing people.” He remains seated even as the door opens and a young girl.
Lyanna looks at the dark haired, bronze skinned teenager with a hint of unease. The girl, however, has no compunction whatsoever to stare at her with a fair dose of distrust. “Mom called,” she says, gaze moving to Rhaegar, “she’ll be here in five.”
It is now that the man leaves his place and goes to the girl, engulfing her in a short embrace. The familiar gesture is returned with a somewhat hesitant air. Lyanna looks away, eyes landing on a tray with its tiny cups. Is he married? And still insisting to be a part of Jon’s life? How does that work?
She can believe that some women are accepting of previous relationships. However, the girl looks to be in her early teens. This means that when Rhaegar was with her he already had a daughter.
But who is she to judge?
The door closes with a sharp sound.
“Your daughter is very pretty,” she says in the end for want of better words. Not even Lyanna knows how much of it is sincerity and how much is a reaction to the shock of being in such close proximity to her.
“Takes after her mother.” The response is followed by him occupying his seat once more. “I want some tests done.”
Unexpected as it is, Lyanna finds the pronouncement insulting. “I thought you said you were sure that Jon is yours.”
Rhaegar merely shakes his head. “They are not for me.” The lack of further information is not inviting enough for her to question. Instead she sits up, eyes remaining on him.
“Every Wednesday afternoon Jon is free. If you can fit it in that interval I have nothing against it.” She’ll do something and clear out her schedule for the day. Maybe she can convince Farman to give her an entire day off. “I want to see my son now.”
“Just a moment, there is something else we should discuss.” Despite the fact that she doesn’t sit back down, he goes on. “You have one more day to giver me your answer on the case you are currently working on. I am willing to hear it now, however.”
It takes her a moment to reign in her impulse as her mouth has already begun to form a refusal. “No. I have three days to think this through and I insist on that remaining so.” It’s not blatant manipulation, of course, but an attempt at it. Which Lyanna is uncertain if she’s avoiding or playing into. Too early to tell, too much so. “You should have done that homework better, my friend.”
To that, Rhaegar gives a thoughtful nod. “Perhaps.” He stands as well and with a wave of the hand calls her to follow.
Just as they step into the hallway the doorbell rings. It seems to be more an announcement of a new presence than a call for attention because the door is open and a woman steps in. Lyanna is instantly struck by the similarities between her and the teenage girl. The one thing she cannot tell is the woman’s age. It’s the out-of-place colourful pattern that clashes with the signs of age.
“Elia,” Rhaegar greets naturally, walking towards what Lyanna can only guess to be his wife. “You are late.”
But Elia merely snorts at that, turning dark eyes towards Lyanna. “And you, as ever, lack in judgement,” Since she cannot detect malice behind that statement, Lyanna can only guess at the jest behind it. “I did not know you had guests.”
Rhaegar merely shrugs. “This is Lyanna Stark,” he introduces her with a slight gesture. “Lyanna, this is Elia Martell.”
The other woman gives a thin smile. “Glad to make your acquaintance,” she says. “I take it you are here on business.”
Recognising probing when she sees it, Lyanna returns a tentative smile, more sharp than inviting. “Something like that,” she answers.
The act she’s observing is in no way imbuing her with unknown information. While there does not seem to be any friction between the two of them, Lyanna senses a certain coolness. As if the past won’t allow for anything other than civil disdain. She takes it that different names imply different lives in this instance and understand the situation all the better for it.
Before more conversation can be exchanged, the brother and sister, those two sharing both parents, and climbing down the stairs with all the grace of stampeding aurochs, greeting upon their lips for the newly arrived mother.
Lyanna looks up in time to see her Jon standing at the top glancing down at her. She beckons him over and he makes his own way down the stairs, skipping them two by two. He waves at Aegon who has turned back to wave as well and Lyanna can sense the trap before it comes.
“Mom, Aegon said I should visit again. Can I?” No. That’s what comes to mind, but before Lyanna can say a thing, the two boys are explaining all at once the virtue of their being together, playing at whatever world-building games hide upstairs. This is, of course, completed with puppy eyes and appropriate whimpers.
And since they’ve gone that extra mile Lyanna can only nod her head, the silent defeat a mark in favour of Rhaegar who is looking for all the world as if he’d been expecting exactly this to happen. The enthusiasm with which her decision is met is cut short by the other boy’s mother announcing their departure. Although parted, the two younger children seem pleased enough with the results of their work. That said, Lyanna realises she is left alone with Rhaegar and Jon.
