Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13424277.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Lyanna_Stark/Rhaegar_Targaryen, Catelyn_Stark/Ned_Stark, Jon_Arryn/Lysa
      Tully, Stannis_Baratheon/Cersei_Lannister, Rhaegar_Targaryen/Original
      Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Lyanna_Stark, Ned_Stark, Arthur_Dayne, Irulan_Targaryen_(OC), Stannis
      Baratheon, Jaime_Lannister, Visenya_Targaryen, Rhaenys_Targaryen, Aegon
      Targaryen
  Additional Tags:
      House_Targaryen, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Robert's
      Rebellion
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-20 Chapters: 1/? Words: 4008
****** Dragon's Patrimony (this crown of blood and gold) ******
by Aurora_Martell, The_Jingo_(The_King_in_White)
Summary
     All it takes is a dragon. Just one.
  This work was inspired by
      Winter_to_Spring by margaerystark, rebeccavis
Ever since the war began, Princess Irulan Targaryen's world had been fading
away; as if it were dust being swept away by wind.
The first blow had been when her husband abducted Lyanna Stark, prompting
Brandon and then Lord Rickard himself to come to King's Landing seeking
justice. They'd been murdered brutally by Irulan's own father as the man
watched and laughed.
Then the realm had rose in rebellion, thousands of men dying for Rhaegar's
foolishness until at last her husband and Robert killed each other in the
waters of the Trident.
After Robert's death at the Trident, Aerys had expected the rebels to fall
apart. Instead, the rebel army marched to the gates of King's Landing in the
name of Stannis Baratheon, the besieged Lord of Storm's End.
When the news of the rebels' march had reached her father's ears, he'd raged
and declared that Stannis would only be king of bones, blood and ashes. To
Irulan's shock, her father had then ordered his pyromancer, Lord Rossart, to
hide kegs of wildfire all over King's Landing, which Rossart was to ignite as
soon as Stannis' army arrived at the gates.
Fortunately, Jaime Lannister was able to stop her father from carrying on with
the plan by driving his sword through the king's back; then hunting down and
putting the pyromancers to the sword. That deed had saved the city and earned
the Kingsguard knight the moniker of Kingslayer.
The most relieved with the news of Aerys' death had been her mother, the
Dowager Queen Rhaella, with Princess Irulan herself a close second.
After her father's death, the Small Council had decided that the Princess would
sit the Iron Throne in the name of her son Aegon, until he was old enough to
take the throne himself.
With the city secure, Irulan had sent a raven to Mace Tyrell ordering the
buffon to leave a token force besieging Storm's End and immediately march north
to reinforce the capitol. A second raven, in Jaime Lannister's hand, had been
sent to Lord Tywin.
With at least one army close at hand to save the city, Irulan could afford to
carry on the war. However, after so much death she was eager for peace, and a
third message was sent to Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn requesting a negotiation
for peace.
Hence why she was currently sitting in a cramped weather-stained tent, hastily
erected in front of the Dragon Gate, waiting for the rebel leaders.
Tan linen shifted, and then Ned Stark stepped warily into the tent, sharp grey
eyes searching as the Lord of Winterfell looked to every corner for ambush and
treachery.
Ned had come alone, arguing fiercely with Jon until the Lord of the Eyrie
agreed that only one of them would meet the possibly mad daughter of the Mad
King. If the Targaryens betrayed their promises of safe conduct, the rebel
cause would still have at least one lord free and able to direct its armies.
And of the two of them, it was Ned that was more expendable. Jon had no heirs,
while Ned had both Benjen and his newly born son.
Satisfied that there were no knives waiting in the corners, Ned clenched his
jaw and finally looked directly at Rhaegar's widow.
Irulan Targaryen was a small woman, short and slim despite bearing three royal
children. Unlike the pure moonbeam silver crowning the rotting corpse of her
brother-husband that Ned had ordered brought with them from the Trident, she
had a touch more of the Valyrian gold. Her eyes were paler than Rhaegar's too.
But despite the differences in features in sex, all Ned could see was him, and
his blood boiled.
