The last one. I mean it this time!

"You're mad!" The head of Robert Baratheon's warhammer didn't hit the floor hard enough to crack the stones. It had been dropped, not slammed, and struck with its top rather than the stamp-sized face intended to cave-in armor plate. But it was more than loud enough to create its own void in the vault of the throne room.

"Rhaegar was a kidnaper, and a raper, and these knights," Robert sneered and gesticulated wildly at Gerold Hightower and Arthur Dayne, "helped. Aerys was mad. When your own brother came to rescue you Aerys had him imprisoned. Then he burned your father alive in this very room, and strangled Brandon as he watched."

Lyanna had started to rise, but now she sat impassively. Gerold and Arthur hadn't moved, but Dawn didn't need to be unsheathed for the room to teeter on the brink of bloodshed.

"Whatever he's done, whatever Rhaegar did to you, has poisoned your mind," Robert what on. "No doubt your bastard is mad too, just like all that dragonspawn brood. And the last thing we need is another mad king!"

"Are you quite through, Lord Baratheon?" Lyanna asked in a voice that was pale like milky water…or light upon Dawn. "For it occurs to me that your father's mother was Princess Rhaelle Targaryen."

Robert blanched. "You-you slut!"

The room quavered as it balanced on the edge of a knife.

"Lord Stannis," Lyanna said evenly. "Will you help your brother to his quarters? I think he is not himself. He sounds quite taken by emotion."

"I am not overwrought!"

"Grand Maester Pycelle, perhaps an essence of nightshade to help calm his tempers so that he might rest."

"I'm. Not. Tired!" Robert thundered as he brandished his Warhammer.

Robert Baratheon was a big, strong, powerfully built man. But Jaime Lannister possessed what was possibly the most prodigious talent for swordplay in his generation. It was a talent honed in the training yards and sparring fields of Casterly Rock. And since being inducted into the Kingsguard it was a skill that had been driven to new heights by the likes of Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne, and Barristan Selmy.

More than that, the Kingsguard had literally centuries of protecting the monarchs of the Seven Kingdoms. Not all threats warranted a deadly response. In fact, deadly force was often the last thing they wanted. It was far better to take a potential threat alive that he might be questioned to determined if it was someone who was indeed a threat, the actions of a lone madman, or part of a deeper-seated conspiracy. Better still if the person could be taken down with a minimum of harm, so as to lessen the amount to time the person would need to be in the care of the Maesters before being questioned.

Jaime Lannister took the warhammer from Robert's grip with about as much effort was needed to lift it from a weapon rack and passed it off. Robert twisted, but Jaime was faster, inside Robert's guard, and had Robert's arm to function as a giant lever. There was a deep, horse-like grunt and Robert was standing very erect with one hand pinned between his shoulder blades. Jaime reached down and effortlessly lifted out Robert's sword by its quillions and likewise passed it along even as Stannis came and caught up his brother's other arm.

Robert bellowed as Stannis and Ser Jaime began to drag him out of the hall.

Lyanna waited while the doors opened and slammed shut once more. "My Lords and Ladies," she said. "It has been long and trying weeks since the death of King Aerys. The unpleasantness that transpired before his death lasted for months. Putting all of that behind us will be neither quick nor easy, but we will put it behind us."

She paused, channeling every bit of her father's 'dire warning' into the words as she swept the hall with her gaze. All the while she kept her breathing slow and even to project strength even as she waited for her racing heart to slow and her throbbing head to ease. Thank the Gods Ser Gerold had suggested a lesser chair. She didn't want to even think what she—let alone her garments—would have looked like had she insisted on using the Iron Throne.

Handrails. Sometime in the near future she needed to commission proper handrails for that…looming monstrosity. And proper decorations. A dragon skull the size of a carriage was one thing, but the message it sent when they ranged down to the size of an apple was something else.

"That said, we have had a full and exciting morning, and the hour for luncheon is nearly upon us. Therefore we will conclude our business for today and reconvene tomorrow morning. Ned, you stay. Everyone else get out."

"Lyanna," Robert said in a voice that was almost tender as he started across the office.

"Don't," Lyanna's eyes flashed, "'Lyanna' me. Are you trying to force me to have you executed?"

Robert stumbled to a stop. "What?"

"You took up arms against your lawful king," Lyanna said, her tone completely undermining the last two words. "You slew my husband." She took a breath and began to tick down the remaining points. "Your ally's bannerman crushed Elia's skull like it was an overripe melon and pulped her brain through his fingers. That was before he was done raping her, but after he imparted his intention to do likewise to Rhaenys. And don't think I don't know about your repeated statements about dragonspawn.

"And then we arrive at your stunning performance today."

"Lyanna—"

"I'm not finished, Robert," Lyanna said. "I am the Regent. My son is King."

"Your son is a bastard by a raper!"

Lyanna froze in the chair behind her desk. Only a solitary finger moved with metronomic precision as it lifted and fell. The exclamation had half-lifted Robert to his feet and both waited until he had settled into his chair once more.

"I suppose you are about to tell me to take Jon north and you'll leave us well enough alone."

"Send the bastard to the Wall to take the black."

