A. N. The readers of these chronicles might have noticed the leap between the installment that deals with Dyanna and Maekar's engagement and the one in which they're already welcoming their second son. That's because I really couldn't fill the gap at the time. The idea came to me fully formed just now, so here it is.

Fall Of The Veil, Accord So Pale

The soft light of the single candle was just what Dyanna wanted. It touched upon the smooth surfaces of the pale chests, made the violet hangings of the windows almost black, danced against the dark door leading to the bathchamber like a yellow tongue. And it hid her pallor. The pain was still sharp and pulsing and for a while, Dyanna lay without moving, sure that something was wrong. No one had ever told her that it would hurt this much. She had been prepared for some discomfort, some bruising sensation – there had been a tearing, after all – but not this level of mind-blowing pain. Not the fear that would still not leave her – that he was too big for her, that something was terribly out of order, that he had damaged her beyond repair. Was this the way it would be like for the rest of her life? Another pain ate at her breast, right where the snake had lain.

Maekar drew a hand over her hair. "Is it this terrible?"

Without thinking, Dyanna shook her head. As inexperienced as she was, she knew that there was nothing that he could have done to make it less painful. Why telling the truth?

She didn't quite manage to convince him. He hesitated. "Well, that was the most terrible time we'll ever have in this bed."

Startled, she turned – painfully – in bed to look at his face. Was this an attempt of comfort? It looked like it was. Of all the things to say! Dyanna chuckled weakly and suddenly felt a little better. Was it his clumsy way of soothing her, or was the pain fading a little? She rose to her elbow to give him a look. "I am not your first, am I?" she asked, sure that this was the case. He had had no way of preventing the pain but no man knew how to touch a woman like this if it had been his first time. She was a little surprised at the anger that she felt just thinking about this.

Maekar didn't even deny it. "One of us needed to know what to do," he said prosaically and while it should have been amusing, it really wasn't for reasons that Dyanna had yet to uncover. She had the feeling that they had something to do with her proprietary feeling anyway. And the fact that she hated feeling inadequate. They could have been inadequate together but no. Are you telling me that it was just a sacrifice you made for me? she thought but didn't say it. She didn't want to have her first marital discord before the first day of marriage was over.

Again, he hesitated and Dyanna wondered if he perhaps felt uncomfortable looking at her at her weakest. She hadn't had the time to feel uncomfortable looking at him like this – she had been terrified that he'd die. His hand came down, over the lower part of her naked body and Dyanna's breath caught. Would he want that again? So soon? But he simply placed a hand over her lower belly, rubbing a little. Dyanna sighed and turned on her side with her back to him, holding his hand in place. "Is it better like this?" he asked and Dyanna wondered with some trepidation if it was genuine care, or just something that he felt he should do, tend her like she had tended him in that tower. By now, she had already found out that Maekar disliked touching people… although he had seemed quite content to touch her just a while ago. But it was different. Lust was different than caring. Could she have both?

She smiled. "Much better. Thank you, my lord."

Of course he's right, she thought when the pain kept retreating, the hurt of coupling and the imprint of the snake melting away together. Our worst time together is over now. And the more we do it, the less it will hurt.

The first weeks and months after their wedding felt like a dream. Entering her new obligations of helping various charities, establishing her new household, creating a niche for herself in that court of learned men, rich displays, and lavish functions, and making herself known to highborn and lowborn alike, it wasn't easy for her to find some time for herself. But nights at least, nights were hers – to discover anything about her new husband and herself, discover what being a woman truly was. Maekar had been right, and she had been as well. The worst was truly over. And the pain had gone away. Sometimes he laughed aloud – a sound that few people ever heard – at her eager attempts to study him. Prodding, tugging, drawing a hand over the muscles that were strong enough but would grow stronger yet as he kept growing – there was nothing that she wouldn't do in her curiosity. She was particularly fascinated with the moments her learning sessions became too rough. He'd look at her and growl in protest – and then she had no choice but mend it with a kiss. Not that she minded. Some days she was stunned to see a print of teeth on him early in the morning. For the life of hers, she couldn't remember when she had bitten him. He'd shrug and say that he didn't remember either.