“I think it would be best if we left as well,” she says but a moment later. “We’ll talk about everything later.” This she means to say to Rhaegar although she can see him nodding. “You’ll have my answer tomorrow.”
“I trust I shall.” And with that as if summoned from the depths of a hellish realm, When appears. “Have a safe journey.” Rhaegar says as Lyanna prepares Jon, helping him into his coat.
Out of all the outcomes, this is among the more benign. Not that Lyanna is convinced she’s off the hook. But for the moment, all is well. And she savours that. As with all good things, it will end. Very soon. So she should enjoy it.
It’s Whent who drives this time, all chatty and full of good cheer. Jon has sparked off a lively conversation with the man which Lyanna won’t be joining anytime soon as her own knowledge of games is limited. But she listens as lists of warriors and weapons are being churned out and moves are being dissected.
Maybe this is a good thing, after all. Jon is actually happy. And it’s not been that long in the presence of these people.
Father has told her time and again that her keeping Jon will affect not only the life she lives but that of her son’s. Perhaps it’s time to actively try for a change. After all, she needn’t have much of anything to do with Rhaegar. There is nothing there. But Jon is his son. Would it not be callow of her to deny him any opportunity of knowing the man? Not to mention that her attempts at stopping this may even fail.
“Mom, you won’t believe what Aegon showed me,” Jon says, pulling on her sleeve. “It was so great.”
This is it. Lyanna is looking at the clock, time slowly ticking by. It’s always been a mystery how exactly humans manage this. She means dilating time or the exact reverse of it. It feels like a thousand years, but it’s only five minutes. The trouble remains, however, that a thousand years is not nearly enough and at the same time not long enough.
At the very least she has her answer ready.
There is a knock on the door. She looks up and invites whoever is on the other side in. Her mind’s already going to Alla’s Good day.
The cure comes swift and sobering as the door opens.
“Oh, comes on!” These are the exact words that leave her mouth. If this is a joke it’s a poorly made one. Her nerves are all over the place now, mostly as an effect of profound confusion.
“One would think you’re not glad to see me,” the man answers.
Well she’s not not glad. But she woke up an hour earlier today, she put on her best suit and even opted for heels. That all this effort should be witnessed by Elbert Arryn must be some cruel joke of the gods. “I am always glad to see your face,” she returns to her brother’s friend nonetheless. “I hope Brandon didn’t send you here on errands again.”
Elbert shakes his head. “I’m here for my boss, love.” There is something there. Lyanna blinks. “I understand you are delivering an answer today.”
Oswell When she would have understood. Rhaegar himself would have pleased her best. But Elbert Arryn, who is working with Brandon, she does not understand. Nevertheless she nods her head, realising by the way he acts that she should not make a scene. “My answer is no. I won’t give up the case. You can tell your boss that.” She wants to ask how Brandon is but this seems to not be the moment.
“Well, I suppose that is it,” the man says. “In that case, my instructions are to let you know that a professional had already been engaged for Wednesday and to expect to be picked up around two.”
“Just like that?” No threats, no weapons, no nothing. Peculiar.
“Just like that.” Elbert searches his pocket for something and hands it to Lyanna. “I’ll see you again on Wednesday.”
He is gone with that. Lyanna unfolds the slip of paper she’s received. Gibberish is written on it. She looks at the senseless string of letters, trying to find out what the message behind them is.
And then it hits her.
Pulling a marker out of her desk she wraps the paper around it with care. The games of childhood.
The spark of amusement dies away as she reads however. There is not much in truth. Not anything that might raise suspicion in many a mind. There is a certain level of prior knowledge required.
It would seem she has found herself a new occupation for the moment. Lyanna sighs.
Sitting down in the chair she hands over the lighter. The silver wolf’s head glints in the light. “I think the best for now is to meet up with her and discuss the situation.” There is not very much she known about Shaena Tragaryen and in order to face this she has to somehow hook the woman.
“You can try,” Robert allows, smoke cloaking him. “But that woman, I tell you, Lya, she might be more of a cold fish Ned’s Cat.” Robert never learns. Lyanna allows him to continue, although she is fairly certain that Ned would not accept the words with such ease.
For all the faults she finds in Catelyn Tully, Lyanna has long since been persuaded that Ned loved the woman. More than a great deal of other people. And that is a good thing for any marriage. The issue aside, her attention returns to Robert.
“There is nothing you’ll get out of her.” Robert signals the waitress and orders himself a beer. Lyanna asks for a water. “I will never understand how you live you life without a single drop of alcohol. Must be a sad existence.”