"Did you just seriously suggest I give a baby to the Night's Watch?" Lyanna asked.

"You can stay in the south," Robert said as though she hadn't spoken. "With me. I'll make you a Queen in truth."

"Even if I did, Jaime would never let you kill Rhaenys or her uncle and aunt," Lyanna said. "You'd have to kill him too. Do you think you can beat Tywin Lannister, Dorne, the Riverlands, and the North?"

"Marry me, then," Robert said. "With Ned that Tully girl and Tywin'll just have Dorne."

Lyanna shook her head. "Why would I ever marry you?"

"We were betrothed once, Lyanna. I love you."

"We were betrothed because my father wanted House Stark to start having influence south of the Neck," Lyanna said. "And the only things you have ever loved are drinking, hitting things, and sticking your cock into cunts. You're in love with the idea of having me. You aren't in love with me, and I'll not be some second—"

"You were to Rhaegar."

She loved Ned. Lyanna tapped her finger, forcing herself to breathe by it. Imagining her heart beating to the up-down tapping of her finger on her desk. Robert, for once, had half-sat back as though he'd realized that even for him he was pushing at lines best not crossed.

She loved Ned. That's why she was entertaining Robert in her office. So that if he did something like, oh, say, opened his mouth, she wouldn't have to have him executed the way she would have if he opened it in court in front of witnesses that she couldn't just pretend away the way she had the first time.

She loved Ned.

"Lord Baratheon," she said very carefully, "I shall only say this once, and I will use small words to be sure that you understand them. Rhaegar, Elia, and I loved one another. That is different from lusting after every daughter, chambermaid, and tavern wench you lay eyes on or get within arm's reach. The Citadel and the Faith have both recognized our collective children as my children. My legal, legitimate, children. I have no particular care for the Iron Throne, but if you think for one moment that I will tolerate a threat to my children, you are badly—you are fatally mistaken.

"Your actions have directly led to the death of my husband, my wife, my son, and the torture of my daughter. Your public comments today were unacceptable from the Paramount Lord of the Stormlands at the, for you, very best. A much less generous interpretation would be that you have made repeated threats against, in no particular order, my children, my infant good-brother and good-sister, myself, and the crown. It is only to your friendship with Ned that I did not have you executed this very day, Ser!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Robert leapt to his feet.

Lyanna's words were icy as only a Northern winter's could be. "Ser Arthur."

A decorative screen fell to the floor reveal Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy, the latter seated in a chair, and both holding heavy crossbows. Cocked heavy crossbows that were aimed at Robert Baratheon's chest. "Lord Baratheon," Ser Arthur said evenly.

"Ser Arthur," Robert grunted. "Ser Barristan."

"Ser Arthur, what would Ser Oswell say were he here?" Lyanna said.

"Probably some comment about the difficulty of heating a hart with a heavy crossbow in a small room," Barristan said.

"That does sound like him" Lyanna agreed. She braced both hands on the desk in front of her as she stood. "Robert, Lord of House Baratheon and so on, I, Lyanna, Regent and such, for King Jeanaerys, first of his name, King of and so on and so on and so on… What will it be, Robert? Am I taking your head, shipping you off to Castle Black, or are you abdicating your house to Stannis and going into exile? Join the Golden Company where you can booze, wench, and fight without the least concern for anyone or anything?"

Robert blinked. "You mean that."

"I do," Lyanna said.

"But you loved me."

Lyanna shook her head, but it was once and slowly. "You were never more to me than Ned's friend. You have rapidly made yourself less than that."

A/N 1: I had a couple of comments about Robert's reaction and how Lyanna dealt with it and couldn't resist.

A/N 2: as to Jeanaerys' name, I'll admit I spent a lot longer thinking about this than what something this length really deserves, but here is roughly what I was thinking

First, Ned could have simply slapped a name on Lyanna's son (and making it in honor of his mentor, Jon Arryn, makes a bit of sense), but I felt he'd want to use a name that was at least passingly similar to one that Lyanna gave said son (assuming she named him and passed it along before she died).

Second, Lyanna isn't fluent in Valeyrion, high or low. And she didn't really have enough time to assimilate into said culture (or at least the Targaryen practice thereof). Also, what time she did have, Rhaegar and Elia were concentrating on how to deal with Aerys and the aftermath of his downfall (both, I think, would have found a very different perspective to be useful in this regard).

Third, She wanted a name that sounded suitably Targaryen, and probably would have made minor changes if Rhaegar had been around to consult. But at the same time it wasn't a name she had cultural expectations of. So… the 'ea' construction (which shows up in French) is reversed from the normal Targaryen practice of 'ae'.

Fourth, The '-aerys' ending construction is masculine, the female ending would be '-aera' which is vaguely similar to 'Jean' vs 'Jehanne' (much to the disappointment to those who think 'Jean' is gender-neutral). This wasn't something Lyanna took into consideration, of course, but it is where I pulled the front half of the name from.

Finally, I know some people with really unfortunate names simply because their parents thought something sounded neat, interesting, or…whatever. As a practical matter, Lyanna slapped a name on the kid and nobody is really going to have the time or energy (or at least want to spend the time and energy) arguing over what is a rather small point compared to other stuff she's doing.