The plot thickens

They were ushered into the Red Keep like a heard of goats, Ser Oswell and Ser Lewyn at the front and back of their group whilst gold cloaks were called in to help form a protective circle as they moved through the courtyard. With the inevitability of an unwanted rain, assassins emerged around them, crossbows in hand and deadly intent in their hearts. A volley of bolts flew across the courtyard and took out a few guards, and then it was madness.

Jon took up a blade from one of the downed guards and kept himself in front of his sister. The assassins wasted not a moment, throwing themselves at the royal family in groups, though in a vain attempt to penetrate the shield wall that gold cloaks had erected. The clang of steel meeting steel rang out in the courtyard, though it was quickly consumed by the cacophony of screams and shouts from the others. One assassin lunged forward with a spear, the edge of it slipping past a gold cloak and puncturing Jon's uncle Viserys' belly, tearing out a gargled scream as the lanky Targaryen toppled over in agony. Jon took the moment to jab forward with his own blade, carving out the attacker's throat.

More and more gold cloaks fell from the ****, but the Kingsguard gave the enemy little room to move as Ser Oswell and Ser Jonothor carved a bloody path through their number. Sensing that they could not hope to overcome their enemy in close quarters, several of the assassins peeled back and began to rearm their crossbows while their fellows kept the White Cloaks at bay. Another volley of bolts inevitably cut through the air and managed to fell several more of the gold cloaks shielding Jon and his family. Even Ser Lewyn found himself on his knees, nursing a bolt that had slipped through a gap in his armour's side.

Rhaenys stood before Elia, Margaery and Danaerys in attempt to physically keep them as far back from the **** as she could, whilst Rhaella tried to staunch the bleeding in Viserys' stomach even as his blood began to pool around them.

Eventually a gap formed as more and more gold cloaks fell, and a couple of assassins neared. Now Jon gave full vent to his ire, rushing the enemy with sword in hand and letting his body move with the instinctual ease that had been itched into it by years of training. His blade buried itself in the side of the first man for a moment before he tore it free and cut the throat of the second's with a smooth follow up motion. Snarling like a beast, he whirled through a circle, ridding three attackers of their heads and cutting a fourth down through the chest.

They flew at him again, lunging and slashing at him and opening gashes on his arms and shoulders. A crossbow bolt hit him squarely in the right shoulder and it was enough to bring him down to a knee. He felt his **** was at hand when suddenly Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold entered into the courtyard with a collection of armed men, some of whom wore the familiar rose of House Tyrell.

There was ****, but it was swift as the greatest knights of the realm advanced on the hired assassins and cut them down with little effort. Though in the chaos the assassins had not allowed a single of their men to be taken alive, confounding any attempt at investigation.

Ser Barristan and Ser Jonothor were both killed in the madness, whilst Jon's uncle Prince Viserys was mortally wounded and died in his bed three days after the fact. King Rhaegar and the High Septon both stained the Great Sept of Baelor with their blood. House Targaryen and it's household had not suffered such a loss since the Tragedy of Summerhall.

Aegon and his entourage had hurried back to the capitol as soon as word reached them of the attack and no time was wasted in crowning him Aegon the Sixth of his name. The Targaryen family had clung to Aegon in that time, and indeed it seemed much of the common folk did as well, by and large seeing the young king as a hero come to unite them after such madness.

Jon, however, found himself growing distrustful of his brother's rise and a month into Aegon's reign he absconded with his betrothed back to Summerhall. "Another wedding," Aegon had told him, " will put far too great of a target on House Targaryen's back. We still haven't the first clue who might have tried this attack."

Jon ruminated on the conversation during the entire journey home.

Ser Garlan Tyrell was waiting for Jon and Margaery in the courtyard and led them inside the newly furbished and grandly designed Summerhall. Already Jon could note that the Tyrell influence had well and truly set in around him, with golden roses matching every red dragon tapesty that hung in the castle's halls.