“Fairly simple. I’m not you Robert.” Alcohol is not a requirement given that she’s running from anything at the moment. “I do believe we are straying.” First Catelyn, now alcohol. What will follow? Aurochs? “You just tell me where I can find her and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Gods, but the man can make her climb walls. She would rather endure one of Jaime’s horrid tales. They are as much of an accident, only morbidly appealing.
“You could check out her workplace. If she’s in. If not, I’m afraid you’ll have to brave the door of her current home.” Why does that not sound pleasant? Lyanna rolls her eyes.
“Another case?” She already has Robert and that’s work enough. By the look on Farman’s face, however, she supposed it doesn’t count. “Fine. I’ll take it.” Whatever it is, it had better not keep her occupied for too long.
She is handed a thick file with what look to be unorganised documents. “Read it,” her stellar boss says without a twinge of concern for the workload he’s just dumped on her. Joy. “I want a strategy on this as soon as possible.”
To argue, or not to argue? That is the question. Whether it is better in the minds of men to keep silent and line their pockets or whether she ought to stand up and refuse.
Lyanna will take that money.
It’s a challenge, this, she suspects and she won’t allow Farman to ever put it about that she can’t pull her own weight. Not in this lifetime.
Once alone, she opens the file and begins to read.
Narcotics. A young woman. A small baby of only nine months.
This is shaping up to be an interesting case as well. At least it’s not murder.
A rape case and drug dealing, all in one sitting. An opportunity, a blessing.
Chapter Text
The blood chills in her veins. Could it be? Lyanna searches the interior pocket of her purse frantically, fingers making a grab for the keys, just to make sure that this is not a figment of her imagination. She can recognise a turned lock when she sees it and this is preposterous. “Jon, dear, I totally forgot to about the juice,” She tells her son, hand moving to take out a few bills.
The multicoloured pieces of paper and handed over to the boy who is already reaching for them. “Mom, this is too much. It’s twice the price.”
“A bottle of juice and the rest is yours to do whatever you want with.” At that pronouncement Jon gives a whoop of joy and wraps his arms around her in gratitude. If only he’d do it for other matters as well, like her working hours on dinner. Or not really because dinner is mostly takeout. Lyanna shakes her head. “Run off now before I change my mind.”
He springs into action not even making his way to the lift. Her son just runs down the stairs as fast as his legs can carry him. Lyanna, in the meantime, returns her attention to the unlocked door and pulls out her keys. She could lock the door and call Ned. Surely whoever’s on the other side can’t escape that way.
Or she could just push her way in and tempt fate.
The sound of something smashing to the ground reaches her ears. Is that her screen? Panic surges through her and before she can think any better, Lyanna has placed one foot over the threshold, keys held tightest between her fingers, and the door closes swiftly in her wake.
“Finally!” a voice speaks out from behind her, making the woman jump with a yelp. “Gods, can you move any slower. And put those down before you injure yourself, dumdum.”
That’s all it takes for recognition to set in. There is only one person in the world who would do something like this. There only one man capable of this much stupidity and liable to leave his brain somewhere far, far behind whenever he comes visiting.
“You’re the worst,” Lyanna mutters under her breath, turning around just in time to have her face firmly planted in her brother’s shoulder. The familiar scent of Jon’s bodywash fills her nostrils even as she struggles to break the bear-hold of her moronic sibling. “Let go!”
Her foot meets his ankle in a move that can only be described as painfully awkward. More so as it turns out to be useless. “You left the door open,” she manages to say. “My door. Open. Do you realise what could have happened?”
Brandon tries to soothe her in his usual manner. By choking the air out of her. “I’ve always loved this about you, sis. Your care knows no bounds. Always so concerned for the rest of us.” The mockery is not making her feel any better. Lyanna, however, is willing to let it slide. Just because of his earlier message “Still practicing your tough love, eh?”
“I will break your kneecap if you don’t let go right now,” she warns, pulling away. This time, her brother is in a good enough mood to indulge her. “You go off for months on end, there’s no sign of life and one day I just wake up with you in my house. What on the seven hells, Brandon?”
“Where’s the kid?” Brandon asks, apparently unconcerned and disinterested in her tantrum. Fuming, the sister slaps his shoulder lightly. “Recalcitrant. You see, this is why men keep a safe distance away from you. To those of us who are not insane, you’re a walking minefield.”
She is just about to retort back something nasty when the door open and a sound of shocked delight reaches her. “Uncle Brandon!” And that is about it as Jon comes to hug his maternal uncle with all the joy of a child on White Winter Day’s eve.
“Kid!” Brandon greets, shaking hands with Jon. “Your mother’s sending you around for errands I see?”
