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Chapter Text

"What is she like?" Rhaegar asked, a few days prior to Princess' Elia arrival to Westeros.

Ser Arthur Dayne, freshly relieved from his duty, looked at him and smiled. "It certainly took you long enough to ask, my lord. I was starting to wonder whether you actually want to know or not."

But Rhaegar was not in the mood to be teased. "Well," he snapped, "I am asking you. And sit down, if you please, I'll break my neck looking up at you like this."

Arthur's smile faded. He sat opposite to the prince and started to answer, then realized it all sounded hollow. What did words matter? The Princess would still be a stranger to Rhaegar. He'd have to get to know her himself. Arthur prayed to the Warrior he would spare the time and effort. "She's very beautiful, her looks is typical for a Dornish," he finally said. "And she's also very kind."

Rhaegar was still watching him expectantly. These were things everyone could say. Knowing Elia was not even needed for them. Maybe Arthur didn't know her that close. Of course he didn't. He was a warrior; she was a lady. Where could they cross paths, except for a formal occasion at Sunspear?

"She's the sun," Arthur finally said, leaving Rhaegar to make whatever he liked of that.

She was the sun. She radiated warmth, Rhaegar could tell by the very first moment their eyes met. Just for a moment, she was unable to hide her relief and he could not help but wonder what she had expected for her future husband to be like. He was not blind to the fact that his father's ways ran quite deep and could no longer be hidden but he had no idea that the rumour had reached as far as Dorne.

I am not my father, he thought. She shall be treated with all the respect due to her position. She should never suffer what my lady mother has to endure.

It was easy to be kind to her. She was so kind herself. Her smile was like a caress. He could have made a far worse match. Elia was elegant, her wit sharp, her manners beyond reproach. For all the wrongs his father had done, his choice of a future queen had not been one of them.

But it had not been Rhaegar's choice, either.

Sure, she was gentle and exquisite, her heart full of kindness. She was nice enough to look at. But she could not fill his heart the way he wanted it to be filled. And she was not happy. Maybe it wasn't in her nature to be; maybe she had never expected happiness. Each time he saw her, a thin pale thing drowned in her sea of velvets and Myrosh lace, he felt tenderness… and pity, for she was broken, had been ever since her premature birth. And he did not know how to mend her.

But it was not love. Elia was the sun, for she warmed. But she could not dazzle – she could only give a soft glow, like the moon.

It was not enough.

"How are you feeling?" he asked with concern as soon as they were served their first meal. This time, they would dine in private, for Elia's health had taken a turn for the worse.

She smiled and made something entirely unexpected: she took his head in her hands and leaned close to his ear to whisper him a secret that for a while they could keep to be theirs alone.

"I am well," she said, very softly. "Save for the temerity of a certain future subject of yours… He dares kick me in the belly."

At first, he did not understand. And then he did. He laughed aloud and looked at her.

She was shining.

The childbirth was too hard on her. It was a miracle that she even survived. No one thought she would. When her eyelids finally flutter opened, everyone gave a cry of joy and surprise – everyone but Ashara Dayne.

"I knew you'd make it, my princess," she whispered, leaning to wipe Elia's forehead with a wet cloth.

Did you truly? Rhaegar asked silently, for he had not believed it. He had been waiting, with grief and guilt, for Elia to die.

He said as much to Arthur as soon as they are alone. "Did she really believe it?" He still couldn't say.

For the briefest of moments, the Sword of the Morning smiled. "Yes," he said, "I imagine she did. The sun always rises."

For weeks, Ashara had to spoon-feed her like a baby. Elia hated it. As soon as she was able to rise from her bed, she tried to walk. Thanks to the Seven, she was not foolhardy enough to try it when she was alone. Ashara managed to catch her before she hit the floor.

"My lady, you need to rest," she said in a low, urgent voice. "You are too weak."

Breathless, Elia relaxed in the cool cocoon of her bed. But she could not and should not hide forever. "What I need is to stand up," she said, "and shut the mouths of all the courtiers who are already burying me. And you shall help me, dear friend."

So, twice a day they made a round of Elia's bedchamber, Ashara holding her tighly by the arm and Arthur waiting in the adjacent room lest the Princess crumbles and Ashara could not take her back to her bed.

No one of their Westerosi attendants should know how faint Elia really was. Weakness was not a luxury the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms could allow.

Rhaegar had stopped coming to her bed long before Rhaenys' birth and he was reluctant to resume his visits. While that might have pleased her in the beginning, now it started to worry her. They still needed another child. The kingdom still needed an heir. And Elia needed not to be presented as the sickly wife, too weak to fulfill her duty. That might be a danger not only to the Martell-Targaryen alliance but to Elia's person. Aerys' madness was growing by mere hours and he was never too fond of his daughter in-law to start with. The Queen tried to protect her but she often needed protection herself. The King blamed Rhaegar's marriage to Rhaella. Had it not been for her inability to bear him a daughter, their blood would not be thinned out by the Dornish girl, he said. And now it seemed the same thing would happen again.

No, Elia needed to have a son.

"You are still too weak," Rhaegar said when confronted.

"I am not," she denied and she felt she was telling the truth. "I was weak and ill but I am not anymore. What, my lord, would you have everyone whispering behind my back that you are neglecting me? Would you shame me so?"

So he resumed his marital visits and he was overly tender and cautious. As if he's afraid he'd break me, Elia thought bitterly. As if I am so impossibly frail.

Rhaegar heard the music as soon as he entered Elia's chambers, sultry tones that made his blood boil and his head swim with pleasure. Prince Lewin Martell who stood duty in front of his niece's door, silently removed himself, erect and obliging as usual but there was some tension in his face that Rhaegar could not make out.

Each step brought him closer to the unfamiliar tunes.

Elia's private solar was brimming with colours, overly heated and illuminated by the fireplace, the candelabras, every singe candle there was. The heat made the smell of flowers even stronger, and it was strong enough even without it, for there were flowers in vases, ewers and just each utensil fit to contain them. The table was laid out with dishes Rhaegar had never seen before and judging by the variety of spices he spotted, he had no wish to try them. Wine sparkled in tall goblets.

In the corner of the room, a musician played the sensual tune Rhaegar had heard from the other side of the door. In the centre, Ashara Dayne was dancing to the rhythm, swimming in the bright green silk of her dress and a gauzy veil. Next to her, Arthur, for once not in his white cloak, whirled Elia so fast Rhaegar thought she'd lose her balance and fall down but she didn't. She just laughed and Arthur spun her around again. Rhaegar had never seen her like that, smiling uninhibitedly, brilliantly, shining in her Dornish silks and veils.

Then, the musician saw him and the music suddenly stopped with a false tune. All three of them froze and turned to Rhaegar, Elia still at the end of Arthur's outstretched arm. Their faces suddenly lost their entire colour. "Welcome, my lord," Elia finally said. "We were just…"

She faltered, not quite knowing what to say. "Out with you," Ashara hissed at the musician who gratefully scuttled out.

"I wanted to make a Dornish evening, my lord," Elia finally said. She seemed to shrink and fade in front of him and Rhaegar hated it. "I was too exhausted too long and I wanted something to remind me of home. I arranged this and I ordered Ser Arthur to indulge us. I hope I didn't offend you in any way."

But she did. Up until now, he had always thought her tranquility, her lack of visible passions to be just a trait of her temper, something that had nothing to do with him. But maybe it was Westeros and its melancholic prince that could not warm the heart of the princess of the desert sun.

"You should have invited me along," he said and made himself smile to show her that he wasn't angry with her.

"Would you have come?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

Chapter Text

He was prepared that he'd cause a scandal but he hadn't expected it to be nearly as bad. The Dornish were furious; Oberyn Martell had had to be held down to stop him from killing Rhaegar, he had been told, and he believed it. Everyone wagged their tongues as if he had not given Lyanna Stark a laurel of blue roses but stripped her lovely gown off instead. Elia pleaded illness each time he tried to talk to her. He had already dismissed her servants, twice, but Ashara Dayne had adamantly stayed both times, glowering at him and insisting that she should stay should her lady need her in her condition, and Elia was not about to tell her off. Save for bodily removing the girl, Rhaegar had no chance of staying alone with his wife. And Ashara Dayne would not abide to be quietly removed.

The only bright spot was Lyanna's smile at being given the crown. And Baratheon's rage, of course.

Still, he had not expected Elia to be this unforgiving. It was not like he had repudiated her or something. She was his wife and she'd stay such. She was his child's mother. She had the jewels of the crown, the finest in all Seven Kingdoms. Why did a crown of blue roses matter so much?

He had not realized he had spoken the last words aloud until he met the cool wonder in his best friend's eyes from the other end of the training court. Arthur Dayne did not try to say anything, the more the pity because Rhaegar could really use an answer. "Do you care for a goblet of wine?" he asked tiredly.

"If my lord so wishes," the Sword of the Morning said formally and Rhaegar sighed. That was too much, really. Now Arthur was judging him, too?

"You have spoken to your sister," he guessed.

"Why would you think that? Anyway, if Ashara offended you in any way, I beg your forgiveness."

Rhaegar sheathed his sword. Seeing that the practice was over, Arthur did the same with Dawn. When he tried to go past Rhaegar, the Prince stopped him.

"Have you ever felt such a thing?" he asked softly. "The yearning that grips you and makes you want to turn the world upside down and yet all you can do is present her with a single wreath?"

"Aye," Arthur nodded, "I have."

The answer was so unexpected that Rhaegar stopped his poetic inspiration and stared at the other knight. "You have?"

Arthur Dayne looked annoyed. "Well, yes, just because I don't wave my feelings around for all of the Seven Kingdoms to see, that still doesn't mean I don't have them."

Rhaegar's pale face blushed. "You are my friend," he said. "You are also a member of the Kingsguard. Do not forget that."

As if he could! Yet, he could not help but judge the king and the royal family, if only in his mind alone. "I'll never forget it," he said. "Be sure of that, my lord."

He paused. "But do not ask me to pretend that nothing happened. I am your friend and a sworn brother of the Kingsguard, to my great honour. But I am also Dornish."

It was now that Rhaegar started to realize that things would not be mended as easily as he had previously thought.

Holding her breath, Elia bowed her head, opened the door and went outside, careful to keep her face in the shade of her veil. The dim light of the torches also helped: Jaime Lannister did not spare her a second glance, no doubt thinking her one of the Dornish maids who went in and out of the Princess' chambers at all hours. Now all she had to do was pass through the halls of Harenhall without being noticed. She had seen where guards were posted so it was not too hard.

She had almost reached the garden when she felt that someone was following her. She spun around, her heart in her throat. She barely had the time to curse her sudden bout of impulsiveness when the figure stepped in her view, silvered by the moon. Ser Arthur. "Ah," she breathed. "You scared me!"

"I beg your forgiveness, Princess," he said. "That was never my intention."

With relief came anger, the very same one that had not left her since her public humiliation earlier this day. If anything, Rhaegar had made the matters worse by dancing with her in the hall after dinner. Fuming with anger, she had fought hard to resist the temptation to step on his foot. And the man in front of her, Rhaegar's best friend, had not made things easier either.

"No," she agreed coolly, "you only intended to follow me around without my knowledge and then report to your master."

Her words stung all the more, for she was not usually the one for biting remarks. He said nothing.

"I assume you won't leave me alone?" Elia demanded in fierce whisper.

He shook his head no.

"Very well then, if I can't get rid of you, let's go out into the garden."

They moved with the ease of people used to gardens, although not either of them had been in one for years. They soon found a garden-seat shielded by view of the rest of the garden. Elia sat down and opened her mouth to say something but her anger was somewhat diminished by realizing that he was not wearing his white cloak. He lifted a hand to the tree nearest to the bench and lowered a branch, so the fruit came near her face, almost caressing it. Oranges. They were neither as big nor as fragrant as oranges at home but she still wanted to weep. She often dreamed of the orange trees back in the water gardens and woke up with a heavy heart, full of yearning. Now, she breathed the fruit in.

He picked an orange off and peeled it, then held out a hand. She took a slice and ate it. Then, she smiled faintly. "Thank you," she said, and he shrugged and took a slice himself.

"I just needed to clear my head off," she finally said. "I would have died otherwise. Something like purging."

"So I thought," he agreed.

She gave him a bold look. "Had we been at King's Landing, I would have sought a different kind of purging," she said. "I would have found a man for the purpose."

Now, he finally looked shocked. She smiled. It felt good to remember that she was Elia of Dorne and not just the royal brood mare she had been acting for so long. Now she only needed to implement it to the others. Ser Arthur Dayne was a good start.

"Princess!" he spluttered.

She smiled again, satisfied by his reaction. "That's what my brother would have done in my place, is it not?"

"Prince Oberyn, yes," he agreed. "But Prince Doran would not have been this rash."

She glared at him. In her maid's robe and veil, she looked every inch a queen. "Rash!" she hissed. "I've been nothing but un-rash for all these years and look what it got me. I am so tired of it."

But the worst part was still ahead of her. She still needed to give the Seven Kingdoms an heir. She was tied to Rhaegar and could not even deny him her bed, although the very idea of marital closeness made her sick.

"Arthur!"

She spoke the name of her childhood companion from the water gardens in the intimate voice from long ago.

"You were once my friend before you became his. I hate making you break the trust he has placed in you and yet I must know. Has he confided in you? Does he mean to set me aside and take the wolf-girl in my stead?"

He shook his head. For the last few hours he had searched his memory for everything that could give him an inkling of Rhaegar's intentions and he could find none. It had been obviously a spur of the moment thing. Arthur did not believe that Rhaegar even had an idea about the full implications of this impulsive gesture. "No, Princess. He hasn't spoken to me and I don't believe it was ever his intention to disturb you, let alone cast you aside. He just…" His voice faded.

"He was just besotted with the woman-child," Elia finished for him.

That could not be denied.

"Is she so very beautiful?" she asked. "I cannot say for myself, for obvious reasons."

Her smile, full of irony to herself and the world, could cut through a stone.

"You said it yourself," Arthur said. "She does have a certain charm, like any wolf. Yet all wolves bow to the sun."

"Somehow, I have my doubts about this one," Elia muttered.

"Never doubt it, Princess," Arthur said. "Beauty, and wits, and a lineage like yours – these things combine so rare. Only a fool would not begrudge the Prince such a wife."

"Are you a fool?"

