Shades of Past
A Storm Coming
The blood gushed out of her as if she were lying in a battlefield with her life trickling out and yet it was something that came upon her each time the moon started waning. But not this fiercely. Never before. The storm raging outside seemed to be destroying the lady of the castle's own body with the unbound strength of an element that yielded to no one, no king and no god.
A thunder shook the black walls and Daella, the lady of Blackhaven, groaned painfully and clutched the hand of the woman sitting next to her. "Why, Saryl?" she whispered. "It never used to be this strong. Have you ever felt something like this when you had your moon blood?"
A brief pause, and then the woman leaned over to wipe Daella's forehead with a damp cloth. "It will be better next time," she said. "You lived through a horrible ordeal. Your body needs time to return to the way it was before."
Before… Before the Rat, the Hawk and the Pig. Before the attack of that night that had left her hanging out the window, watching the Stranger in the eye. Before Aelora was dead. The tears running down her cheeks were now of another pain and not her cramping womb. She almost didn't register when Saryl gave her some milk of the poppy.
The older woman watched as Daella went to sleep. Only after did she rise and went out – not to the small chambers she had been nominally assigned but the ones she really resided in when Maekar Targaryen visited his daughter here.
"So?" he asked, turning away from the window and closing it. Saryl shuddered. She could never understand the beauty that he found in storms. In fact, she couldn't even understand his inclination to let all the drafts in. "How is she?"
"They gave her the potion," Saryl said. Her brown eyes were worried. "Perhaps the maesters in the Red Keep were wrong with the dosage they gave her. Or they gave her the wrong tea. I've never seen a woman in such pains when her moon blood comes. And Daella never had any troubles with this before they cleansed her."
She was careful about the way she chose her words. Daella had been desperate to rid herself of the seed the forced encounter might have left her with. And Maekar had supported her against Saryl who had insisted that with Daella's health being not quite stable for a long time before the attack, they should wait until they knew there was a reason to give her the moon tea. It looked like she had been right – but there was no need to impress this upon either of them.
Watching her, Maekar thought that she had stooped for the duration of that single day. He pulled a chair for her, pressed a goblet of hot wine into her hand. "Do you think we should summon a maester from Sunspear?" he asked, choosing his words with equal care. Even now, he didn't know what the Dornish maesters and the Essosi wise men and women had done to treat the defect that had left Saryl different and vulnerable in the core of her very femininity. It was a painful and mortifying topic for her, even after a marriage of love and the ten years she had spent with him as his mistress.
She nodded vigorously. "If they can't help, they won't do any harm either," she said. "She's starting to fear that she may turn out barren from now on. That, more than anything, makes her so unhappy. She doesn't have anything to distract herself with, other than her duties in Blackhaven. She misses the children terribly."
It was only right for the heir of Driftmark to be raised to the island he'd inherit one day. And right now, it was better for Daella's little girl to live there as well. But Maekar could not fault his daughter for feeling pain.
"I'll send her to represent House Targaryen to the tourney at Storm's End," he suddenly said. "It'll be good for her to change her surroundings."
Without her husband, I hope, Saryl thought. The lack of children well into the second year of the marriage had strained the relationship between Daella and Manfred Dondarrion to an extent that both women strove to hide from Maekar, out of fear what he might unleash over his goodson's head. "I think that's a good idea," she said and then paused. "I thought you would be the one going?"
That had been the plan, for Saryl to stay here with Daella, whose education she had been supervising for many years, while Maekar headed for Storm's End. They had intended to spend some time in Summerhall afterwards.
"I got a raven from the Red Keep," he replied. "They want me back immediately. Not that they have told me why. Brynden Rivers loves keeping me on edge."
Saryl squinted at him in the dim light of twilight and storm. His face was calm and to her relief, in his gruff voice there was none of the hostility that had edged his attitude to the then new Hand ever since Bloodraven't appointment. It had been painful for her to watch bitterness and growing harshness consuming him, for they had only made him more unhappy. But it looked that finally, there was peace in his life and relationship with the Iron Throne.
"Lord Borros is too feeble to care which Targaryen does him the honour of attending," Maekar said. "And I daresay Lyonel will be far happier to watch Daella than me…"
He said it in all seriousness, just stating a fact. Another man would have made a jest out of it but he realized the humour only when she chuckled. "Are you sure?" she asked seriously a moment later.
The tenth anniversary of the disaster of Ashford was drawing near. He had always wanted her close by around that time. She hesitated, unsure how to balance his needs against Daella's. If only she could have divided herself equally!
In the thickening twilight, his face was a blue-white spot, lit by the lightnings that kept splitting the sky in two. He nodded and came close to take the goblet from her and drink. "She needs you," he only said and sweet relief hummed through her at having the decision made for her.
Sometimes, Daella could feel the spells that were said to be woven into the walls of Storm's End – the thickest ones she had ever seen. Sometimes, she felt something examining her, checking her, deciding to let her in. Other times, not. Perhaps it was all because she had read the story of Durran, his Elenei, and the children of the forest, or perhaps Bran the Builder, of too tender an age and had been hugely impressed. But with time, she had come to expect each passing impatiently, the idea of magic that touched her retaining a bit of its allure even when she had grown old enough to know better. Even now, crestfallen and haunted by the memory of that night and Aelora's bloodless face when they had lifted her to her pyre, a shade of that old excitement moved her heart, made her look around eagerly.
She emerged from the tunnel in the wall amidst a river of people – knights on warhorses shouting at their squires, ladies on palfries, servants running on errands, heads poking out of windows… Whispers arose as the crowd split before the three-headed dragon banner.
The heir of Storm's End came out to meet her and assist her from her saddle. "It's an honour for our House to see you here, Your Grace," he said. "And pleasure."
"I couldn't wait to arrive," Daella replied. "I have so many good memories of this place…"
She didn't clarify that those were from many years ago, when his brother had still been the heir and his nieces, her friends. Both girls had perished during the Great Spring Sickness.
"If you would come with me, I'll be happy to show you to your chambers," Lyonel said and then looked at Saryl who stood unobtrusively a little away, just a part of Daella's retinue. Daella tensed; noticing her apprehension, he grinned and made one of the spur of the moment's decisions that made him so beloved – or hated – as he leaned over Saryl's hand. A murmur of shock and discontent followed but he rose as if it was nothing. "And you, my lady," he added, pleased to be tweaking the noses of all prudes around… and winning the Princess' favour as well. Plus, the lady really didn't look all this ominous. Just a woman of middle age, middle height, middle built and even middle-brown eyes. A woman who could pass for any ordinary, nice, honourable lady wife past her prime.
In the years after the Spring Sickness, Daella had visited the impressive castle a few times and each time, she had been stricken at how neglected Storm's End grew, from gardens to defenses. Lord Borros would not allow his castellan or Lyonel do something about that, as if the decline of the castle assuaged his grief somewhat. As they walked to the chambers meant for her where she could take some refreshments, Daella looked in the distance, over the seaward wall. "I didn't know you have invited Essosi guests," she said, surprised, looking at the constellation of white dots that came closer and closer, glorious against the silvery-golden pyre of the horizon, over the deep blue surface of the sea.
Lyonel stopped short. "We haven't," he said slowly, turning to follow her gaze and then roaring an order for someone to follow him with a Myrish eye as he ran for the seaward wall.