“Of course. I’m the man of the house,” Jon declares, puffing off his chest with sheer unadulterated pride. Lyanna is just standing there wondering where all of this is coming from. All these people suddenly barging in on her perfectly quaint life and tearing it to pieces. Good gods! Primitives. Jon hands her the bottle of juice. “Here, mom.”
“Would you mind terribly if we left you a bit on your own, your mother and I? I want to take her for a short walk outside. Since you’re the man of the house and all,” although he speaks to Jon, Lyanna is the one who meets his amused stare. “If you don’t protest.”
Her son is actually grinning from ear to ear. Like that cat from Alys. “It’s okay, mom, you can go.”
“Oh, may I really?” She acts grateful, only because this is slightly amusing. “Thank you, Jon. I won’t be gone long so don’t even think you can get away with not starting on that homework.”
The boy groans. Lyanna gives him a sweet smile and grabs Brandon’s hand. “Put your coat on.” Her brother rolls his eyes and she already knows what he’s thinking. “You can thank me later,” she goes on just to annoy him. At the very least she can enjoy his presence since her water bill will be much higher this month and her fridge that much emptier.
“Jon, you go start on your work.” With that Lyanna is pulled out the door by an impatient and warmly dressed Brandon and she barely even has time to lock that blasted door. “Where are we going?”
“To a nice little place.” As informative as this is, Lyanna is very close to letting her brother know she would like to be greedy this once and ask for more. “You’ll see when we get there.”
How wonderful. Lyanna nods her head and hurries along. The sooner she can get back, the better for Jon and his homework.
The place she ends up in is one of those seedy bars. Lyanna is fairly certain Brandon is doing this because he wants to pay her back for annoying him. Which she’s not against. She’ll just be nursing a headache. That’s already making her feel great.
Brandon leads her into a booth and orders himself something to drink. “Nothing for me,” she warns. But he has her drinking soda anyway. “Thank you. And now that we’re here, I just want you to know that your note is frightening.”
Brandon takes a mouthful of his drink. “Why do you think I’m enjoying these moments as much as I do?” He nods towards his drinks and raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m glad you didn’t forget it though. I was slightly worried you had.”
“I almost had.” The admission gains her a gasp, a fake one, of course. “You are lucky, very lucky. So, what is this about? I don’t know how I can help you on this.”
“You can help me by telling me whatever you know. Anything will help. This is important.” Brandon gives her one of those looks. “We’ll start it easy. Why is he interested in you?”
“Because I’m a fairy.” Her deadpan is met with an empty stare. “Okay. It’s because of a past entanglement.”
It takes him a moment but his face glows slightly red. “Gods, please don’t tell me,” he trails off, looking for all the world as if she’s just kicked him. “I cannot believe this. Tell me this isn’t true.”
“First you want me to tell you and then you don’t. I’ll answer when you make up your mind.” Taking a sip of her own drink, she waits for him to digest the information. It’s one of those situations, she thinks, in which there is not much to say, but at the same time very much to explain. So Lyanna leans back and prays the higher beings this ends well. As well as can be expected anyway.
“He’s Jon’s father. Lyanna, how? How did you manage that?” Her brother sighs. “Do you know who he is?”
“Unfortunately. I’m not on board with this Brandon. He is who you said he is and the only things I can tell you are those you already know.” After all, she is not the one doing an investigation here. “I’m meeting him on Wednesday. He wants to do a paternity test.”
“So that’s why the old man hightailed it to King’s Landing. Look, Lya, these guys, they’re dangerous.” He leans in. “Let me take care of the results.”
Her first instinct is to deny. “Do you think you can actually do it?” Her head is already shaking. “He already knows, Brandon.”
Raking his fingers through his hair, her brother curses softly. It’s Lyanna’s turn to lean in. “How dangerous exactly are these people?”
Brandon laughs. “I don’t think you want to know that.”
This seems to be teamwork. It has to be teamwork. Lyanna throws Whent a sullen look. In the hopes that when they are done with her she won’t be picking herself off the ground, Lyanna enters the taxi, the door closing behind her. Jon is already chatting away, to her grief, and she can only keep thinking of what Brandon has told her all the way to the clinic.
To make this event even less pleasant, she now knows how her first meeting with the adversary side will go. Just delightful. There is no other way she can think of to describe this. At the very least, there will be no Robert to worry about here. Not for the moment.
The clinic of Rhaegar’s choice is a well-known reputable place. She cannot protest it even if she would wish to. Now she’s beginning to regret telling her brother that he can try his scheme. What if he’s caught? The worst that can happen to her, with the current laws if that she’ll have to share custody. Not a horrible fate.
