"Gods be good," Rhaegar groans as Varys brings him the news of the judge's decision. "That is going to cost a lot of money, isn't it?"

"Not as much as other, but yes, it will." There is something almost sympathetic about the man's expression. Rhaegar doesn't like it one bit. Not one bit.

Next to him, Lyanna shifts in her seat. "I think we should look on the bright side. This way, he'll get specialised help and perhaps, in time, his condition might ameliorate." There is something innately positive about this woman, Rhaegar thinks; not even a seeing her whole house burning seems to have brought her down. And he can only thank whichever deities have seen fit to drop her in his life.

Lyanna leans in closer to him. "We can do this. Between the two of us, we can do it. Just look how well Jon is turning out."

At that Rhaegar dutifully nods his head. Jon is his youngest son. But Viserys is nothing like Jon. "My brother is a troublemaker."

"I grew up with one for a brother. I can handle Viserys," Lyanna tells him, still smiling brightly. She's an angel. Rhaegar is convinced of it more and more every day.

"Still, Lyanna, that would be four other people to worry about. And that's not even counting my mother." This is complicated and his head already hurts and it's not even noon yet. "Are you sure you want to share all these burdens."

"I was sure of it when I spoke my vows." Indeed, she an angel.

Rhaella takes the glass from Lyanna's hand with a smile. "Thank you, dear," she says, taking a long gulp of the drink. "It's good for him to have someone like you."

Lyanna merely beams, her acknowledgement half-hearted at best. Rhaegar looks up from his mountain of papers, the red pen growing still. His wife sits down next to him, a book in hand, and proceeds to fond whatever mark she'd made in it. "That sort of literature will rot your brain," Rhaegar cannot help saying as he reads the first two sentences.

"Only if I were to take it seriously," she replies. "But do you know what does cause brain-cavity?" She gestures towards his papers, in particular to the long section underlines in red pen. "That. It'll lead you to an early grave."

Rhaegar looks down in horror at the work of one Alysa Vaith. "I just don't understand. I told them to study. I mean, this person actually thinks that Russell – which by the way he didn't even write right – is the rooster."

His wife gives him a commiserating look. "At least mine have the excuse of being little children. Which brings me to another matter, when is Elia bringing the children over?"

"Tomorrow at noon. She said she'll leave them in your capable hands." Rhaegar pats her thigh gently.

"She's a woman of good sense, after all. Remember when she left Aegon and Rhaenys with you?" The question makes him grimace.

They never did manage to get the stains out of his clothing. A permanent brand, that is.

Cersei is sitting cross-legged on his desk. Again. This is the third time this week and it's only Tuesday. Rhaegar sighs. Just once, he wishes he could come into work and not worry about Cersei and her inappropriateness. Alas, he cannot. Cersei Lannister will not be ignored.

"Cersei," he greets laconically, with about as much excitement as a block of ice.

For her part, Cersei is cheerful today. "Rhaegar. You're late." Yes, he is. Five minutes late. But only because his new brother or sister threatened to be born earlier than strictly necessary. Cersei climbs down and walked towards him. Rhaegar takes one step back to evade her outstretched arms. "Why are you so worried?"

He is very, very tempted to act like Viserys and dash away. He probably could, if he knocked over one of the chairs. "I've told you, this makes me very uncomfortable."

"This?" If she takes even one more step, Rhaegar is going to push her away; he doesn't care if it's rude.

"You. Here. In my office. This makes me uncomfortable." Cersei stops and wrinkles her nose. Her green eyes narrow. Despite all that, she still manages to be beautiful. Rhaegar wishes she were not. It would be easier to explain why he doesn't want her in his office. Nobody takes him seriously when he says the – allegedly – most beautiful woman of the Seven Kingdoms is stalking him.

The phone rings just then. Rhaegar lunges for it. Thankfully, mercifully, it is his wife's voice that rings in his eras. "Hey. I just called to tell you that Elia dropped Rhaenys and Aegon off."

Viserys is in the backseat, looking out the window. Rhaegar has no idea what his younger brother is thinking about but likely he's planning how to best murder them all in their beds. Cold sweat slides down his back at the notion and Rhaegar finds he has to glance towards his brother, just to make sure Swiss Army knife father gave him for his nameday is safely tucked away.

That seems to be the case when Rhaegar looks. Relief washes over him. The knife is nowhere is sight. They have already reached their destination. Rhaegar parks the car and gets out at the same time as Viserys.

They unload the suitcases together. Rhaegar hopes they've managed to get everything from the old house. He doesn't really fancy a trip back there. Too many bad memories. "Come one, Viserys. Let's go inside."