He recoiled as if she had struck him. They had never talked about this, not once in all her years in Westeros.

"Be quiet, Princess." His voice was lower than usual and strangely vibrating. "It was the Prince I owe this white cloak to whom you wed..."

"You must have known that it was never Rhaegar whom I wanted to wed…" Elia's voice was also lower than usual and also strangely vibrating. "You must have known, you must… And yet you stood there in that cursed white cloak and watched… But you couldn't quite smile, could you?"

"What could I have done?" he demanded. "Abduct you, maybe? Destroy my own House, as well as yours? Throw the Seven Kingdoms in a war? Princesses of Dorne do not marry sons of lesser houses. And I had already taken my vows. What could I have done?"

"Obviously, only what you are doing right now," she snapped. "You can stay the perfect knight, and I, the princess. Only, you weren't so perfect this very night, were you? With that Hightower girl…"

She was glad when he looked aside. "I… well, what can I say? She was pretty and she was looking at me…"

Suddenly, Elia wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. It seemed that every man she encountered this evening felt the urge to explain his deviations to her. Oh they cared so very much. Only, they never cared enough not to hurt her in the first place. She almost looked around, expecting Jaime Lannister to make an appearance and beg her forgiveness for letting her leave on her own.

Her mirth disappeared as suddenly as it had come. The memory of the time before Westeros, before Rhaegar, came back and refused to leave. It was the garden, the fact that they were alone here in the night as they had been years ago, far away in Sunspear. It was almost like a dream that had happened so far ago, that had never been real. Almost.

"I could not say whether she was looking at you," she said quietly, "for the truth is, I watch you myself. There is no room for her or another one for me to see."

She did not expect him to reply, so she was surprised when he did. "I know," he said softly. "I watch also…"

There was nothing to be said or done anymore. Arthur took her hand to his lips and held it longer than necessary. She sighed. As strange as it was, she felt engulfed by a sudden happiness. Everything was still there, of course – the whispers, the betrayal, the loss of trust, the Stark girl. But today, for first time in years, she was closer to herself than to the image of a perfect Targaryen princess. She had denied her husband's wish to talk. She had donned Dornish garments again, so she could actually breathe without the restraints of her gown. She had snuck in the garden and ate an orange straight from the tree. She had had a quarrel – sort of – with Arthur Dayne. Not the Sword of the Morning of the Kingsguard but Arthur Dayne of Starfall. All these things were so Elia. Elia was coming back…

She knew it was just elation caused by nerves and exhaustion. But it was a nice one. While she was still riding it, she thought over the question she had always avoided asking herself: why was it Arthur Dayne whom she felt drawn to so much? He was not as handsome as Rhaegar; he did not possess the perky wittiness she so enjoyed in Jaime Lannister. He did not sing of the dark eyes and the perfect skin of the most beautiful woman in the world, like many others did. By all measures, she should have forgotten about her youthful infatuation long ago, and yet…

Everyone in Westeros thought her weak because of her poor health. Rhaegar saw her as broken. Arthur saw her as beautiful. Everyone else looked down on her for her constant illnesses but Arthur – like Ashara – was in awe of her ability to overcome all of them. He saw her like the sun – warming, dazzling, and fighting. Never bending. Always rising.

It would take more than dragons and wolves to crush the daughter of the sun.

This time, Ser Jaime recognized her. She could see it in his eyes even from the opposite end of the hall. She nodded to Arthur that she was already safe, lifted her chin and went straight past the young knight to her door when something in his face made her stop dead in her tracks. She slowly made a step back. „What is it, Ser Jaime?" she asked. He was the newest addition to the Kingsguard and she had yet to take his measure but what she had seen so far, she liked. But now he was watching her as if she were a stranger and Elia felt it was not only due to her untypical attire.

He surprised her further by saying, "My lady…"

"Yes?" she encouraged him. They were both whispering.

"You are a great princess."

She felt like laughing. "Where did that come from, Ser Lion?"

He did not answer. He only bowed at her. A formal bow, very low. One that was due to a true and great princess.

Chapter Text

The sun was different in Dorne: hotter, brighter, more biting. Ser Oswell Whent had rarely felt worse in his life but the Sword of the Morning and Princess Elia looked revitalized, full of life and purpose. Even the young Princess Rhaenys had adjusted admirably, tottering around on her unsteady little legs. Relieved of her ornate gowns and dressed from head to toe in Dornish silks that kept her cool, she chattered animatedly in her babyish tongue, tugging her mother towards the edge of the cliff. Even one as inept with children as Ser Oswell Whent could make out what she wanted: Rhaenys was fascinated with the sea. She wanted to go there and touch it, stricken by its vastness.

"No," Elia said calmly, making Rhaenys scream with rage. "No, my love. We cannot go there. Not by this route, anyway. Come here, now. Let's not get in the way of the knights. They are practicing," she explained, although Rhaenys could not possibly understand what that meant.

They were truly a sight to behold: both in white, like mirror images of one another, both graceful, quick, and immensely skilled. Whent did have some advantage thanks to his size and tens years of experience. He was a force of nature, crushing everything in his path. But Arthur was faster, lighter, more pliable. When two men meet in battle – two men who are equal in skills, Doran told her once, the younger one will win, for he is more resilient. Elia didn't know how old Ser Oswell Whent was, exactly. But she knew Arthur Dayne's exact age. At the Water Gardens, they always celebrated each name day – from that of the Prince to that of the baker's son. And since there were so many children there, it was always a stream of merry affairs. An enchanted life. A dream that kept slipping in her dreams, leaving her with a heart full of longing. It was the same with Ashara. And about Arthur? She didn't know. She had never asked. Given his fervent desire to get away from Starfall, he might have just left it all behind.

Rhaenys squealed, making both combatants look around in the blink of an eye. When they saw her clapping her hands in delight, they looked relieved but they did not resume their fight. They felt bad enough already for not having one of them stand strictly guard at the future Queen and the Princess' side, as if anything could leap out from behind the edge of the cliff and attack the royal ladies.

"Well, well," a male voice said, and Ser Oswell Whent's hand immediately went to his sword while Arthur Dayne's let go off his. "Won't we be treated to the end of it? It was very impressive, I must say."

"Im-esive!" Rhaenys agreed, and Elia laughed.

Ser Oswell saw that the newcomer was clearly not an enemy and released his grip on the sword. The young Lord of Starfall went straight to Elia and bowed politely, first to her, then to Rhaenys, making her giggle. "My princess, welcome to Starfall."

She inclined her head. "My lord."

"I regret I could not be present to greet you myself," he said. "I had other duties and besides, we were not informed about your upcoming visit."

"Of course, my lord. Do not think twice of it. Your lady wife substituted for you admirably. And it was not as if I was not acquainted with Starfall. It is just as I remember it. More beautiful, perhaps."

He nodded, winked at Rhaenys, and turned to the two Kingsguards. "Hello, Arthur."

"Hello, Arel."

"It's good to see you, after all these years. You've become even better than I remember. But with such competition, I cannot say I am surprised," he went on and looked at Ser Oswell.

Arthur introduced them and for a while, Ser Oswell stood guard while she and the Dornish lord were chatting with the easiness of a long acquaintance. He felt as if he had not known Princess Elia at all. Since they had come at Dorne a few weeks ago – a trip that Prince Phaegar had allowed only with great reluctance, hoping that it would melt his wife's heart into forgiving him, - she had become a different woman altogether. As if someone has taken down the shutters and now he could see that there was light inside. I wonder whether anyone in Westeros has ever known her, truly, he thought while his eyes darted around to catch any potential threat.

Arthur, however, was mostly silent, suddenly overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last weeks. Being at Dorne again felt so strange, yet so familiar and soothing, and disturbing, for it awakened memories half-forgotten and anguishes never soothed. How he had longed to escape this little speck of land – even now, he was not sure whether he had meant Starfall, or the entire Dorne, with her isolation. How he had wished to make something of himself, to become a name, a Sword of the Morning.

You've become better than I remember. He smiled faintly. Of course Arel would have a memory of Arthur's fighting skills. Five years older, his brother had always kept himself updated of Arthur's progress and prowess, ever since the younger Dayne had taken his first sword in a tiny hand. He had not thought about that in years but he did now, and for a moment, the present turmoil – in the Seven Kingdoms, in his heart – stopped existing. A memory meant, You were good and I wanted to see it and rejoice. A memory meant, You were so important that I left everything else to come watch.

"I thought you were at the Princess' door," the Lord of Starfall said when he emerged at the roof of the castle where chairs and a table were placed under the starry sky.

"It's Ser Oswell's turn now," Arthur said, and filled a second goblet of wine. Arel accepted it with a silent nod of thanks.

"I take it you heard?" he asked.

Arthur hesitated, tempted to lie and finally deciding against it. "I did," he said. In all probability, the entire castle had heard. Lord and Lady Dayne had raised a blazing row when she had refused to admit him in her bedchamber. By the sound of it, he had been close to forcing the door open over her strong protest. "The Seven help me, woman!" he had exclaimed. "You're making it sound as if I rape you!"

"You do," she had stated, a matter of-factly, and Arthur had involuntarily shuddered, suddenly reminded of Queen Rhaella's screams in the nights he stood guard in front of her door while the King was with her.

But Arel was no Aerys Targaryen, so now he was drowning his anger in drinking, instead of wife-beating.

"She doesn't look good, Arel," Arthur said, choosing his words with great care. He had seen his sister in-law only once but he was now shocked of her change from a beautiful, vibrant woman to a lovely pale shadow. "I take it that her health make things difficult for her."

He was going blind into this, for he had no real idea how things between these two were.

His brother smiled darkly. "Yes, you can say so. She recently miscarried. Again. Fifth time in five years."

Arthur was shocked. It was news to him. He had missed so much of the life in Starfall. And Ashara had not told him about that, either, although she must have known. She had come to King's Landing later than him. But now that he knew, he did not need to be told that Lady Dayne had probably started fearing her marital bed. It was so sad. He had always believed that Arel had married her for love.

"Enough about my troubles," Arel said and drank deeply. "Tell me, are things in King's Landing really as bad as Ashara says?"

"Worse," Arthur said honestly.

"Is the King truly mad? No, don't say anything, I know you have your oaths to keep. The look of your face is enough. May the Seven protect us all."

May it be so, Arthur silently echoed. "I am sorry I didn't send word," he said instead. "Bringing the Princess here without warning was not…"

"Arthur," his brother interrupted. "When you want to bring someone here, you don't need to send word. Neither you nor Ashara."

Arthur sighed and stared at the sky, breathing it in, breathing the salt of the sea in, breathing Starfall in to never let go. How had he lived without it for so long? The Kingsguard was never off duty, of course, and the great quarrel he had had with his brother before leaving had not exactly made him think that he'd find a warm welcome if he did happen to pass by. Little by little, he had forced himself to forget. "I am glad to hear it," he finally said. "In all honesty, I envisioned a new clash. A new fight."

Arel looked at him and impatiently flicked his hair back. He resembled Ashara a lot – tall and slender, with tumbling dark hair and purple eyes that looked black and piercing in the moonlight. "I do not fight with you, Arthur. I never have. I was just…" He hesitated. "I just wanted you to be happy. And I was afraid that one day, your hunger for glory would abate and you'd find yourself stuck, for Kingsguard is for life."

My hunger for glory has not abated, Arthur thought. But I am already stuck. He was stuck with witnessing things that no knight should ever witness without interfering, and he actually guarded the madman doing them. He was stuck with hearing the Queen who was so generous and regal, a gem of beauty and wit, being reduced to a shrieking being robbed of any rational thought, and he stood and tried not to hear. He was stuck with hearing Elia's moans and screams when Rhaegar visited her bedchamber, although those were for a completely different reason altogether.

It was them he feared most.

How had it come to this? Would he have acted differently had he known just how mad Aerys truly was? He was honest enough to admit that it would have probably made no difference. He had been too young then, too fervent to escape, to prove himself. The second son of a minor house, never meant for a great place in the world. Never meant for the Princess of Dorne. His longing for glory had burned too bright. Still did. So he had turned his back to his past, to his family, to Starfall, trading them for fame, a white cloak, and King's Landing.

Maybe I needed to leave then, he thought, not for the first time. Maybe I had to leave, so I could come back. "I wish I knew that," he sighed. "All this time, I thought you didn't … you didn't want me to come back."

"There was never a day I didn't wish for you to come back," Arel said. "I did not envision, however, that it would be under such circumstances." He looked at his brother, and his stare was penetrating. "Still at it, I see. Be careful, Arthur, or it will become obvious. This new brother of yours won't stay blind for long, I think. And friend or not, new love or not, Prince Rhaegar won't be overjoyed, either. Do not put yourself at risk. Or her."

Arthur recoiled. "What do you mean? Tell me!" But his voice sounded weary rather than angry.

"You've made your choice," Arel said. "And there is no going back. You have to live with it. And that means cutting yourself off her."

Arthur stopped pretending he didn't know what Arel was talking about. "Well, you're welcome to cut me off her, if you can find a way. I am a Kingsguard, brother. There isn't any cutting off."

Arel stood up, his lips curving in a sad small smile. The stars suddenly looked cold and condescending, and they were both in a hell of their own making that they could not scramble out of. May the girls have better lots, he thought. "You've made your choice," he repeated, for there was nothing else he could say, nothing at all.

Arthur smiled bitterly and raised his goblet in a sardonic toast to choice.

The news of the tournament had already traveled in all Dorne, it seemed. Ever since Rhaegar had entered the sandy land, it was all glaring men and women who would start muttering among themselves as soon as they saw him. He did not care to find out what they said.

In Sunspear, he was received by obedient, coolly disapproving servants. Arthur had told him once that Elia was much beloved by Dornish people but Rhaegar hadn't given it much thought. Still, if looks could kill, he and his entourage would be dead about fifty times over, for everyone was staring at them, stony-faced, from the groom who took care of his horse to the steward of the Prince's palace who muttered that it was a great honour, and he'd send for his master immediately, and so on. Rhaegar did not doubt for a minute that Doran's absence was not a coincidence: the Prince of Dorne was too clever to not have expected his arrival. Rhaegar had not exactly made a secret of his travel. It was a deliberate snub on Doran's part.