The worst that can happen to her brother is that he’ll end up in some gutter with all his teeth missing and a lack of organs. Now that is a horror tale she will never be ready to hear.
“So,” Whent cuts into her line of thought, “I heard you refused the boss.” It’s truly lucky that the taxi is pulling over, wad of bills already in the driver’s hands.
Jon steps out of the car without waiting, so Lyanna actually has time to answer. “I did. What about it?”
The man gives her a lopsided smile. “You’ll see soon enough.” Even if these people did not frighten her, Lyanna still thinks they would have made her uncomfortable. “Come along now. We can’t keep everyone waiting.”
No, but she can certainly try. Lyanna does not attempt to however. Time to get this over with.
Everyone turns out to be just a couple of men and a woman. The first she recognises is Rhaegar, of course. Lyanna makes a point to give him a hard stare. The woman on his arm, of similar built and colouring, is much too young to be the matriarch of the family. So now that she’s finally seen Shaena, Lyanna understands Robert a little bit better. She does look like the sort of woman who dropped out of the very sky. The moon maybe.
“Miss Stark and Jon,” Rhaegar greets, parting from his sister. “Allow me to make the introductions.” Lyanna allows him to take her by the hand. “This is my father, Aerys Targaryen and my sister, Shaena.” The other woman waves. Rhaegar gives Lyanna a knowing look. “Father, sister; Lyanna and her son, Jon.”
Aerys clears his throat. “I do believe this is long overdue.” He shakes hands with both her and Jon, much to her surprise and even more staggering is the fact that he doesn’t look at all dangerous. In fact, she would be more worried at having someone of Brandon’s built on the attack than him. “I believe you’ll be pleased with the service of this clinic, Miss Stark, was it.”
He’s making a point. Lyanna gives a brief nod and delivers her acceptance. “Since this is necessary. Come one, Jon, I’ll take you in.”
But a nurse is already approaching them. “Are we ready to proceed then?” she questions after the necessary introductions, stating that she’ll be Jon’s guide for the time being. With the mild manner he exhibits around strangers Jon does not refuse, and so, Lyanna finds herself cornered.
“Father, perhaps you could help me with this,” Shaena breaks the silence. The eldest Targaryen throws his daughter a telling look but does not refuse her. “I’ll never get the hang of it.”
With this amount of privacy, Lyanna is not very taken aback when Rhaegar invites her to sit down. “I haven’t told her you’re working on Robert’s case yet. I might be persuaded to give you a bit more time to change your mind.”
The gall. Lyanna holds back a sign. “You can give me all the time you like,” she responds coolly, “it’s still not going to happen. I don’t let cases go.”
“You’ll let this one go,” he promises. “Eventually.” The chilling effect of that last word has her bones tingling.
“Good gods! What is your problem?” she hisses, unable to hold back. “I am doing my job. You keep out of that. There is no conceivable excuse for this sort of behaviour.”
His knowing stare annoys her further. It’s the words that do her in though. Rhaegar leans in slightly. “There are things out there, Lyanna Stark, that you know nothing about. Things you don’t want to know about. There are a thousand other cases you can work on, great profile, a lot of money.”
And then it hits her. “It was you, wasn’t it? You send me that narcotics case?”
“It’s only fair,” he says.
Notes:
Right. So apparently, I'm a bit late on this, but just saw the Amy incident. The internet is an anvil,
In that spirit, the next chapter will be dedicated to out-of-place, horrid, not-safe-material jokes.
Those of you who know you'll flip, don't read the chapter. I'll provide a summary on the next one. Just wanted to let you know.
Chapter Text
Before her sits the most arrogant man on the face of the Earth. Of that much Lyanna is certain. “Let me be clear on the matter,” her quiet voice fills the space between them, “I am willing to allow, and even encourage a relationship between you and Jon if those tests of yours come along well. But that is the extent to which your relationship goes with me as well. You are not my husband, or my boyfriend or anyone, really, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Of course. I am only the father of your child,” he replies just as snidely as she has delivered her lines. “You know absolutely nothing, Lyanna Stark, and for your own good, I hope you never find out.”
She snorts. “Spare me, septa. Had you wanted to keep me out of trouble, you would have never approached me.” Nonetheless, even on the scant knowledge she has to go by, Lyanna does realise he is on to something. It’s not entirely comfortable and nothing that she wants to admit to. “I am a woman of my word. There is an understanding between Robert and I.” This she is willing to give.