"You appear to be healing nicely, Prince Jon," Garlan remarked, "We were all quite proud to hear of how valiantly you defended your kin and our dear Margaery."

Jon put an arm around his betrothed. "I only hope that I will not be called to **** again," he gave Margaery a tender look, "I don't think my heart could bare another threat to your sister's life."

"That is why my father has sent me and a large contingent of men to help bolster your defences," His eyes shone with determination. "I swear on my honour as a knight that I shall let no harm come to either you or Margaery."

Margaery frowned at her brother. "Is grandmother still here?"

"Aye," he sighed, looking a little downcast, "I fear she might have caught a chill. She's not really left her chambers much in the last few weeks, and when I go to see her she is always bundled up in bed."

The younger Tyrell digested the news with a troubled look. "She had been looking so healthy and spy a few weeks ago....I hope it is nothing too concerning."

They walked down the corridor towards Olenna's chambers, but once they reached the door Margaery halted them, looking up at Jon with a concerned expression. "My grandmother might not be fit for visitors yet, would you allow me to go in first and see if she is presentable for such a royal visit?"

Jon smiled down at the lovely young woman. "Of course, my love," he took her hands into his own and kissed them, "I shall be in my solar, going over the accounts with the maester."

He did just that over the next hour, finding himself pleasantly surprised by how well the accounts had been managed in his absence and he made a mental note to reward the maester for his good work. Eventually a servant came to fetch Jon, informing him that Lady Olenna wished to speak with him in her chambers.

What Jon found when he entered the dimly lit chamber was a seemingly sleeping figure in an overly large bed, covered up to her chin in several layers of furs. He took a moment to regard Olenna's set up and wondered how she managed in such a state. Predatory eyes opened and found him at once, a smirk stretching across the wrinkled face.

"Why don't you come closer, boy?" Her eyes drank in the sight of him, "come see what's underneath this blanket..."

Jon did as she suggested and drew back the several layers of blankets and took in the sight of Olenna;s naked body. Surprise and lust mingled in Jon's grey eyes. Olenna's tits had become engorged with milk, the smallest droplets of which oozed out of her darkened nipples down onto the gravid and swollen belly which held their child. It looked as though she could give birth at any moment, yet there was not discomfort on her face like he would have imagined, only a heavy lidded expression of contentment and lust. She even parted her legs a little to reveal a bare cunt that glistened with need, laughing as his eyes widened in surprise.

"It shouldn't be much longer," She said, sitting up a little, "and then I can end this farce and have a more active hand in things again."

Jon swallowed. "And the child?"

"We'll keep it here, of course," She waved the notion away, "With this recent madness House Targaryen will need all the fresh blood it can get."

He settled down in a chair next to the bed, steeped his fingers and watched the Tyrell matriarch closely. "They tried to destroy my entire bloodline"

"Only the male line," Olenna said pensively, "Your father, your uncle...and you."

Jon opened his mouth, closed it. After taking a moment to collect himself he spoke. "Aegon was not there."

"No, he was in the Westerlands making heirs with Tywin Lannister's granddaughter," the hungry, tigress look came over Olenna again, "how convenient for him that not only was he safe from the attack, but he also became king. And a potential rival claimant was removed from the line of succession. There had been talk of Viserys marrying the Martell girl, you know."

He let out a defeated sigh, his suspicions confirmed. "Tywin was responsible for the attack....he murdered my father...." he swallowed uneasily, "and Aegon was at least somewhat party to it..."

"That is, if he wasn't it's chief architect," Olenna slipped from her bed, somehow managing to move seductively despite her pregnancy and sat her naked body on his lap, rubbing herself against him insistently enough to get him to hardness. She leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss. For a moment they were content to massage each others tongues before she pulled back just enough, "he's proven himself a threat to you...and a threat to our bloodline....you know what you have to do."

His hands caressed her tits, thumbs brushing over the darkened nipples. "Aye," he said, "I'll have to kill my brother..."