Still, he had to collect Elia and take her back to King's Landing. Rumours had already started spreading that he'd repudiate her, that Rhaenys would be announced a bastard, that the Targaryens would lose the Dornish alliance. Rhaegar would have lost it to them. It had been a mistake to let Elia come here to rest and calm down. He saw that now. He had her best interests in mind. But it had been a mistake.

"Where is my lady wife?" he demanded.

"The Princess is at the Water Gardens, my prince," the steward said, offering no further information, although Rhaegar was clearly waiting.

The Crown Prince sighed and dismissed him with an order to find him someone who'd take him there.

He immediately felt the magic of the Water Gardens – the magic of the multicoloured marbles, the magic of the fountains, the magic of the orange trees. And the delighted screams of children running around, thrashing the orange trees, riding each other's shoulders in the pools. Rhaegar had never seen such a thing; he actually stopped dead in his tracks to watch, stricken with wonder. That's how it should be, he thought. That's how I'll make it be.

Near a pool he saw a child that he needed a moment to recognize as his own. Completely naked, Rhaenys was trying to squirm her way out of Mellario of Norvos' arms and go in the water. Heavily pregnant and limited in her movements, the Princess of Dorne was anyway a strong woman: she didn't let go. Dark-haired and golden-skinned, Rhaenys was hard to tell from the other children. She doesn't favour us too much, Rhaegar thought. He hoped she hadn't inherited their other... unfortunate traits, either.

Further inside, Elia sat at a table with a little silver-haired girl at her side and they were discussing something, both their faces very serious. Arthur stood not far away, obviously at duty. The little girl called something to him, he looked at them and smiled. They smiled at him in response.

A blood orange suddenly fell from the tree – just at their table. Elia caught it before it rolled down, and tossed it at Arthur who deftly caught it in the air, proving his honed instincts as the most glorified of the living knights at Westeros. The little girl clapped her hands, and Elia laughed. "I told you he can do it," she said, and Arthur's lips twitched in suppressed laughter. "Keep it," Elia said when he was abolut to toss the fruit back at them.

Rhaegar suddenly felt a burning desire to run to them and set them apart; to take Arthur's place and turn Elia's attention to himself. Ever since that dat at Harrenhall, she had been ever so polite and distant, not smiling, answering when asked a question but not initiating a conversation herself. Not seeking to meet him when not necessary. Rhaegar felt chilled at the idea that from now on, it could be like this forever. His passion for Lyanna aside, he missed Elia's warmth and easy companionship. He did not know just when he had formed such a strong attachment to her.

The sun was dancing in Elia's hair and Rhaegar's breath caught. He had never seem her so beautiful.

And then all the hells broke loose.

"What are you doing here?" Oberyn Martell growled, having suddenly materialized from one of the paths. Elia froze. Arthur snapped to attention. And Mellario of Norvos suddenly groaned, clutching at her stomach. Elia ran to her.

"Is it the baby?" she asked worriedly, and Mellario nodded. "Help me get inside," she said. "Oberyn, you too."

"Now, sister..." he started but his face changed from irritation to shock when he realized she wasn't bluffing to lead him away from the damned Crown Prince. "Can you walk?" he asked worriedly, and she nodded. Oberyn and Elia went at either side of her to assist her.

"I'm afraid," she whispered. "It's too early... there is more than a month until my due date."

"There is nothing to be afraid for,' Oberyn said brusquely. "It's just that Arianne would get to meet her new sister sooner than expected. Or it might be a boy with my temper. May the Seven help Arianne then!"

Mellario looked at him and through her fear, gratitude surged forward. "I think she'd be very lucky," she said, smiling.

Oberyn turned back. "Go and fetch my brother here immediately," he said, and Ser Arthur Dayne did not hesitate – he followed the command of the man whose noble House was Dayne's overlord and whom he had always deferred to in the past, since they were children. It was only when he had already made a few steps that he suddenly stopped and looked at Rhaegar, the shame evident in his face. Rhaegar waved him off.

I shouldn't have sent him here, he thought. And I cannot really expect that here, things would be the same they are in Westeros. One heart cannot serve two masters.

Chapter Text

Elia opened her eyes, unsurprised that she had fallen asleep. After her son's birth a few weeks ago, she was either sleeping or sleepy, wherever she was – she had lost too much blood, had torn too badly. This time, she had chosen a good place to fall asleep – a soft armchair that had kept her comfortable.

She looked around, suddenly feeling that someone was watching her. Arthur Dayne, from the threshold, hesitation written all over his face. When he noticed that she was awake, he bowed to her. "I beg your pardon, Princess," he said. "I am off duty and I thought Ashara was with you."

Elia frowned. "Isn't she? She was here right before I fell asleep…"

He looked around and smiled at the sight of her friend on the couch, hidden from Arthur's view; snuggled against the cushions, her head on the back, Ashara looked like a lazy kitten. Her dark hair had gotten free and now fell on her calm face.

"She's here," Elia said. "Just sleeping. Come in."

He hesitated. Elia had been nothing but icily polite to him ever since the whole fiasco with Lyanna Stark. She seemed to hold nothing but contempt for anyone who had accompanying Rhaegar through the abduction, so Arthur still got the cold shoulder while Rhaegar got a new son.

Still, he entered the chamber and looked at his sister with concern. "She's always tired as of late," he said. "When I ask her, she says she isn't ill but I am not sure."

Elia met his eyes levelly. If only you knew, she thought. Of course, one day he would know, and soon. Ashara could not hide her secret forever. Not when her body would betray it. She was terrified what it would mean for Ashara… and Arthur, as much as it pained her to admit it. If something could push the young Kingsguard over the edge, it would be only something like this.

"I am sure there is nothing for us to be concerned about," she said calmly. "Should we wake her up? Is it important?"

He shook his head. Ashara needed to rest at every chance she got. Her not-illness was starting to really trouble him. As if he didn't have enough on his plate already!

"I'll just wait for a few minutes and if she doesn't wake up, I'll take my leave," he said. "If that's fine with you?"

Elia's manners would never let her tell him off, although that was what she wanted to do. His final betrayal to her was still fresh. For all the pain in her heart, she had accepted his desire to leave Dorne and her, to seek honour and glory elsewhere. But there was no honour in helping that moonstruck husband of hers to abduct a woman who was already betrothed to another man. Helping make Elia a laughingstock of the whole kingdom in the process. Breaking her heart once again. But then, her heart had never been his prime consideration now, had it? No, his damned oaths were all there was to him.

"Sit down, please, Ser," she said pleasantly and he took a seat opposite to her. Now, she could see him clearly. His finely shaped, clean-shaved face was tired and sunken. Elia suddenly realized that he was upset, probably by something he had witnessed on his watch. Some new madness of the King's. He was trying to find something to engage his mind with. Probably, he was in one of his rare moments when Elia's presence was welcome to him, when he vaguely felt the need of everything he had denied himself at taking the white cloak. In this moment, no one would know the Sword of the Morning. Now, he looked weak and vulnerable. Elia sighed, not entirely pleased with the discovery that her anger towards him was greatly diminished. For all his swordsmanship and fame, he was just another tormented soul trapped here without any means to escape, just like her. Worse off, it was he who had done it to himself.

"Do you want some wine?" she asked, and he nodded. She poured him a goblet and he looked at her.

"Won't you take some yourself?" he asked, and Elia shook her head. Wine was not good for someone as faint as she was right now.

Arthur downed his goblet and she poured him another. He downed that one, too, and Elia could not keep a look of surprise. She had never seen such lack of restrain in him.

He noticed her look. "There was an accident," he said softly. He did not add anything more. She was sure to know all about it pretty soon. Still, it gave her the creeps that Aerys' madness should manifest itself once again just now, the day her newborn son would be officially presented at court.

She nodded and was about to pour him a third goblet when he reached for her hand and his fingers traced her palm, his eyes closed. She wanted to touch his cheek, to reassure him that everything would get better, that they'd all be fine. But she was never much of a liar. So much had happened, and so much was yet about to happen. And they would be central pawns in it.

"I hope you will do us the honour of attending Aegon's presentation tonight?" she said, and his eyes snapped open, his fingers releasing her hand. He looked as if he had been slapped and Elia could not understand why. Then, he nodded.

"I'll be there, Princess."

"I am pleased."

His deep purple eyes bore into her grimly. She wore Dornish silks, light and fragrant, for now the heavy gowns felt uncomfortable on her body, still recovering from the damages of childbirth. For a few moments, while he was drinking his wine, he stared at her slim arms, at the slight swell of her breasts rising and falling under her dress. Then, suddenly, he tore his eyes away and stared at the hanging of the wall. His lips tightened. All of a sudden, he realized how unacceptable it was to feel so tempted. How deep was the precipice that set him apart from the world of common knights, from earthly pleasures, from Elia. There was no specific provision about this in his oaths but he felt pretty sure that he was not supposed to sit together with the Crown Princess in front of a ewer of wine. Still, pressured by the nervous strain he was under, he had succumbed to this weakness, to this hunger of his mind and body for the woman he had feelings for. And that was not to be tolerated.

Elia felt this. Without words, she could read his mind – how bitter this innocent delight was for him, to look at her knowing that it was against his oaths, that she'd never be his, that another man – his best friend – was entitled to see her like this every day. And knowing this, his heart ached with jealousy, for despite all his oaths and morals, he was a man like any other man and his heart was like any other heart. Yes, in this moment Arthur loved her and was jealous of her. Elia felt a rush of deep, vindictive joy.

"I think it will start snowing any day now," he said evenly, as if he was trying only to keep the conversation alive. "Have you gotten accustomed to coldness, Princess?"

"Oh long ago," she said immediately and let him make of that whatever he wanted.

The same evening…

As soon as the newborn prince was officially presented at court, the King retired – much to everyone's relief. The courtiers were now free to engage in some real merriment – or as soon, as real as it could be under these circumstances. While Rhaegar was watching the dance, his thoughts led him to Lyanna. She had not taken well the news about her father and brother. She accused him – and herself. He had come back at King's Landing to stifle the rumours that he'd repudiate Elia, to show Westeros that she still had a prince, and… be away from Lyanna for a while. He had not expected that it would be so long. Aegon's premature birth had changed his plans. Still, he missed her. But he couldn't leave here until his son was properly presented at court and Elia made some real progress at recovering. He did not love her, of course, but that did not matter. She had fought for him, to give him an heir. He would not disgrace her more than he already had. Not if he could avoid it.

In any case, Elia looked better than he knew her to be. She had taken great care in her dress – a magnificent gown in Targaryen red and black, - her face was delicately made up, her dark hair tumbled under the golden tiara. Looking at her, no one would believe that the Maesters had been appalled at the idea of her presence at the occasion. She refused to play the shamed wife, the dying young mother. Instead, she danced with the most prominent lords who supported the Targaryen cause, charming them with her smiles and wits. Rhaegar had danced with her himself and acquainted with her real condition, he had felt the strain of her body, the effort she took to present the image. But she would not acknowledge a weakness. She was too proud.

Next to him, Queen Rhaella stirred. "Are you going to retire, Lady Mother?" Rhaegar asked. He would be sorry to see her go. She loved celebrations, had loved them since he could remember. One of his earliest memories of her was her dancing in this very same hall, her silver hair glowing, her purple eyes charming whoever her partner was. She and Lewyn Martell had made a dashing couple on the dancing floor, he so dark and she so fair but both so elegant and graceful. How many years separated them from these blissful times! Sometimes, Rhaegar forgot that once, they had been happy.

"Soon," Rhaella said and smiled at him. "I'll go to see the baby. He's adorable!"

"Yes," Rhaegar agreed, "he is."

Suddenly, Eia's voice came from somewhere near, "You still haven't danced with me, Ser Arthur." There was a slight teasing in her voice, in her small smile. "You cannot refuse a lady, can you?"

"By no means, Princess," Arthur, who was not on duty today and wore his family's colours, said before standing and taking her hand.

Rhaegar gave them a long look that kept lingering while they were taking their places on the dancing floor. Arthur had drunk more heavily that what was normal for him and was probably better off sleeping as soon as the court was allowed to retire. Still, he was in control of himself. He wouldn't trip Elia or something.

He couldn't see the sudden pallor that covered his friend's cheeks, neither could he hear his voice, so soft that even Elia strained to make it out. "You never do anything without a reason," Arthur Dayne spoke. "But why?"

"Think it over," she said coolly, and he smiled cheerfully.

"Dance, Princess. I know you excel in it. Throw your lovely hair back and smile at me." She did. "And the world may go to the seven hells. Isn't that what all this is about? To show that you don't care, that as long as you provided the Prince with an heir, you've won?"

He's drunk, Elia belatedly realized. Not drunk enough to slur his words but just enough not to know when he'd better shut up. "Yes," she murmured. "Something like this."

On the podium, Rhaegar shook his head. "I hope she doesn't overexert herself," he murmured under his breath to his mother. "I don't want her to make herself ill again. She doesn't need to prove a point."

"Doesn't she?" The Queen's voice was just as low but in her eyes, there was a firm disapproval. Rhaegar had humiliated his wife in front of the whole kingdom, had provoked a bloody war – and for what? For no better reason than a little she-wolf? Any other cause, Rhaella would have tried to understand. But not the sudden flame of a passion. It was disgraceful of Rhaegar and he should have tried to hide his feelings, instead of abducting the girl. Yes, Elia did have a good reason to prove a point."

Rhaegar flicked his silver hair at one side. "She's doing this just to spite me. Since I came back, she's nothing but distanced and polite, as far away from me as she can. Tonight, she just wants to show me that she doesn't need me, that she can charm any man she wants to, even my best friend. What? You don't think so?"

Rhaella smiled a sad small smile. "I do think so," she said. "You're right about everything you said. And still…"

"Still what?"

She shook her head, the grief in her smile seeping in her eyes. She touched his hand. "Has life taught you so little?" she asked.

Before going to bed, Rhaegar decided to go and see the children. It was a ritual of his that he found nice and soothing. He could spend an hour just looking at them sleep. He went into the hallway and started walking, Jaime Lannister behind his back like a silent shadow.

Far away, the music and cheers of the celebration still went high. King's Landing, it seemed, wanted to forget that there was a war raging. Rhaegar wished he could forget it, too.

Barristan Selmy stood in front of Elia's door. So, she, too, had retired. Rhaegar hoped her little display of nonchalance had not cost her. He silently went through the door, into Elia's corridor. He'd check on her before going to the children.