It rankled the Quiet Wolf to treat with the daughter of the man that had
murdered his brother and father. It stung him to treat with the wife of the man
that had stolen away his sister and slain his foster brother. But rather than
give voice to the rage burning in his chest, Ned forced his temper to cool into
a brittle icy anger. "My lady." he greeted, frigid and deliberately rude, not
even acknowledging the crown her father had worn nor the royal authority she'd
assumed.
"I believe my proper title is Queen Regent, Lord Eddard." Irulan corrected him
with a sigh, looking at him in the eye. "Come, take a seat."
Part of Ned wanted to remain on his feet simply to spite the woman, but the
rest of him knew it would only make him look like a fool. "That remains to be
seen." he disagreed, crossing the small tent with a creak of his worn leather
jerkin. "Mayhap one day I might be obligated to acknowledge you as such, but in
this moment I only accord that honor to His Grace, Stannis of the House
Baratheon." Having thrown that metaphorical gauntlet down, the Warden of the
North took a seat and stared at the Targaryen with the barely hidden
malevolence of the wolf.
"I am not my father, Lord Eddard." Irulan said quietly. "I was just as
horrified as the others when the madman I once called Father burned your own
father alive. Try as I might, I could not dissuade Rhaegar from pursuing your
sister, despite me giving him the three children he wanted. Bend the knee to
King Aegon, and I will allow you to return North to your wife and son. I
promise you will be pardoned, and there will not be any animosity between our
Houses."
"You will allow me." Ned began slowly, his hands clenching until he was sure
his nails would pierce the hide of his gloves and draw blood. "My Father is
burnt alive, my brother garroted to death trying to save him,, my sister
missing and most like raped by your husband, my House shamed and dishonoured,
and the blood of thousands soiling the land - and you will allow me to lay down
my arms and run home like a craven to save my own skin."
"I only ask you bend the knee." She replied. "If you choose to remain a rebel,
your titles will be stripped and given to someone more loyal to the crown."
Ned couldn't help it. He laughed, open and loud and cruel. "Oh will they? With
what armies do you enforce this? Rhaegar's Dornishmen? We broke them utterly on
the Trident. The river still runs red with their blood. The Greyjoys? They've
declared for King Stannis and are reaving the Mander as we speak. Lord Tywin?
Jon has just written to the man to make a match between his daughter Cersei and
Stannis. He might not fight for us so long as you hold his son, but he
certainly won't fight for you. Mace Tyrell? We'll smash that oaf against the
walls of the very city he'll try to defend. Perhaps you'll finally hatch a
dragon's egg?"
The Stark lord gave one more mocking chuckle before shedding the forced levity
like an old cloak, leaving nothing but steel in his voice and ice in his eyes.
"Do you think me a fool, woman? You have nothing. Insult me like this again and
the only peace I'll have for you is the sword."
How did she get this stubborn man to kneel? How could she save her son's
kingdom? Irulan took a deep breath, thinking. Perhaps news of Lyanna would cool
his temper.
"I have heard news of the Lady Lyanna, Lord Stark." Irulan finally announced
calmly. "She has recently returned from Dorne. My brother married her beneath
the weirwood trees in on the Isle of Faces, shortly after the Tourney of
Harrenhal. She has given birth to a son and survived the ordeal, thank the Old
and New Gods. So while my brother dishonoured your House, as you say, there was
no rape."
"They were wed?" Ned nearly gaped, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. Taking
two wives was unusual, but not unheard of for a Targaryen. And Ned had been at
Harrenhal as well to witness his sister weeping over Rhaegar's music; neither
did Ned forget the times Lyanna had declared her disdain for Robert as a
suitor. Yes, he could see it. "And a babe as well."
But then, if Lyanna had chosen to run off with Rhaegar, why not leave a note?
The rage flared back up in Ned, hotter than ever before at the realization of
the truth, and he brought both fists down on the table with a thundering crash.
"Why did they not leave a note, or explain themselves? Did they have empty
heads? The fools! My father, my brother, my friends - all sacrifices on the
altar of their egos. The Seven Kingdoms fought and bled, all of it for
nothing!" by the end Ned's voice had raised to a vicious shout.
"I cannot speak for my brother, but I am sure Lady Lyanna can explain it to you
once she arrives in the Red Keep." Irulan replied, fighting the urge to
nervously chew her lip.