Lyanna is in the kitchen door, with the children and Rhaella presumably inside. It seems that he and Viserys are just in time for supper. His wife greets her good-brother, then her husband. The others follow her lead. She then latches onto him, carefully whispering in his ear, "How was the trip?"

"It was fine," Rhaegar offers. Then his eyes land on the children. "What in the name of the Seven is that?" Three little faces stare at him, red smeared all over.

"It's beet soup, Rhaegar," Lyanna answers as if its an everyday thing to come home and find one's children looking not unlike unholy bloodsuckers.

"Did they drink it directly from the bowl?" The question escapes him involuntarily.

Lyanna has just finished rubbing the lotion into her skin and she is about to join him in the bed when she stops in the middle of the room.

"What is it?" Rhaegar asks, looking up from his book.

She smiles at him. "I've just realised that the two of us are the only people awake now." Rhaegar looks at the clock. It is rather late. Nonetheless, Lyanna is not referring to the lateness of the hour. Rhaegar puts the book on the nightstand.

"You think so?" By the grin she's sporting, Rhaegar rather thinks that she does. And he likes it. He does. The bed creaks under her added weight and Rhaegar is impatient enough to just pull her along. It's been a long day and she is there and – very, very – willing.

"Yes. It's only you and me. You can't escape me now." She wraps her arms around him and her whole weight rests against him.

"I'm not planning to." He moved his hands up her back. Finally, something good about this day, night, whatever. This he can take. "I love you, woman. Have I told you that."

His wife laughs against his mouth. "Is that from a movie? It sounds like it's from a movie."

"Quit stalling." She laughs again as the words leave his mouth.

"You're the one who's stalling," Lyanna accuses, leaning in, setting her lips against his.

Just when he thinks that all is fine in his world, something bangs against the door. He and Lyanna jump apart, just in time to avoid providing a lesson in human mating rituals to their too-young children.

Rhaenys comes in, dragging both Aegon and Jon after her.

It's Sunday. This can only mean one thing. Rhaegar groans at the very thought, but knowing he has no choice, he rolls out of bed and fights a gruelling battle with putting on appropriate clothing.

By the time he gets down, Rhaella is the only one still at the table. He can hear the TV in the other room – the volume is too loud, again. His mother gives him a small smile, but her attention is too precious to be wasted on him. After all, she has pancakes in front of her.

"Morning," Lyanna greets him softly, coming in from the hallway. She is holding two DVDs in her hands. "Which one?"

"Can't you just pick one?" It's not like they haven't seen all the movies in the house at least three times each.

"I picked one last time." She has. Rhaegar distinctly remembers her picking out 'Beauty and the Beast'. One of those songs was stuck in his head for weeks.

But it's Sunday and it's a tradition with them. He sighs and scratched the back of his head. Viserys pokes his head in. "I've seen all of these. Just let me download something."

Normally, Rhaegar would not condone such actions – which are illegal, one is supposed to buy their movies – but this time, he's all for it. Lyanna merely nods her head. But then she feels compelled to ask, "What are you going to download?"

"Tim Burton," Viserys replies, his back already turned to them.

"Oh Gods, they're going to have nightmares again." But at least they get to see a new movie. Which is good.

Lyanna gives him a sympathetic smile.

Aegon is staring in confusion at the screen, tears in his eyes. Jon has fallen asleep halfway through and his head in sill resting in Lyanna's lap. Rhaenys, on the other hand, is not sleepy at all. She shakes her head and keeps murmuring to herself.

"That was unexpected," Viserys breaks the relative silence.

"Unexpected is not quite the word I would use," Rhaegar replies.

"It was horrible," Rhaenys bursts out. At her age, having a beloved story ripped to shreds and then put back together – not unlike Frankenstein's monster – is quite devastating. And rather unfortunate. The sister puts her arms around her brother. "Don't cry, Aegon. Those are just lies."

"B-bu-but," Aegon is trying to stutter out an answer. Unfortunately it's not working for him.

Lyanna transfers Jon's weight to his father's arms and walks over to the box filled with DVDs. She searches through it in silence as Rhaenys comforts her brother. "Need help?" Rhaegar asks after a moment.

"No, I found it." Lyanna rises to her feet and holds out the DVD to Rhaenys. Both the sibling start chanting in excitement at the selection. Their glee wakes Jon up, and as any toddler is wont to, he starts crying.

"Look what you did," Aegon complains to Rhaenys, holding his hands over his ears in a protective manner.

His sister swats at him. "That was you, stupid."

"I'm not stupid, stupid," comes the answer.

"Now, now, children, no name calling. Are we watching Lion King or not?"