Far in front of him, two silhouettes emerged. They were walking toward Elia's entourage's chambers. He recognized the colours of their attire: Arthur was seeing his sister off. Rhaegar motioned at Jaime to stay where he was, although the boy looked suddenly uncomfortable, and went down the hallway.

When he reached the small hall, though, Ashara was nowhere to be seen. Elia and Arthur stood facing each other, their faces orange, and red, and white in the changing light of the coals in the fireplace. Rhaegar was about to join them but something in the rigid way they held their shoulders, in the way dark eyes met purple stole his breath away and made him move in the shadows of a nearby alcove. They did not notice him. Elia looked just as exhausted as Rhaegar had suspected, and Arthur had obviously taken more goblets than Rhaegar had thought.

"Why? Why, Elia?" Arthur asked, and there was pain and anger in his voice. Rhaegar's eyes went wide. This was the first time he heard Arthur address her as something other than 'Princess'.

Elia sighed. "Why what?" she asked.

"Why did you go back to Rhaegar?" he asked. "Why did you bear him a son?"

A bitter smile crossed her lips and disappeared. "Am I not his wedded wife?" she said.

He bowed his head. Rhaegar suddenly knew the secret behind Elia's sudden silences in the night and Arthur's change of topic sometimes when they spoke of the details of his past in Dorne. He was so stunned that he could not even summon anger. He only watched them and listened the development of the drama he had had no idea that he was participating in.

"You're too much into your cups, Ser Arthur," Elia said firmly. "Compose yourself."

He gave a laugh of disbelief. "First, you use me to make your husband jealous and then you tell me to compose myself? Of course I am into my cups! How else would you expect I'd go through the ceremony of watching you with Rhaegar's newborn at your breast in front of the whole court?"

Now, there was a flash of anger in her eyes too. "You were the one who made it possible. By leaving when you could have stayed. You'd better not forget it, Ser Arthur!"

"I haven't, believe me," he grunted, and Rhaegar was completely lost in their exchange.

Something in Elia's face changed. Sadness, pity, sudden tenderness – Rhaegar could read them all in her sunken features.

"I don't know whether to believe you," she said thoughtfully. "I feel that I no longer knew the truth about anything."

Arthur looked her straight in the eye. "The truth is, I've taken too much wine," he said. Despite his words, all of a sudden, he looked completely sober or at least, very serious. "The truth is my love for you."

And she gasped, and so did Rhaegar in the shadows. Hearing it spoken aloud made it more real, somehow.

Elia sighed. "Too late," she said and looked down, her hair falling in front of her face. Arthur reached out to touch it and Rhaegar tensed but Arthur took his hand down. "Your love comes too late, Arthur. You know that.'

"I do," he agreed, and looked at her with sad wonder. "Isn't it peculiar? When you loved me, I did not reciprocate fully and now, when I fell for you more than I ever thought possible, you are the Crown Prince's wife and besides, you became indifferent to me. And everything between us is dead now. Strange, isn't it?"

She raised her head and met his eyes. Suddenly, now she looked like someone in strong physical pain. "No, not quite," she said evenly. "You're wrong, my love. I've loved you since your fifteenth nameday. And I still do now. Now, go to sleep. If we're lucky, tomorrow you won't remember anything about that."

He hesitated but pliant to her will, went to the door, right past Rhaegar without noticing him, and headed for his chambers.

Elia stood alone, shivering and looking after him. Then, with another small sigh, she went to her bedchamber and her lonely bed.

Chapter Text

The next day…

"Should I take him, my Princess?" the young maid asked, looking at the wailing infant. Elia was doing all she could but today Aegon was quite troubled – and his wails troubled everyone in ten rooms range.

Elia rocked her son but he would not be soothed. She looked around. "No, Lady Ashara will take him," she said. Ashara did and Aegon almost immediately calmed down. Elia had not expected any different. Normally, Aegon would stop crying the moment Ashara held him. To a stranger eye, they would look like a mother and child – both purple-eyed and fair of skin, with the cold exquisite beauty of old Valyria.

"What is it, my Princess?" Ashara asked without looking up. She had felt Elia's eyes on her.

Elia shook her head and smiled, despite the fact that her friend could not see her. "It's nothing," she said and Ashara started humming to Aegon who gurgled happily.

A sudden memory made Elia shudder. She had been no older than twelve, Ashara a few years younger when the woman came to Sunspear – a strange-looking woman with wild hair and wilder eyes, yet with soft voice and an air of someone tired of seeing in the invisible. It had been all a game, of course – almost all ladies and children at court had gone to her to learn their future. How many had believed what they heard? Not many! How many had understood it? Elia certainly hadn't!

She did not need to close her eyes to picture Ashara's green silk dress, her wide eyes. The maegi looked at them and dragged them by the hand in her tent. "You should not be here!" she hissed. "Do you know what will happen if the Princess of Dorne learns that her daughter and her companion has sneaked here under the veil of night?"

"I shall protect you," Elia said, and the maegi laughed bitterly.

"You will protect me? Fair one, you won't be able to protect yourself, let alone me! You won't be able to protect her, either," she added, looking at Ashara.

The girls shared a look, already regretting their coming. The maegi suddenly smiled and looked like any sweet old wife. "Well, since you are here," she said pleasantly, "let's see what future has in store for you, shall we?"

"No," Ashara said but when the maegi held out a hand, she put her own in it.

For a long time, the old woman stared at the lines and curves on her palm. In the firelight, her face was alternatively as red as the flame, as pale as wax. Beads of sweat covered her wrinkled forehead. "So, that's it for you," she muttered finally. "So beautiful, so sweet, and so dangerous," she added. "I can see a dragon entwined with your fate."

"The Crown Prince?" Elia asked excitedly.

"Will I marry Prince Rhaegar, maegi?" Ashara asked.

The woman shook her head, gray strands of hair falling on her face. She looked frightened. "No, not marriage. I don't see marriage for you at all, fair one. Love, yes, many loves, but marriage… No, the dragon is… he's your son and he isn't."

Elia and Ashara looked at each other. The maegi was mad, pure and simple. They shouldn't have come at all.

"You shall be a king's mother," the maegi went on, her eyes impossibly wide and staring at something only she could see. Her foot was rapping at the floor, her hand squeezing Ashara's with gentle strength. The girl could shake her off whenever she wanted to but she was mesmerized. And so was Elia. "But you shall not birth a king. You shall be beloved, yet never a wife. You shall go far away, beyond the sea…"

"That's enough," Elia said firmly when the woman's words stopped flowing but she did not release Ashara's hand. "Now, it's my turn."

The maegi took reverently the Princess' daughter's hand. Her eyes went wide again. "Incredible! What an amazing fate! The dragon is on your hand, young and magnificent. But there is something else that dominates… A star. It's falling, it's falling, and it's burning bright into a fire. This fire will glow in you your entire life… till the very end. It's so bright that it hides the dragon from view. The dragon will be your fate but you will not love him because of the falling star…"

Elia slowly came back to this time and this chamber. She had not thought about the maegi's prophecy in years, yet for the last few weeks it was all she could think about. So far, everything the woman said had proved to be true. Ashara had been Eddard Stark's beloved, yet he could not marry her because of the Tully girl. May knights swore they'd love her forever. Even Ser Barristan Selmy was not indifferent to her. As to Elia, she had long ago accepted that she'd never have what she wanted most. But to see it every day, guarding either her or her husband and children, to talk to it, to dine in the same hall as it… it was torture. And now, when she saw her son with Ashara, she could not help but wonder whether that was not yet another part of the prophecy. If so, that could suggest a lot of interpretations. Elia did not like even one of them.

She took Aegon in her arms and smiled at him. He gurgled happily, blinding her with a smile, and wriggled a little. She laughed and sat on the sofa, humming a song she would not hear sung in years.

The truest knight he was,

And he rade at the ring.

The noble Dragonknight,

He might have been the King.

Now, it was just the time for Aegon to listen about brave knights and their feats. Later, life would teach him better.

The truest knight he was,

And he played at the glove.

The noble Dragonknight,

He was the Queen's love.

It was one of the most known songs about Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, so no one found it strange that Elia was singing it – no one but her husband. Rhaegar who was coming to see his family stood on the threshold and stayed there, his piercing eyes boring into his wife's face.

A few hours later…

"I want to talk to you."

Elia looked up from her embroidery and stood up. Rhaegar stopped her before she could curtsey. "Seven take it, Elia! You know there's no need of that with me!"

Of course she knew that. But she insisted doing it anyway – she had started as soon as he came back from his seclusion with Lyanna. She'd rather fall down doing it – and it had been a definite possibility in the first weeks after Aegon's birth – than fail in her manners.

"I am listening, my lord," she said.

"Rhaegar," he said for a thousandth time. "My name is Rhaegar."

She gave no indication that she had heard him, just sat back in her chair and took back to her needlework. He swallowed. He had thought it could not be forever like this. He had thought she would mellow. She always did. Had. Before. But he was starting to think that he might be wrong. Kind Elia could be stunningly consistent when her dignity was affronted… as well as her heart.

But right now, there was another problem he needed to solve… and to do that, he needed information.

"I have the feeling…" he started. "I would say…"

She was looking at him and he was still stammering.

"I think Ashara Dayne is with child," he finally blurted out.

Elia looked at him terrified. The embroidery fell down and a needle drew blood from her finger. She paid it no mind. "Mother help us!" she groaned. "Is it this obvious?"

He stared at her. "You mean you knew about that?"

"Of course I knew! There are no secrets between us. But I thought it had yet to show."

"It does," Rhaegar assured her and bent down to collect her needles and threads. "She just… I saw her with Aegon and something in her face reminded me of you with Rhaenys when you were in the beginning of your pregnancy with Aegon."

She smiled politely. "So much interest in my facial expressions? I am flattered, my lord."

Of course I am interested in your facial expressions, he wanted to say. You are my wife.

"But how?"

"The usual way it's done, I suppose."

Rhaegar simply could not fathom how Elia could be so calm. Surely she understood the scandal that would follow. She was not stupid. Of course, he was hardly in position to talk about scandal, and to her, of all people. "What is she going to do?" he asked instead.

"She'll return to Starfall soon. She'll have the baby there."

"Are you sure about this?"

"No. But I can think of no other possibility."

Rhegar considered this. "What does Arthur think?" he asked.

Elia was suddenly absorbed in her embroidery. Rhaegar heard his own teeth grinding. "He doesn't know?" he asked in disbelief. "What do you think you are doing, you two?"

"Seven help us, don't you dare tell him!" she exclaimed. Both she and Rhaegar kept their voice low, though – there were servants everywhere.

"But he should know!"

"He will, he will… just not now."

Rhegar did not feel comfortable lying to Arthur, though… despite the fact that Arthur obviously had no qualms about lying to him.

"I must tell him, Elia."

"No!"

"I must."

"If you do, there will be complications that you won't like at all," she said. She was now collected, her mind calmed down. She had chosen her course and she knew it was the right one. She knew something about Rhaegar, after all.

"What do you mean?"

"Eddard Stark is the father," she said.

He stared at her. "Please tell me you just made it up."

"No."

"But it can't be!"

"A year ago, I thought you could never humiliate me the way you did. That did not stop you. Hear me out, my lord, and hear me well: if Arthur learns about that now, he will call Eddard Stark to a single combat. And he will kill Stark. So I thought about you: you probably won't like to see the lovely Lyanna in black. Black really isn't her colour. And I imagine the Tullys, the kin of Eddard Stark's wife, won't be too delighted in this inconvenience, either."

Rhaegar was silent. He had not known she had such a vicious streak in her. But of course, she was the Red Viper's sister, so it was not something he should be so surprised at. Still, something else suddenly angered him. Something that she had said. "You are so sure Arthur will beat Stark in a single combat if it comes to that," he said.

Elia's lip curved in derision. "It isn't my opinion, my lord. It's a fact. I am surprised you can even doubt it. I have seen Eddard Stark at Harrenhall… and I know Arthur Dayne."

"Yes," he said. "That you do. Better than I thought until yesterday night, it seemed."

She immediately realized what he meant. For a first time, he saw a glimpse of the fiery temper that Dornish were famous for. "How dare you eavesdrop on me!" she snapped.

No tears, no explanations, no begging for forgiveness. He had truly married a most unusual woman. "Are you in love with him?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you."

She raised an eyebrow, determined that she wouldn't let her fear show. She had no reason to be afraid. She hadn't done anything wrong and Rhaegar was a just man. He wouldn't condemn her for what she hadn't done. Except maybe in his heart but Elia had ceased being interested in his heart since the day he abducted the wolf girl. "Fine."

He blinked. "That's it? Fine?"

She sighed. "What do you want me to say, Rhaegar? Tell me so I can repeat it."

"I don't want you to repeat anything!"

"Then what do you want?" she wondered.

He started pacing the room. Since last night, it was no longer a heaven against the real world. "I want you to stop turning his head."

Elia leaned back, her eyes falling on the nearest candle. It would melt any minute now. "Excuse me? I am not turning his head."

"Sure you don't…" He stopped and turned back to her. "He is in love with you and you are just… you are just using him to heal your pride. To make me jealous, maybe."

Elia actually laughed at this, loudly and angrily. "You think too much of yourself, my lord. Do you truly believe I'd go this far just to get even with you?"

Suddenly he was next to her, holding her by the arms, shaking her. "You are lying. You're trying to make me pay for the pain I caused you…"

She said gently, as if she was dealing with a petulant child, "No. You did hurt me, I will not deny that. But I love Arthur. I have always loved Arthur. It has nothing to do with the wolf girl."

"And you dare confess it?" He pushed her back in her chair and stood over her, infuriated by her audacity, stunned that she even had the capacity of such a thing.

She looked him straight in the eyes. "Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I? I did nothing to be ashamed of. You, on the other hand, did take a girl from her betrothed and made me a laughingstock of all corners of the Seven Kingdoms. So you see, if someone is in the right to judge me, it certainly isn't you. And you sunk so low as to eavesdrop on my conversations! In the Mother's name, Rhaegar, you should have only asked me! I would have told you!"

"Would you really?" he asked.

She shrugged and took the potions maesters insisted that she drank every few hours. "Of course," she said. "Love was never part of the bargain, so why not? You never wanted love from me, so why should you care who I give it to, provided that I don't act on it?"

Why, indeed? The fact was, he did care. She was his wife, his future Queen. It was improper that she'd give her love to anyone but him.