Ned's answer was savage and wounded, coloured by the feeling of betrayal
welling up in his gut. "I will have the written proof of this union, and if
things are as you say, I want neither word nor sight of that woman. She is no
kin of mine."
"If I give you the written proof of my brother's marriage to Lyanna, will you
bend the knee?" She wrung her hands, lowering her eyes to the ground. What will
become of my children if Stannis Baratheon marches into King's Landing? She
thought, her mind filled with worry for her babes.
Ned sighed, slipping off his glove to ran a hand over his bearded face. If
Lyanna had truly been willing, and the war had truly been the consequence of
tragic idiocy...
Darkly, he wondered what the Targaryen women thought of the sight of him, half
wild and still garbed with the iron scent of their bloody campaign. Abruptly,
he felt exhausted, drained of anger and left with nothing but the dregs of
resignation. "If my sister was willing, and if you can provide proof of this...
we have terms."
"What terms would you ask for?" She asked, unable to keep her hands from
trembling.
For a moment, Ned felt an overwhelming sense of fear. Who was he to dictate to
the Iron Throne? In the end, Ned was just the second son, who had never been
destined for anything. Brandon was the one who ought to be sitting at the table
demanding justice, not him.
But yet, who else was there but Ned? Brandon was dead, Hoster Tully wounded at
the Trident and recovering in the Riverlands, Jon had given full authority in
the matter to Ned, and Stannis was still besieged behind the walls of Storm's
End.
"First, we will have amnesty. Whatever Lyanna has done, your Father still
murdered a Lord Paramount and his heir without fair trial, as was their right.
There will be no punishment laid against our Houses, those Houses that fought
for us, nor for the smallfolk who marched under us. Nor will you lay charges
against Houses that fought in your father's name, nor even those that fought
for no one. Aye, even Tywin will go unmolested by whatever sad excuse for
justice your family might have thought to bring against him."
With her heart almost leaping out of her chest from the fear she felt of what
would come next, Irulan nodded before asking, "What of Lyanna?"
Ned's lip curled. "Keep her in the capitol, send her to Dorne, exile her to
Essos, I care not, so long as she never comes north of the Neck. All I will you
to do is preserve the claim of her boy as equal in the line of succession to
your own, as he blameless despite his mother's reckless selfishness." His anger
at Lyanna was fierce, but Ned knew the boy had no choice in the manner of its
conception, and that any child of Lyanna's womb was still of his blood.
"She will be well-cared for." Irulan said. "I will not harm her, I promise."
Thinning his lips, Ned considered the silver haired woman with half-lidded grey
eyes. "Second, the crown will pay to House Stark a sum of fifty thousand gold
dragon's each for the death of my father and brother. Gold is a poor substitute
for living kin, but perhaps with it I might do some good in their names." It
was a heavy fine - a King's ransom in truth - and enough to hire an army of
sellswords for a short campaign, but Aerys' frugality had been legendary, and
he knew House Targaryen could bear the cost.
"It will be done, Lord Eddard." Irulan replied.
Inwardly, Ned marveled at how easily the young woman agreed to his demands. Was
she sincere in her guilt, or merely spineless? Regardless, for second time in
the span of the Targaryen dynasty the Hour of the Wolf had come to King's
Landing, and just like Cregan before him, Ned intended to take his pound of
flesh. "Third, the boy Viserys will be a ward in the Eyrie until his age of
majority. And if Jon Arryn should die before then, he will be a ward in
Winterfell. And if I should die, he will go thence to Riverrun with Lord Tully,
and then to Storm's End with Stannis Baratheon. And if we all should die before
then, he will go to the custody of Tywin Lannister."
Ward was little more than a polite term for hostage, and gaining custody of
Viserys Targaryen was leverage and a threat. Further misdeeds from the crown
could trigger the boy's execution, and most poisonously, if the dragons thought
they could hire enough assassins to kill four Lord Paramounts, the prince would
go to Tywin and most like be crowned a pretender king against the babe Aegon.
As soon as she heard Eddard speak of fostering Viserys in the Eyrie, Irulan's
cheeks paled and a hand went to her heart. "Viserys is only a child." She
explained. "He will miss his mother, like any child would."