With time, though, it was no longer enough. Without saying it, they both felt that they needed to find out what common interests they had. They were both fond of board games and riding. A few books of his their way into her bedchamber – old chronicles, mostly consisting of battle tactics and architectural designs. Dyanna preferred legends and other stories that had little truth to them – and when she read them to Maekar, somehow the little truth became even less when she changed endings that she disliked, added characters and events and killed off characters that she disliked. She was quite the murderer. To her surprise, he never got tired of listening to her. When, insecure all of a sudden, she paused and looked at him, he nodded at her to go on, looking interested, always. He also didn't mind her lavish ways. Her lady mother had not been right in saying that she'd have trouble with her husband, no matter who he was. Maekar actually encouraged in spending. But as time passed, she found out that there was a trait of his that was very troubling indeed: he was always the pessimist, expecting the worst and measuring the world in the terms of what had been lost, instead of what could be gained.

"You should really stop that," she murmured one night as she lay snuggled in his arms, both too spent to arrange their nightclothes properly. "You're sixteen and not sixty."

She felt him go rigid against her, some of the warmth literally leaving his body, and fear surged through her. "I am who I am," he said finally, stiffly. "I am sorry if it doesn't please you, my lady. I am what you see."

Dyanna pressed closer. "Don't be foolish," she said. "You're immensely pleasing to me."

She drew back and pulled his head down to her. And as she showed him just how pleasing he was to her, the first blow of coldness between them melted away but Dyanna didn't forget that it had been there. That it had been real. For a moment, the snake had been curled on her chest again.

When Dyanna descended the stairs and entered the stone yard, the horses were ready, both her sand mare and Maekar's Desert Wind. The grooms stood waiting and she smiled, nodding in greeting. "Soon," she promised, stroking the mare's nose. "We'll be going soon. Saryl, when should I be back?" she asked.

"Two hours before sunset, you're expected in the Queen's chambers," her attendant answered immediately.

Dyanna nodded. She had been a little late but they'd still have time for a good ride, provided that Maekar wouldn't be late much longer.

"One of those days, we should do rowing," she said and the other girl became a little hesitant. Hadn't Saryl been on a boat? Wasn't there a river near her Harrenhall?

People came and went. Curious eyes went to her and turned down before she could take notice of their staring. A few times, Saryl asked if she'd like to send word to the Prince or just go back. Finally, Dyanna realized that her husband wouldn't come. Even the grooms gave her looks of pity. Less than two months into the marriage, Maekar had already forgotten about her.

There was no time for her to change and do some work into her beloved garden. The literary circle that she had gathered for the morning had dissolved when she had left. She could only sit with her attendants and sew, read a book, or do nothing. Or pace. She chose pacing. In her bedchamber, where no one could see her. And later, in her goodmother's solar, she had the first chance of demonstrating just how well her mother's lessons on being a lady wife and her understanding of what being wed to the King's son entailed: she had her first rounds of pity and hushed sympathy for withstanding the neglect, ever a wife's lot, that she shrugged away indifferently.

At the evening feast, Maekar acted as if nothing had happened. Had he yet not remembered that he had broken a promise to her for everyone to see, or did he not care? By now, she had gotten to know him a little and she noticed that he was more somber and reticent than usual. He felt guilty as he should.

And yet when he followed her into her bedchamber, he didn't say a word by the way of apologizing. When her handmaidens helped her change into a nightgown, Dyanna drew a deep breath. He would still not look at her. "My lord," she said, the address sounding unfamiliar in her mouth. In the intimacy of this chamber, they always went by names, and eager hands. "My lord," she said again.

He was staring out the open window into the dark night, cold wind rushing in and stirring his silvery hair. Dyanna thought that he hadn't heard her but when she climbed into bed, her teeth chattering, and was about to call him again, he fiddled with the curtains and turned to her. "What is it?" he asked and came to stand at her bedside but not climbing in.

Dyanna shivered, the cold not dissipating despite the heavy covers. It was the first time she saw his eyes this cold when turned to her. Anger, yes. Mocking, yes. Hatred – gods, yes. Since their first meeting almost ten years ago, they had gone through all this spectre of lovely sentiments. But never coldness. Until now.

"Why did you leave me waiting?" she asked. "Today."

He gave her a look of surprise. "What?"