"And the other way around," he reminded her. "I wonder why you are still acting as if I'm a stranger if you love Arthur so much. By your words, you should not care either."

The candle hissed and died in a mold of scented wax. Elia tore her eyes from it and looked at her husband. "Because you acted on it, Rhaegar," she said. "You acted. And you dishonoured me. True, you did not break my heart – you never had the power to do so – but you smashed my pride and my self-esteem. What's the difference? They are all parts of me."

He looked at her helplessly and realized that the warmth he had taken for granted, the warmth the Dornish sun had brought in his life had ceased to exist. It was as dead as the love Arthur thought was dead between Elia and himself. All that was left was duty. Elia would never forsake her duty. And while tit was true that Rhaegar had never wanted her love, he was now horrified, imagining how he'd live the remaining part of his life with only duty.

Chapter Text

Prince Lewyn Martell nodded at Ser Barristan Selmy who came to take his watch in front of the King's door and headed for his niece's chambers. The Red Keep was eerily quiet and his were the only steps echoing through the long halls, save for an occasional servant and the guards distributed at equal distance from each other. Everyone was leery of attracting attention to themselves. For a moment, Lewyn thought back about the time the palace had been full of laughter and jubilant mood, when he had been proud to serve a charming and generous king. Now, the Targaryen madness was threatening to ruin everything. To tear the Seven Kingdoms apart.

In Elia's solar, Ashara Dayne sat near the windows, playing with Rhaenys and her kitten. As soon as the little princess saw her uncle, though, she ran to him with a squeal and raised her hands demanding to be lifted. He laughed and obeyed. She rubbed her face against his and scowled. "You are all prickly," she said. "Not nice. Now, Rhaenys' face hurts."

"All right, all right," he promised. "Today, I'm shaving the beard. Consider it gone. Where is Elia?" he turned to Ashara.

"She needed some rest." Ashara stood up and handed Rhaenys to her governess to lead her to bed. The little girl scowled a bit but went obligingly.

She always needs some rest these days, Lewyn almost said. Rhaegar is to blame. He ravaged her, to get his heirs. And when she could no longer sate him as his wife, he chased after the wolf girl. He could have chosen at least someone beautiful! How could I be so wrong about this boy? He is just as mad as his father, just in a different way. And he's absolutely graceless, again like his father. Lewyn had just been told that no matter his personal preferences, he would lead ten thousands Dornishmen against Baratheon. The King had been crystal clear. Not that the Targaryens are worth a single drop of Dornish blood spilt, he thought resentfully. None of them is worth it. Not Aerys. Not Rhaegar.

"So, what's new?" Ashara asked and beckoned him to seat himself near her. He obeyed. The friendship they had stricken early in Ashara's days at King's Landing certainly was a cause for some arched eyebrows – which they both enjoyed greatly. Arthur, of course, did not find anything remotely funny about that.

"Elia loves Arthur," he said softly. Their secret code, their quiet way of defiance against what was happening, against Elia's humiliation, against Rhaegar's blindness.

She waved her hand dismissively. "That's old news. I'll tell you something you don't know. Arthur loves Elia."

"Bloody seven hells," he muttered. He was not surprised but he had hoped he was wrong. He had been with the Targaryens for too many years. He knew Rhaegar – obviously not as well as he had thought but enough to know that the Crown Prince would not tolerate his wife having a reciprocated love, least of all with his best friend. "But they haven't… have they?"

Ashara actually laughed at this. "No, of course not. Don't you know them? They belong to the rare creatures who are unable to break a vow. It's a good think that not all of us are so burdened."

Outside, the wind howled. Ashara shuddered and pulled her gown closer against her. Lewyn went to make a bigger fire. "Better?" he asked.

"Much better." Ashara smiled and poured wine for both of them. For a while, they were silent.

"May I have a goblet of that?" Elia asked from behind. She looked very faint, the wine would certainly do her some good.

Her uncle helped her sit near the fireplace. She sipped her wine in soft delight. "Warmth reminds me of home," she said dreamily.

"Me, too," Ashara said.

"Well, ladies, do you want me to tell you the truth?" Lewyn asked. "Me, too."

Elia slowly turned to him. "Why did you come here?" she asked, taking him aback. "I have always wondered. You were so young, not yet twenty. What made you choose this path?"

Ashara looked at him curiously. Lewyn sighed and looked down at his hands. "My father's untimely death," he said, remembering the frenzy of these early days, the suspicions, the traps. "Had he lived longer, my life would have been much different. But when he died, I was only eighteen and my sister had yet to turn twenty. Dorne hadn't had a ruling Princess in generations and she was so, so very young. A young mother with a little boy and no experience in ruling. There were people who thought it unwise to trust her with Dorne, especially when there was a male heir so close in age. I had to make a statement that I would never seek to usurp her power. And it did solidify our ties to Westeros. I needed to make a statement," he said again.

And what a statement it had been! Solving the matter with honour and glory to all sides. Lewyn loved glory. Both women wondered whether, thirty-five years ago, he had really had any idea of everything he had denied to himself till the end of his life. Probably not – he had been only nineteen. He couldn't have known what thirty-five years meant. And here he was, after such glorious a career, a captive to the Mad King, as they all were.

"Oh," Elia said, stunned. "How noble were you to Mother, Uncle. I never knew… Was it worth it?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "Your mother became a strong ruler. Under her, Dorne prospered. And no one will say a thing when it's Arianne's time to succeed her father. At the end, it turned well for everyone."

Everyone except for you, Elia wanted to say. Everyone but me. She would not voice it, though. It would be ungrateful. "Was it easy?" she asked, trying to get a confirmation, to hear something good and nice.

Her uncle gave her a long, tender look. "Some of us were not born for easy life, child. Some were born for sacrifices."

Like him. Like her. An old, familiar ache stabbed through her: to come here, to live with a stranger, to share her life with him when she has always wanted something else and someone else was not something to be borne easily. Lewyn was right about that. Sure, a sacrifice for Dorne was more than worth it. But it had been - it still was - a sacrifice. For her. For him. And it could have been so different if only her grandfather had lived a little longer, if only Arthur hadn't been so obsessed with pride and glory.

A warm hand covered hers. Her uncle was looking at her, his eyes soft and understanding. "Forgive him, Elia," he said very, his voice very low. "He has suffered too."

"Well, he should have," she spat and then looked guiltily at Ashara who tactfully pretended that she hadn't heard a thing.

But when a few minutes later he appeared at her door, she did not have the heart to send him away. He looked sad and fatigued. Lewyn simply moved aside to make room for him near the fire and Ashara held his hand. Elia silently poured a new goblet. He nodded his thanks. "I'll stay just for a minute," he said. "Just to have this wine, and then I'll leave."

It was obvious that he did not want to. The strain of the rebellion had taken its toll on his body and mind. And his conscience. He had come to seek support in their closeness, although he'd never admit it. But he didn't want to make Elia feel any discomfort over his presence. Still, she didn't feel any. Rhaegar was certain to be disgruntled but she did not care about his murmur. She had had him torn away from her body and heart. She did not even hate him. Once, she had but not any more. She was simply terribly, completely indifferent to him.

"No, stay," she said. "Stay, Arthur."

Chapter Text

The room was filled with the fragrance of ripe fruit. Even in winter, the Targaryens and their companions did have a variety of peaches, apples, oranges… Ashara even shared some blood oranges with him. He did not know where she found them. Not that she ate many of them – she was tired, pale, and anxious, all at once. Arthur thought it was the least convenient time for her to get ill and then immediately hated himself for thinking it.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. To his surprise, she did not immediately insist that she was perfectly all right. She only looked at him. "Ashara?"

"I want to go to Starfall," she suddenly said, taking him aback. Given the circumstances, it was a sound wish. He'd rather see her in Starfall, instead of here, where, if they lost – which they wouldn't, of course – she'd be left on the mercy of Robert Baratheon. Frankly, Arthur did not think the man had any.

But Ashara had always preferred to be in the centre of events. Both Arthur and Elia had already proposed to her that she should leave and she had flat-out refused. She was not leaving them, she said, so now her sudden wish to do so came out as a complete surprise.

"Fine but why?"

Ashara hesitated, tempted to lie. But she knew she could not keep it a secret forever. And she'd rather have her brother hear about that from her own lips than a complete stranger's.

"Because I… I…" she started and faltered. Then, suddenly, she jumped up and came near, buried her face in his neck. Stunned, he felt the hot tears soaking through his tunic. "Don't be angry, Arthur… I am with child."

She could feel his body tightening, his breath coming out short. For an awful, endless moment there was a complete silence. And then, he said in low voice, "I did not expect it of you. And why didn't you tell me before? Who is this scoundrel?"

Suddenly, he pushed his sister aside with such force that Ashara flew against the wall. She would have hit it, had Arthur not reached out to steady her. His hands were shaking with suppressed rage. His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders. "Who dared to bring this shame to our House? Speak!"

"Eddard Stark," she whispered, paralyzed with fear. For the first time in her life, she felt threatened by Arthur. For all terrible scenarios she had painted in her mind, this was not one of them. Never before had her brother caused her physical pain.

"Eddard Stark!" he repeated in the same low, dangerous voice. "The one who married the Tully woman?"

"Yes," Ashara admitted and saw her brother's face cracking, his eyes fill with disbelief, anger and searing pain.

"So he got that child on you and then married another woman to ensure her family's support for the ridiculous rebellion Baratheon has raised over his precious Stark?"

Ashara did not respond. This controlled, logical voice scared her more than his earlier, first raving.

Arthur let her go and headed for the door.

"Wait!" she cried and ran after him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find him," he spat. "Where did you think I was going? He cannot mock you like this, Ashara. No one is going to treat you like this and live!"

She shivered. His normally calm, cool violet eyes had now darkened almost to black. In fact, they reminded her of the King's eyes right before his episodes of madness.

"No," she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "No," she said again, as softly as she knew how. "He meant to marry me. He did not know about the baby. I did not know about the baby."

But he did know that he dishonoured you and he still married that Tully, Arthur thought but lost no time in explaining it to her. Then, he suddenly stopped and stared at her. "Did he… by force…?"

"No."

Arthur thanked the Seven for this little mercy and again looked at his sister, his eyes cold, accusing, upset. "You shall go to Starfall," he said. "We can't do anything else. And you'd better start thinking what you're going to explain to the child as to why his uncle killed his father."

This calm, icy voice was the best he could muster at the moment. Inside, his mind was reeling with rage at Stark, at Ashara, at the very moment they had approved the idea to let her come to King's Landing. And overwhelming guilt: he had always known how hotheaded, passionate and impulsive Ashara was but he had failed to take care of her, too wrapped in his own troubles, longings, and black moods. A big part of what she was facing now was his fault.

Still, Eddard Stark was the one who had used her and then discarded her. He had to die, no matter what. That was the only thought that stayed with him.

Ashara clung to him. She was now weeping with fear. Arthur was normally a very level-headed person but when anger overtook him, it was impossible to make him see reason. He was then capable of making some very ill-advised decisions. And right now, that would be dangerous. Ashara could fully see him riding to the rebel armies to call Ned out to a single combat. He's never make it so far alive. They'd throw a number of knights against him. And he would not suffer to be taken alive, even if Baratheon was inclined to show mercy.

"No, Arthur, don't! Stay with me," she begged, trying to think of something, anything, to make him come to his senses. "You are a Kingsguard. You cannot leave without permission. Let's talk to the Prince first, right?" she said and for the briefest of moments, she imagined the scene where they'd go to Rhaegar and ask him to let Arthur go and kill the father of her unborn child who was, accidentally, a brother to the Prince's concubine. One of the only two remaining brothers of the Prince's concubine. The very idea of it was ludicrous!

He silently shook her off. She ran after him again, her mind reeling with terror. Oh why did I tell him, she wailed soundlessly and desperately. Why did I tell him!

Arthur barely made it to the door, though: Lewyn Martell suddenly stood in the doorway, his slender frame not even remotely filling it. But he was lean and strong, and had the advantage of being prepared: a moment later, Arthur was in his sister's chamber again and Ashara closed the door and leaned against it. Lewyn's arms pinned Arthur's in a grip of iron. He silently tried to shake the other man off and failed. For a few long moments, they stayed like this, trying to overpower each other.

"Let me go, Lewyn," Arthur finally said.

"You do not pass by me, Arthur."

Arthur's pinioned hands clenched in fists. "I don't want to fight you, Lewyn. But I shall kill him." He was sure that the older man knew what he was talking about. His arrival had been too timely and he had immediately taken action.

"I know," the Martell prince said. "Believe me, I wholeheartedly want to let you slice him to pieces. But this isn't the way."

"Let me go!" Arthur growled without ceasing his struggle. "How come it that you don't understand?... This cold-blooded bastard did this to her and I shall kill him. To hell with Kingsguard vows!"

For a while, Arthur kept on struggling. Lewyn's grip did not slacken, though, and finally Arthur started seeing the world again through the thinning veil of the first wild rage. Ashara was huddled against the wall, with Elia stroking her hair. He had not seen her coming. He slumped wordlessly, tiredly in the strong arms pinning him and let Lewyn hold him as a father or a brother would, with his own father dead for so long and his brother so far away.

They stood like this for a long time before they moved. Lewyn looked at the two women and the still uncleared table. "Will you help me, lad?" he asked. "Your sister thinks this room needs some rearranging."

Arthur blinked and so did Ashara. But he obediently joined Lewyn in moving tables, pushing sofas around and rearranging heavy cupboards with more force than what was justified. When the bear head was knocked from its place over the fireplace, the sound of its rattle from the carpet to the bare marble floor finally pushed Jaime Lannister into entering. "What in the seven hells is going on?" he asked and threw a quick glance at Elia in silent apology. But he was the Kingsguard appointed to her today. He could not let such cacophony of noises uninvestigated. The fact that there were two other Kingsguards in the room with her, one of them her own uncle, was irrelevant. "What are you doing with this bear?"

"He's just leaving," Lewyn announced and Ashara laughed hysterically. Now assured that the Princess was in no danger, the boy was quick to make himself scarce.

When Arthur finally exhausted all his despair, all his strength, he leaned against the wall in exhaustion. In the far end of the room, Lewyn was talking to Ashara in quiet voice. Elia stood before Arthur. In her eyes, he saw concern that made his heart flutter with joy, despite the circumstances.