"Prince Viserys has seen six name days." Ned instantly countered. "I had
reached eight myself when I was sent to foster with Lord Arryn. Six name days
at the knee of your mad father is long enough."
"Will I be allowed to visit him?" She asked, trembling.
The expression Ned gave her was completely baffled. "If you meet the terms, and
if we lay down our arms and kneel, you will be the Queen Regent." He explained
slowly, watching the girl carefully - because that's what she suddenly became
in his eyes; this tender girl of sixteen name days. "It is not for the Lords to
dictate where you might go within your own Kingdom."
"I agree to your terms. The gold will be sent to the North, and my brother will
go to the Eyrie as soon as possible."
"That is good." Ned sighed, almost feeling guilty as he considered the young
mother. "But we have yet more terms. I could leave this tent, marshal my men,
and storm the city before Mace Tyrell arrives. Your dynasty is in our hands,
and it would be remiss of me not to use that advantage." Even saying that made
Ned feel dirty, naked blackmail as it was, but he reassured himself that the
few terms he had in mind would be in the end beneficial to all - even to the
Targaryens themselves.
"Speak." Irulan allowed, feeling the slow burn of anger in her blood. The wolf
was tempting fate if he thought to make a puppet of her son.
Quirking one corner of his mouth up in a half-hearted attempt at a smile, Ned
slipped his other glove off and threaded his hands together. "The prohibition
against incest will bind your House just as much as it does mine. The
Targaryens are not gods, only men, and incest is an abomination. No man in the
Seven Kingdoms will marry closer kin than cousins. No doubt the generations of
incest were the root of your father's madness."
"It can be done." The Queen Regent agreed, surprised at the seemingly random
demand. She hadn't taken Eddard Stark to be the godly sort.
Surprised at the lack of resistance to the ban of a traditional Targaryen
practice, Ned drew his brows together in thought. "Another problem I wish to
address is the distance between the North and the South. What do you Southrons
know of the Wolfswood? What is the blood and bronze of the First Men here
beyond a story? We Northerners are part of this realm, and yet in most ways a
kingdom apart. So from now on a Northman will always sit on the Small Council.
You may select him yourself, and give him whichever position fits your fancy,
but he must be of the North. Hopefully, this will prevent further
misunderstandings."
"A Northman?"
"Aye."
"Currently, we have no Hand of the King." Irulan explained, knitting her brows
together and smiling softly. "Who would you recommend for the position?"
"You have no Master of Coin either, and mayhap Hand of the King is too
ambitious." Ned pointed out, feeling the urge to deal fairly with the woman.
Lord Chelsted had held the position before being named Hand of the King by
Aerys and then burnt alive, and he had heard no man being named as Chelsted's
replacement.
"If you asked my thoughts on it, Jon Arryn would be an able Hand. As to the
Small Council, Lord Manderly would be ideal for Master of Coin or of Ships. But
I will warn you earnestly, name Lord Bolton to nothing unless you wish to be
flayed in your own beds."
Irulan shivered at the mention of Roose Bolton. "I will take those suggestions
into consideration."
Their shared distaste for the Lord of the Dreadfort brought the first genuine
smile to Ned's face since he'd walked into the tent, but it faded as he decided
to levy his last term. "The last term I would put to you is this. While what
your father did to House Stark was bloody, he was not the only one that wronged
us. Your husband, with the aid of my sister, brought shame to the Stark name. I
have no doubt the singers will name Lyanna the Whore of Winterfell in every
tavern from Sunspear to the Wall.." He exhaled slowly, looking down at his
calloused hands.
"A century and a half ago your ancestor Rhaenyra promised Cregan Stark a
Targaryen princess for House Stark. For the shame brought to our name, you will
fulfill the Pact of Ice and Fire. Whether you send one of your daughters to
Winterfell when they flower, or whether your mother carries a sister you would
send instead I leave to you, but my heir will have a dragon for a bride."
"My eldest daughter is three, but my youngest is one. You have a son, yes?"
"My son, Robb. He was born at Riverrun just before the Battle on the Trident.
He would be closer in age to your youngest, but three name days is not
insurmountable."
"Then Princess Rhaenys will be wed to Robb."