And that is how one goes about settling a row between siblings. Lyanna takes Jon from Rhaegar's arms back into hers and calms him down.

The past few days have permitted a sort of routine to take root. The silence should put him at ease, Rhaegar thinks. But then again, he knows from personal experience that silence is usually an interim, the time in which all the troubles gather together to conspire. The mental image of crones cackling together makes him shudder.

A hand flies before his face, gliding jerkily from left to right. "Are you listening?" Rhaegar blinks. Arthur's face comes into focus. His friend stares at him pensively.

"Yes, I am." The disbelief on Arthur's face prompts him to sigh. "You might want to try talking to her." He stops for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Unless she's underage. If she's underage keep away." Rhaegar tries to remember that small detail. His mind draws a blank. "Is she?"

"Underage?" Arthur completes. "I don't know."

"How can you not know?" This really is a problem, Arthur's refusal to talk to whatever-her-name-is. "You've been seeing this woman – and I mean it in a non-dating way, because you're hopeless like that – for a couple of weeks almost every day and you can't even say two words to her."

"Well no. That could constitute harassment." They stare at one another for a long moment, neither appearing to know what to say. A waitress passes by and she smiles at them in a flirtatious manner. They both ignore her. She's probably in high school anyway.

"On what planet is talking to someone in a civil manner harassment?" The question begs an answer, which of course, none of them wants to answer. "Ignore that."

"Okay."

"He did what?" Rhaegar can't tell if he should pull his hair out or throw his hands up in the air and simply give up. Perhaps he should. "I can't believe this. I just can't." His brother grumbles something from his place on the couch. "Is there a reason you scared her half to death, Viserys?"

"It was just a joke." His brother rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. "It's not like I did any damage."

Rhaegar shakes his head and dearly wants to shake his brother too. "She's pregnant. She could have fallen. Good gods, she could have been seriously injured. Viserys, do you actually stop to think about the things you do?" The answer must be 'not really'. Rhaegar sighs.

A hand presses down on his shoulder. Lyanna's voice sounds out from behind him. "She's a little shaken, but she'll be fine. For future reference, Viserys dear, do play your pranks near a conveniently placed couch. And no more spiders in the house."

He should at least be thankful that Viserys' prank didn't send mother into early labour. This is exactly what he doesn't need right now. "Right. You're grounded anyway, so I expect that for at least a month there won't be any pranks."

Viserys leaves with a rather strong invective in his wake. "Should I make that two months?" Rhaegar asks his wife.

"The aim is to teach him how to behave properly, not to send him into a murderous rage," she replies smartly. "A month is just enough."

Rhaegar wakes with a start. Someone is shaking his shoulder violently, calling his name in quiet, desperate whispers. "Wake up, Rhaegar. Come on, wake up already."

"What?" he asks, trying to dispel the haze he has woken in. "Lyanna?" He lifts his head off the pillow enough to notice that his wife is not sitting in bed. She is holding a bat in one hand. "What are you doing? And is that a bat?" They don't own a bat.

"It belongs to Viserys," Lyanna explains as if she has read his mind. "There is someone downstairs, Rhaegar."

As if to confirm her words a crash sounds out through the house. And it clearly comes from downstairs. Rhaegar groans, but staggers to his feet nonetheless. He takes the bat from Lyanna. "Check on the children. I'll take care of whatever's down there." He hopes it's a squirrel. But it would have to be a large squirrel, he thinks, to be making such sounds.

He goes down quietly, gripping the bat tightly. Whoever came in the house has gone for the kitchen. Rhaegar wonders just how well the person can see, considering all lights are turned off. He inches closer to the entrance and slips in, hand going for the light switch.

He turns the light on.

"What the seven hells?" he finds himself speaking loudly at the sight before him. "Oberyn, what are you doing here?"

A very drunk Oberyn leans against the counter. "I cam to see Elia."

Rhaegar puts the bat away and walks closer. "Elia and I are divorced. Do you recall? I divorced your sister."

Oberyn's fist flies in his face out of nowhere. "What? You divorced her?"

The phone is ringing. Rhaegar momentarily looks up from the papers he'd been reading for the past couple of hours. He glares at the phone, but does not get up. After all, he is so very comfortable. Lyanna comes out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of snacks – because Rhaenys and Aegon will come home soon. She hums even as she places the tray on the small table and picks up the phone.

Rhaegar steals one of the sandwiches and bites into it, chewing thoughtfully. His wife turns to look at him at the same time that she greets however is on the line. "Hello. This is Lyanna speaking." Her brow furrows at the response she gets. "Yes, he is. Excuse me but who is this again?"