"I'm fine," he said and saw the relief in her eyes at the normal sounding of his voice. She went to a near table and came back with a wet cloth. Then, she took his left hand in hers. Only then did he notice that both his hands were red and sticky with blood. Silently, she started washing them.

"I failed her," he suddenly said. "I knew she was hotheaded but…"

"Ashara has always had a mind of her own," Elia said calmly, steadily. "I doubt you could do anything to stop her."

"Yes but I knew how she was and I should have stopped her. It was my duty and I failed her. Just like I failed you," he added tiredly.

Elia looked at him, surprised. For all the little hints he had always given unwittingly, he had never openly admitted that he had caused her pain and that he knew it. Well, only once when he had been drunk but that did not count. Besides, he did not remember about that… did he?

Arthur nodded. "At the night of Aegon's presentation, you told me you loved me." His voice was a mere shadow of a whisper. "And you said it before, once… A few years ago, when that hunting mishap let me with a spear in my side and you stayed with me until help came, and we both thought I'd bleed to death before a maester could come, you told me you loved me."

Elia stared at him in shock. She had not expected that he'd remember either of those times. She should have feel ashamed at exposing herself like that, going after a man who had spurned her and yet, she wasn't. She should declare her devotion to her husband but she was no longer devoted to him. She's never acknowledge it aloud, of course, but that was how she felt. She had never loved Rhaegar but now the fondness that had existed between them was gone, at least on her part. And where did that leave her?

Forgive him, she heard her uncle's voice again. He has suffered too.

She sighed and just for a moment, brought his bruised right hand to her cheek.

Chapter Text

A few days later…

Arthur stared at the Crown Prince, his eyes wide. "Please tell me it is a joke."

Grim and thoughtful, Rhaegar Targaryen looked nothing like a man joking. "It isn't, unfortunately. My father has seen some Dornish conspiracy, although what kind of conspiracy exactly, he cannot say. He won't suffer any Dornish warriors here, in the Red Keep. He wants all of you sent with me."

He sees a conspiracy of mine, as well, Rhaegar added silently. He wants me out of the Red Keep as well.

"I don't dare oppose him right now," he said. "The consequences might be… dire."

Dire, yes, Arthur thought. Just ask Lord Chelsted. "So Lewyn and I, we're supposed to leave King's Landing?"

Rhaegar's calm demeanour did not change but he shot Arthur a look that surprised him – a sudden, brief hostility that the Prince had never demonstrated towards him before. "Once, you would have loved the chance to join the real battle."

"Yes, I would have," Arthur agreed. "But this was before."

Again that frosty look that Arthur could not understand. Then Rhaegar poured wine for both of them and sighed. "Truth be told, I am left wondering as well as to why Dorne didn't send more troops. The Red Viper's poison, I would expect; no troops wouldn't come as such a big surprise; but this? One never knows whether Oberyn Martell is a friend or a foe and I am starting to think the same might be true about Doran, as well. With friends like these… The Water Gardens, it seems, do have a kind of… influence over the temper of the children who had grown up there."

Arthur kept silent and in his silence, Rhaegar could hear his answer. Arthur, too, had grown up in the Water Gardens and had been friends with Oberyn Martell – Rhaegar knew it. But now, he needed to shake him for his willingness to stay here instead of doing his duty – protecting his prince. He knew what – who – kept Arthur so powerfully at King's Landing.

Still, he did not like what was happening. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not getting Elia and the children away from the city while he still could have done so. Arthur was right to worry. "I'll leave Jaime Lannister here," Rhaegar said. "He is very mindful of his duty."

"Jaime is a good lad with a very bright future," Arthur agreed. "But is he going to suffice?"

"I'll tell him specifically that I'm leaving my wife and children in his hands. He'll do everything he can to protect them. Duty aside, he is quite mesmerized by Elia. It's a good thing he's so young, otherwise I might have thought…"

His try at making a joke failed, though. Arthur's face did not change. "Glory to the Seven," he said, very sarcastically. "You noticed this much, at least. Jaime likes her very much. We all do." He had enough sense to keep silent after that but Rhaegar could hear the following up very clearly. Except for you, of course. If you liked her a tiny bit, you would have never humiliated her like this, let alone starting a war over another woman.

And he smiled, gave Arthur a very deliberate look and said, "My mind is made and do think it is for the best. She isn't yours to keep safe."

For a moment, there was a strange look crossing Arthur's face – a stunned realization, guilt, defiance all at once, followed by something very much resembling relief. His posture suddenly relaxed. He nodded. "You are right, of course. This woman was the most precious thing you ever managed to get your hands upon. The fact that you were blinded and unable to see it is an entirely different matter altogether." His voice was very calm. He might have been talking about sword practice. "I don't imagine you care about things like other people's hearts. Her heart, specifically. And that's a good thing. Merely because she already gave it to me."

The silence was deafening. And then Rhaegar suddenly shook his head, like a dog shaking off water. What was he doing? Why was he trying to alienate Arthur, who, in all honesty, had done nothing wrong except for falling in love for an unreachable sun long before Rhaegar heard than an Elia Martell existed? Yes, the sun had been unreachable, as Rhaegar had seen in their wedding night. Still, how far had gone things in the enchanted dwelling of the Water Gardens, the heat of Sunspear, and the azure of sea and sky at Starfall? Of course, Arthur was right. Rhaegar had never wanted a piece of Elia's heart and now, when he found out that maybe he did, after all, it was too late.

"Listen, Arthur," he said, his voice suddenly kind. "I don't want to spite you. I don't want to quarrel with you at all. If I could, I would have left you here. Or Lewyn. I wanted to. I know Elia and the children will be most protected with the two of you and I do want them safe. But I am afraid of what my father might do. He's still in a position to do great harm. And he won't have Dornishmen here."

Arthur sighed as he, too, was chasing off the bad feelings. "I know. I know you're doing your best to keep them safe from harm. And it isn't as if I don't trust Jaime. It's just that… All that is happening is getting to me, too. So, my prince, what am I to do?"

"You'll leave tomorrow," Rhaegar said. "With Gerold and Oswell. And you'll take your sister with you. You do have my permission to visit Starfall on the way and leave her there. Now, come and we'll work out the details."

A few hours later, after dark…

The mood in Elia's chambers was glum, subdued. Elia was trying to be brave, sending them off with a smile and a word of encouragement but it was not easy. She had already lost so much – her trust, the remnants of her health, the respect of the court. Now, she was going to lose her uncle, her love, and her most intimate confidant, her companion from childhood. Inseparable, they had been. Tomorrow, they would no longer be so.

Ashara, too, looked very tormented. She didn't want to leave, yet she couldn't stay. She had relied that Arthur or Lewyn would stay at Elia's side. It was ridiculous, of course – as to physical safety, Ashara could provide little to no help. It was the impending lack of emotional support that made her feel as if she was abandoning her oldest friend. They worked on their embroidery, not saying a word, the air filled with memories, fears and tiny wisps of hope. The fire in the fireplace was dying but when a maid tried to build it up, Elia motioned her off.

It was almost midnight when Arthur entered the solar and bowed to the Princess. Ashara stood up. "I am ready," she said but instead of leaving the room, she turned her back to them, went to the window, lifted the edge of the curtain and stared out in the night.

Elia and Arthur stared at each other. No one made a sound. He knew that the next day, she'd be left here alone, without him, without her uncle, without Ashara, without Rhaegar's protection, because he, too, would leave at the head of the Targaryen army. She knew he would leave on a different mission and by Rhaegar'evasiveness, she could imagine what this mission would be. He could not help but feel guilty; she could not help but feel insulted and angered by this final betrayal. He was the first one to look aside.

Was that the way it was going to end? All these years, the moments of greatest bliss and darkest despair? The dreams they had held? The regrets that kept them awake at night? The feelings they could not chase off?

When he looked at her eyes, the cold glint had disappeared. They were again the kind dark eyes he remembered from the Water Gardens, but this time lit up with a feeling he did not recognize. He made a step forward and stared at her. "I'll come back," he said. "I'll come back to you."

"To me?" She smiled faintly and he barely resisted the urge to take her in his arms and hold her tight.

"To me, the victory in this war is inextricably bound up with my coming back to you. These two things are so tied up as are duty and honour."

Duty and honour. That was their tragedy and their salvations. Being dutiful and honourable had not made them happy – but would they have been happier with being dishonourable? Now, especially, under the scrutiny of Arthur's searching eyes, Elia could find no answer.

"We must go," he said. "Ashara needs to rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."

Ashara turned from the window and faced him. Elia did not look aside. A moment later, as if she had been trying to find put the strength of her feelings and her concern for him, she said, "Come back, Arthur."

"Do you really wish it?"

"Yes."

"Say it again, say it that you really wish it!"

"I do wish it. I do."

He took her hand and kissed it. "I'll come back, Elia."

"I'm waiting for you already."

At this, she tiptoed and brought her face to his. It was nothing like the long passionate kisses they had traded at Sunspear, just a feathery touch of lips. He barely had time to feel her breath against his before she drew back, stepped aside, kissed Ashara's cheeks with a whispered wish of luck and disappeared through the door leading to her bedchamber.

Chapter Text

Early in the next morning…

Suddenly, Elia woke up from her uneasy dream. She could not say what it was, only that she was still shaking in the aftermath. For a moment, she concentrated on breathing, and then looked at the curtains at the flickering light of her bedside candle. It was still dark outside but a pale glow hinted a forthcoming daybreak. Her heart started beating more slowly, more calmly.

All of a sudden, she felt that there was someone in the room, someone watching her.

Rhaegar.

She immediately drew the covering nearer, as if to protect herself from a stranger ogling her. Her husband's face fell down but she did not care. She felt as she had done when that outlaw had stolen a kiss from her, along with her jewels. After the Brotherhood's defeat, Arthur had returned the gems to her in person. The way his eyes had stayed on her lips told her that he knew about the other thing stolen, too.

She sat upright and looked at Rhaegar. "Are the children…?"

"They are both fine," he assured her and felt a sour taste in his mouth. Was that really the only reason Elia could think of to merit his presence in her bedchamber?

Elia gave a sigh of relief. Then, her eyes narrowed. "Then what do I owe this honour to, my lord? I'm afraid I have a headache…"

"I know, I know," he interrupted, exasperated. Recently, Elia happened to have headaches each time he wanted to talk to her, let alone stay in her bedchamber. "The Kingsguard is leaving today. I wanted to see them off. Together with you."

Elia stared at him. She could not believe what she heard. So, Rhaegar now wanted the two of them to play a loving couple? After all that had happened? To the Kingsguard, of all people? The men who literally lived with them? Did he really expect that they would buy it? Rhaegar is just as mad as his father, Elia thought with a chill of fear. He doesn't look like it but Mother and Uncle said Aerys didn't look like it in the beginning, either.

Seven help her, sometimes Elia feared the loyalists winning the war as much as she feared the rebels winning it.

"I don't want to come," she said. "Why are you doing this, Rhaegar? Isn't there any limit to what you can do to me?"

He gave her a confused look. Stunned, Elia realized that he really did not get it at all. He did not want to further humiliate her with such pretences in front of the people who knew what their marriage was like. He simply did not know it was a humiliation. He was still living in his world of dragons, prophecies, romantic songs, and wolf girls.

On the other hand… She'd see them once again. Arthur, Ashara… What was a little humiliation worth in exchange for this?

"No," she said. "No, I changed my mind. I will come. Just give me a little time to get ready."

"I can assist you," he suggested and was fast to check himself. "No, I'd better send a maid to you."

Elia nodded. "That would be better. At dawn, I'll be ready."

The Red Keep was still sleeping when Rhaegar entered the inner court, leading Elia by the hand. Her skin prickled in the morning cold but she would not let herself shiver. She was dressed simply but in black and red, ever the loyal Targaryen wife. Under different circumstances, she might have seethed inwardly against this pretence but now, she was focused only on those who were leaving.

The entire Kingsguard had gathered here, except for Barristan Selmy who was obviously guarding the King. The rosy glow of dawn bathed their white cloaks, their huge horses. They were armoured but without their helmets and Arthur's hair shone like fused silver, just like Ashara's. Elia met her uncle's inquisitive look with a blank expression to show that there was nothing to worry about, that it was just an idea of Rhaegar's. A very lame idea of Rhaegar's.

Everyone bent the knee in front of them. Ashara looked down and curtsied. Elia smiled politely at the men and wished good luck to the knights who were leaving. The ones who would accompany Rhaegar to battle stepped back.

A sudden clink broke the solemn silence. Something had just fallen from Dawn's sheath, something that had been there for so many years that most people, Ser Arthur Dayne included, had started taking it as a part of the sheath itself. Brightly coloured beads scattered all over the paving stones.

Arthur looked at the broken string in front of him and his face turned pale. For a moment, he looked uncertain. Nobody understood what was going on. It wasn't that Dawn had broken. Even the sheath was still intact. It was just a string of beads that looked… wooden? Yet Arthur looked paler than his sword all of a sudden.

Then, he seemed to make a decision. He went to Rhaegar and Elia and bowed, then looked at her. "I've just lost my token, my princess. Would you do me the honour to give me a new one?"

And then again, silence. But it was no longer solemn. Now, it was full of discomfort and fear. Normally, a knight asking a married lady for a token would be nothing this noteworthy. But Elia was not just any married lady. She was wed to the Crown Prince. Arthur's gesture was simply… it was not forbidden, not exactly. It was simply not done. And this was not just a tournament. They were leaving for war caused by infidelity in the princely couple, of all things. Arthur had just placed himself in a very precarious situation and no one could figure out why.

Stunned, Elia looked at him and fought an urge to laugh. So, that was it? He had refused to court her because he believed himself unworthy for the Princess of Dorne and now he had the audacity to ask a token of the Crown Prince's wife? In Rhaegar's presence? The answer came to her lips unbidden before she could stop it, Elia of Dorne fighting her way through Elia Targaryen's impeccable manners. "I thought the Kingsguard did not need such… worldly objects. I thought your vows were all the tokens you needed."

He did not bat an eyelid. He even smiled slightly, painfully. "My vows are my life, Princess," he said. "But you are not here." He indicated his cloak. "You're here." He laid a hand on his breastplate, just over the place where his heart beated wildly. Would she dare? "Will you deign?"

Elia raised her head and they stared at each other – with everyone watching.

Even if Elia dared, she did not have anything to give him – no scarf, no veil, no glove even.