Ned simply nodded, letting his tense shoulders relax for what felt like the
first time in years. It was a harsh peace, with heavy terms for the Targaryens,
but they were just terms, especially considering for a time he'd held the
future of the Seven Kingdoms in his hands.
"One last thing I would suggest then, Your Grace." he murmured, for the first
time according Irulan the courtesy. "You will need to make a concession to
Stannis for the sake of his brother who is dead at your husband's hands. I
would not demand it, but you might be well served to repair Summerhall and give
it to young Renly."
"It seems like a good suggestion, Lord Eddard." Irulan agreed, smiling. "I
shall remember it for my meeting with Lord Stannis."
Rising back to his feet, Ned stared for a long moment at the smiling woman,
taking in the silver-gold of her hair and the Valyrian color of her eyes with a
steel-grey Northern gaze. It was shocking to realize that he'd borne witness to
the lowest moment of a three-hundred-year dynasty, watching the seed of Aegon
the Conqueror teetering on the precipice and knowing with a small push he could
topple it all. "I will have the scribes draw up the agreement as we have
discussed. Put your seal to it on the behalf of your son, and we will have
peace on those terms."
With that final statement, the Lord of the North turned on his heel and stalked
out of the tent.
Irulan sighed, looking towards Arthur Dayne as the Sword of the Morning
practically burst into the tent. "What is it, Ser Arthur?"
The Kingsguard knight was, to put it mildly, ill-pleased. The entire rebellion
had been an utter farce from start to end, with Aerys' madness and Rhaegar's
lust tearing the realm down around their ears. Inexplicably, rather than fight
for the kingdom he'd been sent to stand guard in the sands of Dorne to watch
over Rhaegar's mistress. And even at the end, when control of the realm passed
into the hands of a young but supposedly sane girl, he was commanded to wait
outside while the Queen Regent met with a hostile rebel lord.
"Are you safe, Your Grace?" Arthur demanded, electric violet eyes dancing
across her form in search of the slightest bruise.
"I am." She replied calmly, accepting the freshly inked agreement a sweating
scribe brought in to her, setting her seal to the parchment after confirming
all was in order. "I was not harmed."
Arthur's face softened, but he had his duty to protect the royal family from
all harm. "Not physically, Your Grace. But I heard enough of Stark's shouting
to guess..." he trailed off meaningfully.
"He's still very shocked by what happened, of course. But I've agreed to his
terms."
"Heavy terms for the Blood of the Dragon." Arthur pointed out, voice carefully
not expressing either support or disdain. "Not terms, I think, that your father
or even your husband would have agreed to."
"Yes, but a mother must make sacrifices to protect her children." Irulan
sighed. "Has Lady Lyanna arrived?"
Arthur's face tightened at the reminder of the woman the realm warred and died
for. He was a Kingsguard knight, and it wasn't his place to stand against his
liege. But if he had not sworn oaths, Arthur would have had more than quiet
words for Rhaegar and Lyanna. "She is. We rode hard from Dorne, and Ser Gerold
was already escorted her to the Maidenvault when I came to follow Your Grace."
"I intend to visit her soon."
"You are a forgiving woman." More forgiving than most would be in her position,
Arthur knew. Her husband had shamed her at Harrenhal, and the vanished with his
lover. The only thing Rhaegar hadn't done was publicly spurn Irulan and file
for an annulment.
"My mother taught me to endure, ser." Irulan replied.
Arthur just smiled bitterly. Endurance was one quality no one could deny
Rhaella Targaryen had, enduring years of abuse and stillborn children,
steadfastedly fullfilling her duty all the while. The Queen Mother had survived
without surrendering to despair until Jaime Lannister had shoved his blade
between Aerys' shoulders.
The act went against all the oaths they swore as Kingsguard knights, but
privately, Arthur disagreed with Ser Gerold when the man claimed Ser Jaime had
soiled his cloak. The atrocities they'd borne witness to under King Aerys'
violated every other oath they'd sworn as knights, and Arthur knew that in the
end it wasn't Jaime that soiled the White Cloak. It was the White Cloak that
had soiled them.
"As you say, Your Grace. Shall I saddle your horse?"
"Yes, Arthur. It's well past time to greet my husband's other wife."
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