Now this seems like something interesting. Rhaegar puts the sandwich down. He stands up and walks closer to Lyanna. He leans in to better hear the voice on the other end. To his utter horror, he realises that it is none other than his co-worker – his undoubtedly insane co-worker, it must be noted – Cersei Lannister.

Lyanna's face is completely blank as the other woman speaks. Rhaegar is sorely tempted to take the phone away from her and end this discussion, but before he can act, Lyanna herself ends the call. She turns towards him slowly. "I think I need to meet this colleague of your, Rhaegar. She had this very strange notion that must be put to rights."

That is unexpected. "What are you going to do."

A smile appears on Lyanna's face. It is a slightly evil smile.

Rhaegar loves his wife.

"But I don't want to go see grandpa," Rhaenys complains, pouting as Lyanna does the zipper of her light spring jacket. "And why does Jon not have to go?" This is perhaps the biggest flaw with his wife's otherwise brilliant plan.

Rhaegar stands with his shoulder against the wall and looks at his bickering family with a faint smile on his face. Jon is resting in his grandmother's arm, lazily looking at his howling sister with something akin to faint annoyance. It seems he does not appreciate the fuss. Though, Rhaegar can understand his daughter perfectly.

"I want to see grandfather," Aegon pipes in, a silly smiles on his face. Younger than his sister and used to relatively good treatment from his grandfather the boy doesn't have such a deep dislike for the man as his sister.

"Quiet, stupid!" Rhaenys turns on him. She raises her hand, but Lyanna catches it with a small sound of disapproval.

"You are going to visit grandfather and that is that. No more of this nonsense." She leans down and whispers something to Rhaenys that makes the girl smile and nod. "Okay?"

"Okay," comes the begrudging agreement of the child's part.

It takes mere moments to heard everyone towards the car – except for Viserys, who has gone out with some friends. Rhaegar catches Lyanna by the arm. :What did you tell her?"

"Only that someone needed to take care of Rhaella and the baby," Lyanna beams at him. "She takes that duty very seriously."

"Do you still want to come with me to work after?" He thinks of Cersei and shivers.

"Of course," his wife offers.

He opens the door for his wife and steps into the building a step after her. Lyanna stops near one of the walls and Rhaegar follows suit. "What is it?" he asks. "If you don't want to–"

"It's not that," Lyanna waves his worry away. "Look over there." She points to a spot further down the hall.

Rhaegar turns his head to get a better look. To his astonishment, Arthur is here, talking with his sister. Stranger still, Brandon Stark is standing next to Ashara, facing Arthur and nodding along to whatever the man is saying.

"I didn't know this was a family reunion," Rhaegar quips.

"Now, now," his wife laughs lightly, "there is no need for that. Besides, we would need a few more people for this to be a family reunion."

But of course, they can't simply slip by unnoticed. Brandon is the first to see them. He waves at Lyanna and glares at Rhaegar. "I think he still hates me." Brandon has developed a sort of unrelenting abhorrence for him. It is, in a way, very much like what Oberyn think of him. It doesn't seem to help that he chose Lyanna either.

Ashara and Arthur by contrast greet them warmly and at the question of what Lyanna is doing there, Rhaegar feels his whole face drain of blood.

His beautiful, brilliant and frankly amazing spouse, on the other hand, smiles at these people. "Oh, this and that. I was just wondering," she delivers the vague explanation, "what my husband does here all day."

Apart from Arthur – arguably the wiliest one – the other two do not seem to question her motive.

The look on Cersei's face when Rhaegar enters his office spells trouble. The blonde gazes at him with blatant adoration and she almost doesn't notice Lyanna. But that is only natural as Rhaegar has placed himself in front of his wife, if only to conceal her presence a moment longer. He wants this to be a surprise, as much as Lyanna wants it to be blitzkrieg.

Just before Cersei can utter a greeting, or even a word, Lyanna breaks out from Rhaegar's shadow and steps daintily over the threshold, her whole frame exuding a menacing aura. The effect is amplified by that cool little smirk that twists her lips.

"You are Cersei Lannister, correct?" his wife breezes past him and places herself before Cersei, arms crossing over her chest, her stance challenging.

With an innocent look, Cersei gazes at Rhaegar, then at Lyanna. "I am. And you are?"

"A nightmare if not handled correctly," Lyanna supplies in a flat tone of voice. She leans in slightly. "You don't remember me, but I remember you, little lioness."

At those words Cersei's whole face loses colour. She gulps softly and then makes an indignant sound in the back of her throat. "Who the hell are you?"

"Rhaegar's wife," comes the swift answer, yet it is spoken so sweetly that one would think she was just inviting Cersei to supper earlier. "You keep that in mind, okay?"