Of course it’s more her own stubbornness that keep her on the trail more than anything else. She wonders, even as she catches from the corner of her eye a small jerky movement from Rhaegar, if he realises that. The thought that he might, even for a moment, entertain a notion which might produce the tiniest twinge of reaction is pleasing. Flattering even. But just as soon as she’s seen it, it’s gone. He’s back to that calm, even pleasant mien that gives her little to go on.
What he does next comes as a surprise, in so much that Lyanna never really considered the possibility. “Then let us see which one of us wins this.” There is no challenge to be met. His curious stare lingers on her face for a few moments before moving away on what Lyanna assumes to be a far more comfortable point. Not that this makes it any easier to bear for her. As far as she’s concerned this whole thing is turning into a monster.
Just like that, the issue is pushed to the back as Rhaegar ploughs on as if they weren’t disagreeing a few moments past. “I assume you don’t take issue with my having him on the weekends from now on.” He says it as if he’s so sure that the tests will come out as he wants them to. Lyanna nearly rolls her eyes. Very nearly.
“I thought we’d agreed on this. Mind, I still think it will be a shock to him.” And what a shock. She knows it’s not fair to her son that she’s been hiding from him the circumstances of his birth. Well, not realty hiding, as never making mention of it. But does one tell their child a fit of pique is the origin of a miracle? It seemed cruel to her to ever say that, and even now the notion remains that she mustn’t put it like that. To spare Jon’s feelings. And her own besides.
“Which is why you’ll be coming along too.” Of course she will. Lyanna gives a nod. Father of her child or not, she has to make sure it’s all safe. As safe as can be. While Brandon’s very explicit exposition of the man’s exploits leaves no doubt that Rhaegar Targaryen is about as safe as the slums of Volantis on a bad day, business and family seem to be separated. As good as the impression is, she feels the need to make sure it remains so even when she turns her back.
“How long will it be?” she asks after a moment of silence, nodding her head towards the direction Jon has been led in. “The results,” she clarifies. The process of collecting whatever they need to collect, she suspects, won’t take more than half an hour, and even that is a stretch.
“We’ll know by tomorrow.” The answer gives her pause. The relief filling her makes her sick. A day is not nearly enough for her brother to tamper with anything. That she should feel anything other than regret is unwelcomed. In a sense it is telling. Lyanna looks at Rhaegar quizzically.
A decade ago, he’d been just a handsome stranger willing to help her out of a pinch. He’d also been that bit of adventure she’d wanted in order to forget. “They work fast,” Lyanna allows. Too fast. That she doesn’t say. Either way, the result will be the same of they work on it for four days or one.
“It’s just as well.” Rhaegar leaves her side, calling his sister over. Shaena skips, actually skips, towards them. It’s difficult to place the unease surfacing, but this behaviour makes her wonder. “Keep Miss Stark company for a bit. I have something to see to.”
The sister’s agreement is swift and before Lyanna knows it, she’s sharing a bench with the enemy, as it were, and engaged in conversation. “Awfully nice of you to actually come here all calm like.” The blonde says, giving Lyanna a small smile. She looks back over her shoulder, as if to make sure they’re not being listened to. As if anyone would be interested. Lyanna holds back the desire to roll her eyes. “I expected you’d be different.”
“Did you?” The wry question doesn’t seem to bother Shaena. In fact, the other woman makes herself comfortable and nods her head. Gods help them all.
“Yes, rather. It’s not everyday that a situation like this springs up. And to think we never even suspected.” Lyanna shrugs at that. Shaena continues to prattle on, her voice soft and lilting, pleasant enough to provide background noise as far as Lyanna’s concerned. “Not even Elia suspected it and she’s a sharp wit.”
“Elia?” Lyanna echoes. The name sounds familiar.
Shaena gives a small nod. “When she and Rhaegar were married, I don’t think there was ever a time when she couldn’t finish his sentences.”
That Elia. Suddenly alert, Lyanna looks with a new light in her eyes towards Rhaegar’s sister. “It sounds as if they were a good match.” Finishing each other’s sentences indeed. The irrational irritation is not long lived though.
“So we all thought,” the other shrugs, as if there’s not much to say on the issue. “Rhaegar never did show any signs.” This is not so much said to Lyanna as it is said to the air around them. “How did you meet my brother? He’s been so secretive about this whole thing.”
To tell or not to tell. Even if she’s not particularly interested in what this woman thinks about her, Lyanna finds herself wanting to avoid answering. “Perhaps you should be pressing your brother a little more if you really wish to know.”