Now, words poured from her, angry and accusing and demeaning to her own dignity but she had not the power to stop them. "I thought you wanted us to go for a ride together as much as I did but I stood there and waited, and waited, and people came and went, and everyone knew that you had just forgotten about me, and today everyone talked about this, and…"

He tried to say something but she couldn't stop, so he waited. The moment she paused to take a break, he cut in. "Dyanna," he said softly. "I didn't forget. I simply didn't think you'd come."

That was enough to make her stop and stare at him. "You what? Just because I was a little late…"

"A short time before our appointed meeting, I came to your chambers. Your poets and singers were still there. I thought you have forgotten. They didn't look like they were going away."

Stunned, Dyanna found that there was nothing she could say to such a conclusion. "Yes," she said. "I couldn't plan my time as well as I would have liked. I am often late, unfortunately. Didn't you think that I could just be a little late? You immediately chose to think that I have forgotten about you?"

He wouldn't quite look at her. "I'm sorry," he said. Dyanna sighed, a little or her anger dissipating.

"Come here," she urged and thought that his stance had become a little less rigid. But it could be just be the play of light and shadows. "And close the window." She had finally understood why she was still so cold. He had placed the curtain back but behind it, the night chill was still coming.

The young Master Rafan had come to King's Landing at the same time as Dyanna. In fact, he had stayed specifically because he had hoped that in the preparations of Maekar's wedding, there would be need of a wood-carver who was known to no one and looked eighteen, at most, despite claiming that he had recently celebrated his twentieth nameday. How he had come to be presented to Dyanna herself, Maekar never got to know but here he was, presenting her with a new fretwork for a chest in her bedchamber – and not only! Maekar didn't know what it was about the young man that irked him so. He wasn't the first man to stand in admiration before Dyanna. He might be even the strangest looking one, with his pale face and red lips. The back part of his skull was a little flattened out. His hands seemed to be at work even when there were no instruments in them – they were constantly moving here and there. And she was all smiles and praises for the exquisite pieces of white and gold, stars and moons all over them, that he had brought her. "I am most satisfied with them, Master Rafan," she was saying. "Most satisfied, indeed. The Smith has truly blessed you."

"I wish I were this satisfied, Your Grace," he said, smiling and blushing with pride over her praise.

She gave him a look of feigned surprise. "Why, you mean you aren't?"

"Finishing my last commission with you means that I won't be seeing you anymore, my lady," he said. "The sun will be forever down for me from the next morn on."

That was nothing more than courtly manners and none of Dyanna's attendants reacted in any way. Maekar was surprised by the fresh stir of anger roaring inside his chest. Saryl Lothston smiled faintly and looked away. Suddenly, Maekar got the feeling that she was the only other person in this drawing-room who found this exchange of gallantries ridiculous, an exercise in empty words. But there was more to it. In those three months with her, he had seen men's faces change and become grave and a little paler. He knew when they desired Dyanna. But that was the first time she reciprocated someone's admiration and Maekar didn't like it, even if it was only delight of the man's marvelous work. The words and glances of coquetry that were as much a part of Dyanna as her purple eyes and so Maekar had never thought about them twice had suddenly become more pointed, her charm more concentrated. Was she trying to make the wood-carver like her? Make him feel the full force of her female allurement? Maekar abruptly rose. At the door, he turned. She stared at him amazed without even realizing that she had done something to provoke this. With her flirtatious ways that he could never satisfy – he didn't know how. With the fact that she was like all other women – she wouldn't be repelled if someone leered at her but she'd secretly cherish it because she wanted to be liked and more liked, to be liked by all men around…

"Are you angry with me?" she asked him that night as she sat before her looking-glass and he stood near the bed, not coming to brush her hair out.

He didn't reply.

"But what have I done?" Dyanna asked, her eyes so genuinely confused that Maekar's rage rose because she truly did not understand and he had no answer to give her. Her behavior had not been out of the ordinary. It was considered good manners and refinement. What could he say?

Finally, he went to her and took the silver brush. "It's nothing. I'm just tired," he said. "Would you like to have another piece of fretwork done? With Master Rafan?" he asked purposefully, overcoming the voice that ordered him to take the master's leaving of Dyanna's employment with gratitude. "I'd want to present you with one if you like his craft so much."

She met his eye in the mirror and smiled. "I'd love that," she said and when she wrapped her fingers about his wrist, he got the sudden feeling that she might have known what had been tearing him apart all day long.