And with that Cersei slinks out the door like an injured beast.

Curious and more than a little pleased, Rhaegar wraps his arms around Lyanna. "What was that?"

"A secret," his wife says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.

The door of the office has been carefully locked from the inside. All his problems seem far, far, far away. And Rhaegar doesn't know if he is dreaming or not. But if this is a dream – which would be a pity, truly – then he knows that he does not want to wake up.

Lyanna tugs at his shirt, a small grin on her face. "We should do this more often," she says, as his hand slides over her back on its way down. "Why aren't we doing this more often, again?" The question stops him for just a moment. He levels a serious look at her. "We could leave the children with Ned and Cat," she suggest, ever so slowly pulling him towards the desk, steeping backwards carefully.

"Or your other older brother. Or your parents," he adds for good measure. "At this point, I'd even be willing to leave them with father." At Lyanna's appalled expression he holds one hand up. "Fine, with Oberyn. Better?"

"Much," his wife answers, slanting her lips over his a moment later.

The desk trembles with movement and for his part, Rhaegar cannot wait until Elia gets back from wherever she has gone to. Lyanna protests at his lack of attention and her words, jumbled and half-formed in his ears, dismiss all other thoughts.

It really has been too long.

"Missed you," Lyanna is saying, trying her best to hold in a giggle which he doesn't quite know what to think of.

But, of course, that any sort of joy is too much to ask for. Before he can even breathe a phone starts ringing, breaking the spell.

"Oh, for the love of the Seven," he groans.

Rhaegar paces up and down the hall, stopping ever couple of minutes or so to look at the door and then to look at his wife and then towards the door again. After a couple of hours even Lyanna has given up trying to het him to sit down and stop worrying.

It's impossible for him not to worry. This is his mother, after all. And she wasn't supposed to get pregnant again. And she definitely wasn't supposed to go into early labour. But life us a lot of things it wasn't supposed to be. So here they are, him and Lyanna.

Aegon, Rhaenys and Jon have been taken home by their uncle Brandon, much to their delight – Aegon and Rhaenys', because Jon had merely gazed at his uncle with sleep-heavy eyes and promptly returned to his nap in Ashara's lap.

"How exactly is your pacing going to help her?" Lyanna demands after he stops for what seems like the hundredth time. To her, this is truly no mystery. Being a woman and having a child of her own, she has picked an old magazine which she'd been diligently reading. "I'm surprised you survived the birth of your children." She frowns.

Unable to help himself, Rhaegar asks, "What is wrong, Lyanna? What's the matter?"

"This would probably not be the best time to tell you I've been considering a brother or a sister for Jon." And now it's his turn to frown. Lyanna taps her foot to the ground. "I thought so," she sighs, apparently sorry for having spoken at all.
There must be something wrong with him, something very wrong, because instead of leaving it at that, Rhaegar sits down next to her and takes her hand in his. "If you truly want to, we can try."

For the love of the Seven. Rhaegar just wants to hide away somewhere. Isn't it enough that they already have three children? But Lyanna is smiling brightly at him, squeezing his hand back with warm affection. And he realises that another child would be quite nice after all.

The relative peace that settled over then is broken when the doctor steps out, taking off her mask and sauntering towards them. The look on the woman's face tells him nothing and Rhaegar feels just about ready to burst out of his own skin.

The door is slammed open and Elia enters the room. Surprisingly she is alone. But it's not as if Rhaenys or Aegon acre. Rhaegar barely catches his oldest son before the boy can manage to break his head. "That was quite an entrance," he tells her, handing Aegon into her waiting arms.

Lyanna, who has been minding the soup, comes out of the kitchen and smiles at the guest. "We thought you weren't going to make it." And while they are not so close as to embrace and kiss, the two of them do share that strange sort of smile females always seem to.

Viserys comes running down the stairs and nearly gives his brother a heat attack by calling out, "Everything's ready!"

So presents, questions and conversation all have to wait. Rhaegar picks Jon up from the couch and together, all of them, go to Rhaella's room.

Family portraits are the worst. But at least Aerys is not here. Thank the gods.

There is a click, two, three. A low hissing sound comes from beneath them. Lyanna startles, eyes going round. "I forgot the tea."

And then she's dashing out of the room, down the stairs, leaving behind two crying infants, an annoyed Rhaegar, a smiling Elia one amused Viserys and two snickering children. And one must not forget the new mother who is a bit dazed.

And at this point, Rhaegar cannot even wonder anymore. He is just pleased the house hasn't fallen around their ears. Somehow.

"I'll go down and help," Elia excuses herself.