Shaena frowns. Thankfully she does not insist on an answer. Instead her attention shifts to something else entirely. To her buzzing phone that is. Lyanna holds back the instinct to peer down. It’s none of her business what messages and with whom Rhaegar’s sister exchanged. Although, a sly voice goes on to tempt her, it might help if she made it her business. Lyanna suspects she might have gone through with it if it was not at this particular point that Jon was led back towards them.
Her son doesn’t look any worse for wear. And that’s all good and well, but Lyanna can’t help but scowl ever so gently when Aerys comes to stand next to her. “There are some thing I would like to go over with you, Miss Stark.” It strikes her that his manner is very similar to Rhaegar’s; from her vantage point at any rate. She supposes he means that they will be having this conversation right about now too by the look on his face.
Much as she would like to deny him any such chance Lyanna gives him a nod. “There is a place close by,” the man is saying as Jon takes her hand.
“Sounds good to me,” she hears herself say. And Lyanna even pastes a smile on her face. Like this could get any worse. That are degrees to it, to be sure, and if she were rational, Lyanna might discover that there are worse things (body bags come to mind for one, but then she’s always had this overactive imagination at the first sign of a threat); fortunately for her, however, she’s willing not to entertain the notion.
And to her never-ending gratitude Rhaegar, the prince of all that is generous and kind, in a mostly sarcastic manner though the thought might fit, returns. Lyanna is oh so very tempted to lash out that she can barely hold herself back. These people have a way of irking her and she cannot quite put her finger on why that is.
The short exchange that follows clears up mostly everything, from the fact that Jon is done for the day to the promise of food, which her son actually grins at. Lyanna really thought she’d raised him better. Apparently, her little wolf is more of a stray cat than anything else, lure him in with food and he’ll be quite happy to march blindly on. Now, of course, there is little Lyanna can say to this, except maybe that she’ll have some cake too, because if she refuses the gods only know what yowling will fill the apartment for days.
It’s him that actually comes to her. In person. Lyanna would swoon if she were in one of those gods-awful romance novels. As it is, she clenches her jaw against the onslaught of emotions when she sees him standing in the door of her office and reaches out for her mug. “Do come in,” she invites tersely, staring over his shoulder to a second figure in the hallway. Must be one of his henchmen. As soon as the thought is filtered through her mind, Lyanna cannot help but smile. Henchmen. This makes his sound like some villain. Which he might be.
Rhaegar enters with a curt nod and closes the door behind him. Lyanna watches him survey the stacks of papers and the pieces strewn across her desk. “Keeping busy?” The question wakes a flicker of guilt within her. She is not, in fact, working. Or at least not on what she was supposed to be working on.
Nonetheless she nods and gestures towards the sofa. “Have a seat.” What she wants to do is a little more complicated; it involves a great many actions from yelling to shaking him. “I guess they really did move fast with those results. Have you–” She means to ask if she’s the first to know, but given the eagerness displayed by Aerys Targaryen, she stops herself short. Best not to be disappointed about the whole matter.
Her guest produced a sealed envelope and waves it briefly before her. “Let’s find out together, shall we?” Most couples would not be doing anything like this in a million years. Then again, most couples would not need such a test. And the two of them, Rhaegar and she, are most definitely not a couple. What is she thinking?
Enthusiasm about as pronounced as for a visit to the dentist’s Lyanna agrees. “No need to keep stalling.” She reaches out with her free hand, fully expecting that he will draw away. Instead, her fingers land on his hand, warm skin beneath her fingertips. This would be so much nicer in different circumstances. She stares into his face, waiting for him to do something. Her fingers curl around his hand, anticipation coursing through her veins.
It’s only at this point that he pulls away, hand, warmth and envelope, all at once. Lyanna leans back in her seat and says nothing. Was it some sort of test? Did she pass?
“I wanted to have some privacy for this.” If he’s explaining his presence in her office by this, Lyanna must point out that her presence infringes on that privacy of his. “And I thought you should know this first.” Absurd. Lyanna already knows who Jon’s father is.
“I understand.” She says it more to fill the silence. He confuses her, a great deal too much. “Go on then.” Having grown up with three brothers, she trusts that he does mean what he says. But their lack of closeness makes it all a bit suspicious. At the very least it’s unsettling.
The thick paper is held together with a strip of tape, solid coloured, reliable. Lyanna watches with baited breath as Rhaegar’s finger hooks beneath the light brown paper. She listens to the sound of it ripping and watches it come apart, paper curling inwards, revealing soft-looking, pristine content. She can make out the print, neat, official-like. Given the papers are held upside down she cannot see what is written. But she can guess.