With a quick motion, she took off the orange ribbon from her hair. Dark curls tumbled all over her shoulders, reaching below her waist. She handed him the ribbon. "May it bring you luck, Ser Arthur," she said. Her voice was even but her eyes… She suspected that her eyes told an entirely different tale and she could not make them shut up.

He bent the knee in front of her and tied the ribbon where the broken string had once been. Then, without looking back, he joined the others and helped his sister mount. Ashara, as daring as she was, was now gray in face.

The Lord Commander was the first to overcome his shock. Miraculously, he did not even cleared his throat before asking officially, "Do we have your permission to leave, my prince?"

"You do have it," Rhaegar said, just as formally. The men mounted their horses and bowed at him from the saddle. Elia touched her lips and blew the parting kiss toward Ashara. Proud and straight, she looked every inch the princess. No one could tell how elated she was, how ridiculously happy. And how careless about the great fight she was almost sure to have with Rhaegar.

Sure, he did not disappoint. As soon as they entered her chambers, leaving Jonothon Darry at the door – Elia knew better than try to chase Rhaegar off, - he led her to a sofa and asked, barely controlling his voice, "What does that mean? How could you give him that ribbon – to him, of all people, and now, of all times?"

A year ago, she would have smiled. Now she was too weary. Her anger had worn off. She only sighed and said evenly, "It was only a ribbon."

He did not say anything but then, she hadn't really expected him to.

Chapter Text

A few weeks later…

"Do you see something?" Arthur asked upon entering the small room at top of the tower.

Ashara looked through the window one last time and stepped back. "There is no one coming, Arthur."

"Sit down," he said, and she smiled faintly.

"By the Seven, Arthur, I am with child, not sickness." But secretly, she was pleased that her brother showed such concern about her condition. After the less than glorious start, he was turning out to be even more affectionate than usual. He would do not harm to her son. She never really thought he would but still…

But she did sit down. Her belly had started swelling so rapidly that it actually weighed her down… and she was nowhere near the end of her pregnancy.

"Where is your new best friend?" Arthur asked, and Ashara glared.

"Don't joke about that, Arthur," she said. "Ever."

Ashara and Lyanna fought like cats, clawing at each other with polite malicious remarks that sent Oswell Whent scrambling for another voluntarily watch and the Lord Commander pretending that he had suddenly gone blind and deaf. The only time they seemed to get along was when they took turns at the window at the top of the tower, watching in vain for a messenger who would tell them how things were going.

A grey cat made her way into the room and Ashara's lap. She stroked it absent-mindedly. Arthur made a face. "She must have visited the kitchen," he said. "I think I smell your dinner in her breath…"

Indeed, the cat was smelling of fish. Why it should be Ashara's dinner, instead of anyone else's, however, was a mystery.

"I wish I knew what was going on," Ashara said, not for a first time. "Arel is there, along with the Prince and many other of our people."

When most people at court said 'the Prince', they meant Rhaegar, the prince who would one day – hopefully, soon – be king; when Ashara and Arthur talked among themselves, by the Prince they meant Lewyn Martell, the prince of the family they had been born serving to.

Arthur's rough hand covered Ashara's smaller one. "I worry about them also," he said.

After that, they went silent. There was not much they had to say to each other since nothing really happened at the Tower of Joy but they sought countenance in each other. Arthur's gesture in the courtyard of the Red Keep had built an invisible wall between him and the other two Kingsguards. Now, he only had Ashara. He was shamefully glad that she could not return home now, with her shame evident.

"I dream of Starfall all the time," Ashara suddenly said. "Of how it used to be. Of us."

"Do you?" Arthur asked. He had suppressed these dreams years ago, little by little, forcing himself to forget how it had felt like before the longing for glory had consumed him.

"I dreamed of it last night, once again."

He looked through the window. There was no one there. Only Ser Oswell's white cloak in the yard. Arthur turned again at Ashara. "You know Arel's wife," he said. "I mean, you knew her before you came to King's Landing. What is she like?"

She shrugged and rubbed her belly. "A woman like any other, I guess. Nice, smart, well-mannered…"

That was Arthur's impression, too. And it didn't reveal anything.

"I wish she treated him better," he suddenly said. "He deserves better than what he gets from her."

Ashara slowly shook her head. "Arthur, she loved him in the first years. They were very happy together. I suppose all these miscarriages changed her, made her too scared to try again." She placed a hand at her stomach, protectively.

He considered this. "Maybe you are right. I only want him to be happy. He isn't like us. He didn't do anything to make a muddle of his life."

Here. Finally it was, spoken aloud. They had both wasted their chances. They had both made a muddle of their lives. They had had so much, yet they had always aspired for more, for what was unreasonable, for what would destroy them. He and his quest for glory; she and her inability to wait or at least, take measures to ensure that there would be no consequences of her passions. Arel was different. He had never aspired for more than what he could reasonably gain. Yet he was the one who was now at the battlefield because of a man who was engrossed in romantic notions and unclear prophecies that could be or not be real. A man who was making a muddle of the life of everyone in the Seven Kingdoms right now.

It was only when Arthur reached to wipe her face with his palm that Ashara realized she was crying. He silently took her in his arms and rocked her a little. She reached for him, trying to give the same comfort that she was receiving.

So day after day, they kept waiting.

A few days later…

Lyanna Stark found the book by chance. She had been sitting in the solar with Ashara Dayne when all of a sudden the woman lashed at her again. And because of such a silly reason!

One of the two maid-servants had gone into the room with a comb in her hand. "My lady, you said your own comb broke this morning," she said. "I found this one for you. It was in one of the bedchambers that haven't been used for a while. I washed it for you."

It was a silver comb in excellent condition, with small circles engraved in the handle. Lyanna was just about to take it when Ashara Dayne beat her to it. "This belongs to Princess Elia," she said. "I don't think she gave you permission to use her toiletries but then, you were never shy of taking what is hers without asking, aren't you, Lyanna?"

Lyanna drew her hand back, as if the cold metal would burn her. "I didn't know the Princess had ever come here," she said.

Ashara went to the window and looked through it. From this floor, she could not expect to see anything but the outer walls. Still, Lyanna often did the same. They were all desperate for news that weren't coming.

Ashara turned back. "There are many things you don't know about a life of a princess," she said and smiled. "There is more to it than getting with child by the prince."

Lyanna felt the blood rising to her head. The woman looked at her as if she was the most despicable thing on earth. Who did she think she was? With this belly of hers, she was no better than Lyanna. How dared she pass judgment on her? Whatever else Lyanna might be, she was far from stupid. She could easily guess why the Dayne woman had stayed here. It wasn't because she enjoyed the Tower of Joy so much but rather, because she could not show her face anywhere in Dorne - even here, there were some standards, obviously.

"Are you going to tell my brother that he is going to be a father?" she asked sweetly.

Ashara seated herself again, gingerly. "This has nothing to do with him," she said, and Lyanna's jaw dropped.

"Ned isn't… Isn't he the father?" she finally managed. Gods, the woman was worse than she thought!

Ashara looked at the silver comb and placed it on the table next to her.

"Ned has a wife," she said crisply. "The day he wed her, he cut off any ties to me. I don't want anything to do with another woman's husband. I'll never play second fiddle to anyone! My child will never be inferior to another woman's children! He'll be mine and only mine. In Dorne, we view bastards differently. My son will have anything I can give him. I am sure it will be more than he'd ever get in the North."

Lyanna bit her lip. Ned would never let his child grow up in the South without ever seeing its father in person. Never. Ashara should have known that.

"And if I tell Ned?" she asked.

Ashara laughed. "Go on," she said. "You'll spare me the trouble. Ned will be welcome to Dorne to meet his son – but he will be Dornish and a child only of his mother."

Lyanna recoiled. "How cruel you are," she whispered, stunned.

"No crueler than a man who promised the world to me and then wed another woman to gain an army," Ashara said calmly. "No crueler than a girl who started a war because of pangs of love." The way she said it, 'pangs of love' sounded like something unclean. Lyanna bolted out of the room before she could further disgrace herself with crying.

This afternoon, she kept to her room, not feeling up to going outside and meeting someone's eye. Did they all think she was… what Ashara Dayne had called her? They probably did. Ashara was the only one who'd say it to her face, that was it. And they were right. She was the one to blame – for the war, for the fact that Ned had had to marry the Tully girl, for Father and Brandon's deaths…

When her tears finally dried up, she looked around the room for something to engage her mind with. She had personally cleaned up each corner; she had read each book. Except for the one at the far end of the rack. Now, she pulled it.

It was a record of tournaments that had taken place at Dorne, starting with the one at the wedding of Prince Maron Martell and Princess Daenerys Targaryen, almost a hundred years ago. The champion had been a Ser Balan Gartnar who had crowned the new Princess of Dorne Queen of Love and Beauty, as it was to be expected. Without much interest, her eyes flew over the names of knights and ladies until the last names suddenly caught her attention. The scribe had stopped taking records about eight years ago, so the last tournaments mentioned were quite old. The names were hard to miss, though. Ser Arthur Dayne. Princess Elia Martell. Ser Arthur Dayne. Princess Elia Martell. Ser Manfred Fowler and Lady Lyenne Fowler. And Ser Arthur Dayne and Princess Elia Martell yet again.

What is going on here, Lyanna thought and checked the years again. There was no mistake. Before taking the white cloak, Ser Arthur Dayne had won three tournaments in Dorne and each time, he had crowned Elia Martell Queen of Love and Beauty.

Lyanna shook her head, as if to clear it. An old memory suddenly came to life. Elia will forgive me soon, Rhaegar had told her. And it isn't as if she hadn't had her fair share of laurels. After all, each time Arthur wins, he gives her the crown. And that had been after Rhaegar and Elia wed. Probably the reason no one had thought twice about Ser Arthur's very consistent behavior. It was entirely proper for a Kingsguard who could never take a wife to honour his future queen.

Still, it did not explain the pattern before Elia's wedding. Who was Rhaegar's wife, truly? Was it possible that she was as faithful to him as he was to her?

Lyanna really didn't know.

Chapter Text

A week later…

"Arthur!"

Ashara was running downstairs, her cheeks flushed, her hair flying behind her. Her brother caught her at the bottom of the stairs. "Careful, you'll trip," he warned and she looked at him impatiently.

"Never mind that! A horseman, there is a horseman!"

She grabbed at his hand and tugged at it towards the courtyard. "Let's go!"

"Really?" Arthur asked, equally excited. "Are you sure he was coming our way?"

"Yes! News, finally. I wonder what happened to the ravens. It seemed everybody had forgotten us but they are finally here."

By the time the messenger arrived, they had all gathered in the courtyard – the three Kingsguards, the two women, and the few servants that attended them.

The man looked no one in the face and they all froze. Bearers of good news did not look like this.

"Ser Jeron?" the Lord Commander finally asked.

The knight took a deep breath. "It's all over," he said, looking down at the pavement. "We lost."

The White Bull gave a grim nod. "How bad is it?"

"Very bad. They are all dead – Rhaegar, Aerys, little Aegon. The Queen escaped with Prince Viserys but everyone else…" He shuddered. "It was Jaime Lannister who killed the King, you know. In front of the Iron Throne."

The silence that followed was full of stunned realization that the whole world had shattered. Knights of the Kingsguard did not kill their king. Such a thing had been unheard of since before the First Men. How had they all been so deluded about the Lannister boy? It was now clear that he had never been a Kingsguard. Not in his heart. He had to die for his crime. They had to…

Suddenly, Ashara laughed. "Good for him," she said. "I'd kiss him if I could."

Ser Jeron gaped at her. She laughed again, loud and desperate, and angry. "Come on, good Sers," she challenged. "You all know the King was raving mad and outright dangerous. Someone had to put him down and you all lacked the guts to do the deed. So if the lion boy finally dared, I say good for him. He wasn't like you at all. You all had your honour but he actually had feelings... Now, you can hunt him down, take his life in revenge and stay the paragons of knightly virtues that you are… Aren't you all relieved, just a little?"

"Ashara, shut up," Arthur said evenly and it was enough to stop her rising hysteria.

"As you say, Arthur," she said meekly.

The knights were not looking at each other. Ser Oswell was concentrated on adjusting the hilt of his sword. Ser Gerold cleared his throat. Arthur's eyes were trained on the messenger, his mind refusing to accept what he heard, refusing to think what it would mean.

"Go on," the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard finally said.

"At the Trident, Robert killed Rhaegar in single combat," the newcomer said. Lyanna gave a short cry, her face suddenly white. It was as if she hadn't registered the news the first time around. "We lost. Many were killed, your sworn brothers Ser Jonoton Darry and Prince Lewyn Martell among them. Then, the army marched to King's Landing. The Queen and Prince Viserys had been evacuated to Dragonstone so the only ones left in King's Landing were the King, Princess Elia and the children. Tywin Lannister sacked the city. Jaime Lannister killed the King and Tywin's men killed Elia and the children. I saw their bodies with my very eyes." He shuddered and paled. "A few weeks ago, Ser Barristan Selmy, severely injured at the Trident and tended by Lord Baratheon's own master, swore his allegiance to King Robert, the First of His Name. That's it."

"So he's alive."

Arthur could not understand whether the Lord Commander meant this like relief or reproach. Ser Jeron, though, took it to be the latter. "Why shouldn't he? Do we want a new mad Targaryen on the throne? You know how Viserys is. At least Robert is a grown man. A warrior. And a generous man."

"I see," Arthur spat, his mind reeling, his anger downing over the nearest target at hand. "Just ask Princess Elia about his generosity, now, will you?"

Ser Jeron shook his head, tiredly. "We lost. Just accept it, all of you. We lost!"

Lyanna had crumpled on a bench carved in the wall. Ashara looked at her, then at the messenger, at her own hands, and realized that they were shaking.

"Have you heard anything about my brother?" Arthur asked in such even voice that he marveled at his own self-control.

"He was alive last time I saw him… But it was a close call. He was wounded at the Trident and he refused to swear allegiance to 'an infanticide'. I think the only reason Robert did not kill him was because he felt it was dishonourable to kill a man who was already on the brink of death. Lord Stark begged for him to be released and Robert consented. Not that your brother was grateful, mind you. He… he spat at Stark and for some reason. Robert decided that he liked him because he had courage. That was what he said. That spitting at someone before death was a great feat because most people's mouths went dry. That many a man could shout but very few could spit. So he was released and headed back for Starfall. I don't know whether he made it there alive. Too many organs were injured."