“Well?” Despite knowing exactly what those papers will say, she still finds herself trembling lightly. Lyanna still hasn’t heard from her brother, so she can only assume he’d failed if he even had the time to attempt any manipulations of results. There is no going back from this. And she expects that it is for the best.
Rhaegar looks up from the papers. “If you would give me a moment to read.” The dry little smile he has for her makes Lyanna want to hit something. Preferably him. This walking cliché of a handsome novel hero; simply infuriating. She endures his stare however and allows him to return to reading quietly. And then that smile on his face falls away.
For as brief moment, a surge of sickness courses through Lyanna. Her heart beats a tattoo against her chest and a frail tendril of hope accompanied with a dash of deep regret make her dizzy. The sort of light-headedness that usually encourages a visit to a doctor’s.
The papers are lowered until they sit on his lap. Rhaegar is looking at her now, dark eyes surveying her face. “He’s mine. No doubt about it.” Is that disappointment she’s feeling? Disappointment at not having more of a reaction out of this man? No, of course not. If she were disappointed, and she isn’t, then it would have had to do with Jon being his at all.
Her conscience happily reveals her to be a liar. Lyanna holds her hand out. “Let me see those.” It’s not like she can deny the results. However, she can make a show of analysing them. If only to spare her pride as much as she can.
As expected, it’s all there, black on white. “I suppose we’ll see one another this weekend then.” She gives him back the results and stands up. He follows her lead. But instead of replying he takes one step closer. “What are you doing? No, really. What are you doing?”
It must be a very difficult question to answer because he gives a mere shake of the head and his hand reaches out to settle on her shoulder. “Somehow this makes it all the more real. I’d have had doubts otherwise, but this way; well, there are none.”
It’s good to know he’s neither addled, nor as cocky as she first thought him. Still, Lyanna shrugs off his hold. She wants to say something smart and cutting; something that will slay him on the spot. What she does manage is a weak sound stuck somewhere in the back of her throat.
“If you are done.” She feels as if she’s going to start crying.
“At least you weren’t stupid enough to deny them,” Jaime says, stirring sugar into his coffee with that natural grace of the Lannister clan. Lyanna hates him also. She hates a lot of people these days. “It could have been worse.” And now he’s looking her up and down. “Rhaegar Targaryen, eh?”
“Oh gods, Jaime. Don’t start.” When she unburdened herself to him, Lyanna did not expect this reaction. “I swear that if you dare laugh.”
“Why would I laugh?” He’s scowling now, as if there is something wrong with her. “But you can’t fault a man for being surprised. I knew you then, remember?” She wants to ask what that is supposed to mean but stops herself. Jaime can be a blabbermouth when it suits him. “And you know what? I knew Elia Martell as well.”
“What are you saying?” She plops herself down next to him. All the easier to strangle him from this spot. Her homicidal tendencies are met with an empty stare. “Did I stutter?” Has he suddenly been struck dumb? There are times when Lyanna seriously considers putting to good use all the accumulated knowledge of crime that she’s gained. It’s not much, granted, but it’s enough to get away with murder. And it’s so very tempting.
“I’m saying,” her friend starts, the emptiness bleeding out from those green eyes, “that I knew his wife. And trust you me, that is not a woman a man would leave just like that. She just isn’t.”
“So, I was the rebound.” A little bit of fun. And yet he still broke up with Elia Martell.
“I didn’t say that,” Jaime protests, holding one hand up. “It’s not that easy. Look, if you really want to know what went down, stick around and find out. But whatever it was, I bet it was serious.”
Of course it was. People don’t just break up over nothing then go out and imbibe. “I don’t think I want to find out.” Best that she doesn’t, in fact. She might end up caring. Or she might end up supremely disturbed. Neither option is appealing. “Yes, I really don’t want to know.”
“Smart girl.” He smiles at her. “Try to keep this in mind when you do get the urge to look into this further.”
It takes her a moment to get it. And the she bristles. “You are incorrigible. I hope you that much.”
“And more,” he drawls, not at all bothered by her flimsy accusations. “At least I know to keep my nose out of other people’s business.” The cup is placed on the saucer with a loud sound. He’s smiling, which does take away some of the sting. “Keep your eyes open, Stark, and you just might make it.”
“Your trust in me is heart-warming.” Just about. Lyanna sits up. “I think I understand now why you can’t get a date.” And she’s smiling as well despite the lack of grace with which Jaime meets her pronouncement.
“You are a harpy,” he announces swiftly.
“Perhaps.”
Notes:
So, no inappropriate jokes unfortunately. But you did just read a new chapter. Hopefully, you had fun with this.
Ta' until next time.
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