Arthur closed his eyes, refusing to be grateful to Eddard Stark. He might have saved Arel… if Arel were alive… but he had still dishonoured Ashara. And Elia… Gods, Elia…

"How did they die?"

Everyone looked at Ashara. She wiped at her face, angry at her tears, and stared at Ser Jeron. The intent purple stare made the man step from foot to foot uneasily.

"My lady, it really isn't…"

"How did they die?" she demanded. "Elia, sweet Rhaenys, my baby Aegon? I want to know! Was it by sword?"

He averted his eyes.

"So they were cruel deaths," Arthur whispered, as if he was talking to himself. "Elia and the children died in a horrible way, am I right?"

Ser Jeron nodded reluctantly. "Tywin Lannister brought the children's bodies in front of the Iron Throne for Robert to see. The boy's head was…" He faltered. "He was unrecognizable."

Ashara screamed in anguish. Lyanna who was rolled into a ball on the bench, looked at the knight, horrified. "That's impossible," she whispered. "Robert might be many things but he is not a murderer of babes. Not in such a way. And Ned… Ned would never let him do it."

Ashara laughed again and this time, there was nothing to stop her hysteria. "Ned would never let him to it!" she mocked. "And Ned would never look at another woman, he vowed to me. He's so good at doing things he'd never do."

Lyanna looked down. "I am so, so very sorry," she whispered. "About what happened to you. About what happened to Elia and the children. I never wanted…"

"Oh you didn't want them dead, I have no doubt," Ashara spat. "And what of it? We are still sitting here, in this tower, shut away from the world, not daring to show our faces outside, and they are… they are…" She wept.

Clumsily, Lyanna went to her, tears pouring down her own face. Ashara stepped back so quickly that she tripped and Arthur caught her.

"Ned will come," Lyanna whispered. "He'll know what to do."

Ashara bared her teeth. "And what can he do?" she exploded. "Can he bring them back? Can he make my brother healthy again?"

Lyanna drew back.

"Ned cannot bring them back," Ashara raved on. "You can't. No one can. They are dead. Dead! Dead because of vile Rhaegar. Because of you and your inability to conduct yourself properly. You think of no one but yourself and your own desires." She pulled at her own hair and a few dark wisps stuck to her fingers. "Selfish whore! Don't you care at all for whom you destroy?"

Lyanna's tears flowed anew. Arthur stepped between the two women and took Ashara in his arms. "Come on, now," he said softly and she buried her face against his chest. "Here, here…"

Ashara's next cry was muffled against his tunic. All of a sudden, she relaxed, her entire fury gone, leaving only grief. Arthur rocked her, whispering endearments but his tears were dripping in her hair.

"Come on," he finally said. "Come with me. Let's get you inside. You shouldn't be standing for so long."

Ashara nodded, as obedient as a child.

"Ser Arthur," Lyanna spoke helplessly. "I never meant… I never wanted…"

Arthur shook his head. He didn't want to hear her voice. He was afraid that if she added a single word, he'd strangle her.

"I beg for your permission to leave, my Lord Commander," he turned to Ser Gerold who nodded. Arthur nodded at the other knights, never acknowledging Lyanna's presence, and led Ashara inside.

In her room, he led her to a sofa but she didn't sit down. Instead, she looked at him. "I want to show you something," she said. "Would you go to this cupboard and take out what is inside?"

Her eyes were still shining with tears, but they were suddenly excited – the eyes of a child who wanted to share a cherished secret.

Arthur did as he was told… and gasped. "Ashara, how… how did you come by these?"

In front of him, there were series of pictures. He immediately recognized the work of Elmar, one of the children from the Water Gardens. He had been about a year younger than him and he had loved to draw – trees, dogs… and Elia. Elia as a little girl, pale and sickly but so excited by life; Elia as a young woman before Rhaegar bloody Targaryen ever entered their lives and ruined them; Elia and Arthur at a table. He was focused on the game between them but she wasn't. She was staring at him – a look that spoke volumes about her feelings for him. Elia and Arthur with an old woman who sold trinkets. Arthur remembered how they had stopped in front of her stale and he had bought Elia the necklace of coloured wooden beads without either of them noticing what it was that they both – they had simply taken pity of the woman. Later, they had come back to buy more trinkets because they had liked the first one. That was another thing they had had in common - they had both liked beauty, no matter the shape and material. Elia and Arthur in the middle of this very tower, the Tower of Joy. Elia and Arthur dancing in Sunspear. Elia and Arthur looking at the sun setting down over the Tower of the Sun. Elia and Arthur sitting at the side of a fountain in the Water Gardens, both wrapped in his cloak.

Hesitantly, Arthur touched the beads. They were so real, he could still feel them and Elia's skin under his fingers when he slid the necklace around her neck. "It was at the first tournament I ever won," he said slowly, remembering. "My fifteenth nameday."

"I remember."

Arthur turned and looked at her. "She always said she started living from this day on. At my fifteenth nameday, all these years ago, Elia fell in love with me. I crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty and I danced with her and kissed her."

Again, he looked at the picture, lost to the present.

"Elia wanted them destroyed," Ashara said. "When we traveled for King's Landing and her wedding. We stopped here and she told me she wanted them destroyed but I couldn't do it. So I just…" She hesitated, upset by the pain in his face. After all they had heard, could these small objects destroy him? "Maybe I should have. It isn't late. I will lit a fire and…"

She was about to rise but Arthur shook his head. "No," he said and his voice broke for a moment. "Give them to me. I don't want to forget anything. These were a few good years in my life, even if I am hurting now."

Chapter Text

A few weeks later…

When they reached the top of the hill, the sun was starting to rise. The glow of the purple globe turned the white walls in front of them into a fairytale castle, as if sprinkled with golden power. And close behind, the sea and sky melted into a burst of whiterosyblue radiance.

"How lovely it is!"

Ashara's voice was so deep and full of joy that Arthur reined his horse in and looked at her with surprise. Ever since the stillbirth two weeks ago, Ashara had been silent and subdued, her only desire to go back home. She wanted to forget. Arthur could sympathize with that.

"It is," he agreed. "There is no place more beautiful than Starfall," he added and he meant it.

"Come on," Ashara said and urged her horse.

The stunned men at the gates let them in and Ashara headed straight for the great hall, as if she had never left it. Arthur followed, feeling as if a great burden had been suddenly lifted from his shoulders. Everything was better now. They were home.

A few hours later…

The movement was barely audible, just the smallest flap of a hand but Arthur immediately leaned from his chair and looked for any signs of discomfort. Then, another movement and Arel's eyes slowly opened.

Arthur smiled. "How are you?" he asked.

"I've been better," Arel muttered, not looking surprised to see his brother at all. "But I feel fine."

He did not look it. His face was gaunt, his arms mere stick, the tight muscles wasted away. His skin looked translucent, his hair darker. His violet irises were circled with purple vessels, the white almost gone. Arthur reached for his hand. "I am sorry I turned up like this," he said. "But sending word wasn't an option."

Arel shook his head – the slightest movement ever. "You don't need to send word…"

He tried to sit up and fell back. Arthur helped him and sat down on the bed. "I brought Ashara," he said. "She… she wanted to come home."

"I see," Arel said and looked him in the eye. "Do I see, Arthur?"

For a while, Arthur was silent. There were so many things he wanted to say and hear his brother's words and sound advice. But he was bound to keep the Targaryens' secrets. And things regarding himself and his own secrets – he had kept them in for so many years that he had become unable to let them out.

"I can't stay long," he said. "I must go back to the Tower of Joy."

Arel laughed, a brief bitter sound. "I imagine," he said, "what will follow. The usurper – King Robert, the First of His Name, I forgot – will come and take the Stark girl to crown and bed her. And if she has half the brains gods gift to a cow, she will keep silent about the truth behind this war – whatever the truth is. Meanwhile, so many fell at the Trident that they could carpet the earth to the line of the horizon. Prince Lewyn…" He fell silent. "Forgive me. We haven't seen each other for so long and that's how I meet you. I am sorry."

"It's fine," Arthur said, his throat constricted. That was one of the images that had been haunted him in weeks – the Stark whore led with honours to King's Landing, bedecked with Elia's jewels, sitting in Queen Rhaella's place, spouting brats who would play in the gardens Rhaenys and Aegon would never see again.

Arel closed his eyes. Arthur wondered whether he had fallen asleep but Arel's laboured breathing showed him that this wasn't the case. There was a faint wheeze to it that made his heart ache, a manifest of the ailment that would not leave Arel, ever.

All was too cruel to be true. Only a year ago, life had been normal – as normal as it could be around the Mad King. But there had been some regularity to it. Now everyone was dead or ruined – Elia, Arel, Ashara, even Rhaegar, everyone he loved.

The sun was filling the master's bedchamber with light that was obviously painful for Arel, so he motioned at the window. "Will you…?"

"Oh, of course," Arthur said and closed the shutters before going back to the bed.

Arel was giving him a thoughtful look. "What are you going to do now?" he asked. "You won't bend the knee to the usurper."

"I won't."

"So, what are you going to do?" Arel's face was thoughtful and puzzled at the same time. "A Kingsguard is a Kingsguard for life."

Arthur looked at him and laughed harshly. "For life? They took my life away at King's Landing!"

"Elia of Dorne's life was taken away at King's Landing," Arel said. "The Sword of the Morning has every chance before him. Maybe the septons will release you from your vows? You could come back and take care of the things here when… when need arises."

He knows. The thought made Arthur ache. He knows what will happen to him. How can he be so calm?

"When is my brother going to die?" Arthur had asked the maester not even an hour ago. He had come to Starfall hoping to find Arel fully recovered but it had not happened. The maester had not been encouraging.

"I cannot say, Ser Arthur. His lungs… All other wounds will close but his lungs are badly affected. It is possible that nothing happens but it is equally possible that even a cold might kill him – now or after a few years. I cannot say which one it will be."

"I am sorry." The words came out with difficulty, they burned his chest, tore at his throat with the bile of regret and mistakes.

"It's not your fault."

It might not be. But then, it might very well be. If Arthur hadn't kept silence, maybe Rhaegar would have seen that his father's behavior was unacceptable and acted sooner; if he had been at the Trident, Arel might have been somewhere where the crushing blow wouldn't have fallen; if he had not been so wrapped in his own troubles, he might have prevented Ashara from going too far with lying Eddard bloody Stark. The image of the perfectly formed baby, blue and unresponsive, strangled in his own cord, flashed through his mind. He only hoped Ashara would get over it in time.

"Still. For all what is worth, I am sorry."

After that, they were silent but it was not the uncomfortable silence Arthur had become used to in the last months. It felt soothing. If he could stay a few days here, if he could make for what he had missed of the life in Starfall, maybe he would regain his strength. But I don't need strength any more, do I?

He would leave early in the afternoon. He would go back where his duty commanded him to be. Indeed, now he had nothing but duty. "Take care of yourself," he had. "And take better care of Ashara than I did."

Arel only nodded.

In the hall, a pair of big purple eyes looked at Arthur curiously from around the corner. He pretended not to see and waited for the girl to reveal herself. She did when he had nearly reached the chamber Lady Dayne had had ready for him. "No one ever uses this room," she announced.

"Truly?" Arthur asked. "It was my room when I was your age."

Allyria inclined her head, considering this. She looked like Ashara had at six, only her hair was silver, unlike Ashara's dark. Arthur suddenly remembered how jealous he had been of Ashara and Arel for looking like each other while he stood out. He had felt different even then. "But you don't live here any more."

"No, I don't."

She approached cautiously and smiled, opening the door. "I must see whether it is suitably prepared," she said and entered first. Arthur followed, amused by her attempt to play the lady of the castle.

Allyria checked the shelves for dust, looked at the shutters to make sure the chamber was aired, and then spoiled the impression by jumping on the bed and bouncing. Arthur laughed. Please, let her stay this carefree forever, he prayed.

"Don't tell Arel," she said, conspiratorially.

"I won't," he promised. "Is he such a stern disciplinarian?"

"He is." The girl fell silent. "They say he'll die," she said, curiously entranced by the idea. "My nursemaid died."

"I am sorry."

Allyria looked at him. "I don't want him to die."

Arthur felt a lump in his throat. "Neither do I, Allyria. Neither do I."

But death was hanging over Starfall. He could feel it even in his room. It was near.

A few weeks later…

At first, he didn't feel the arrow – it was so small, the piercing so slight that it felt like a mosquito bite. He raised Dawn again and attacked. Eddard Stark blocked.

It was later – a bit later, much later, he couldn't say – that he became aware of the sudden numbness of his arms, his failing vision. The battlehorse whined, feeling that its rider was no longer controlling it. Dawn shook and fell down without the slightest impact with Ice.

Arthur didn't know what was going on. Such a thing had never happened, in all his years since he had fist taken a sword as a little boy. And then his vision suddenly cleared and he saw Eddard Stark's stunned face and behind him, the little crannogman. Everything was suddenly clear. He knew it was over and he laughed because it was never meant to be a fair fight. Stark would come out of this alive and return to his Tully wife, his whore of a sister would sit on the tainted throne next to the usurper and it would be like Elia, Ashara, Arthur had never existed. He fell down and the impact to his head made him dizzy but still he started crawling to where a pale light shone between the sand and earth.

Just a little more, just a little more… Eddard Stark was shouting something, the White Bull fell. Just a little more…

At the last moment, a river of images flew through his mind, clear and bright, as if lit by countless torches: Dawn, long and magnificent, and so unreachable in his child's eyes; the Water Gardens, almost as dear as Starfall; Arel, showing him how to hold a sword; the wooden beads of Elia's necklace, the one she had given his as a token; Ashara as he was chasing her in the halls of Starfall; the white cloak they had wrapped him in at entering the Kingsguard; Rhaegar's eyes, indigo and thoughtful, looking at a future Arthur could not fathom; Aerys' face, contorted in ghastly delight while Rickard Stark burned; Elia's smile when she told him that she loved him; the bruises on Queen Rhaella's wrists; Rhaenys' innocent smile…

"We must bring him to the tower!" he heard Stark's voice and he hated it, was terrified that he might stay alive thanks to Stark's mercy. He saw him coming near. Just a little more… With a last effort, he reached for the glow and…

He died with Dawn in his hand.