Frost Over the Grass, In the Looking Glass
Five months after the horrible ordeal of pain and cutting through her very flesh that left her without a large part of one of her breasts, Dyanna Dayne felt strong enough to go out into the gardens.
It wasn't easy. She still couldn't walk unassisted. In addition to the ever-present agony in her breast, bedsores covered her from shoulders to feet. Lately, she had insisted that her widows be opened so she could finally escape from the semi-darkness that was kinder on her eyes but relegating her to living in shadows, but even so, she was unprepared for the full might of the sun that blinded her with the skill of a Lyseni torturer. And that was the faint sun King's Landing sprouted in spring!
Many of the people she met didn't recognize her. Others did only because they recognized Ultor who was walking next to her, his arm a warm certainty against the weakness in her trembling limbs. He had arrived just a week ago and he was already well-known at court – especially among the ladies, as Dyanna's handmaidens claimed. She could see it now in the ways they blushed and tried to meet his eye. She wasn't surprised – even she could see that her brother was extremely good-looking and she had grown up watching women doing the same for her father. She still didn't know what Arlene thought about it, barely knowing her goodsister. Her own mother had certainly disliked it.
Anyway, she was accustomed to people looking at both of them, Ultor and her. Now, she only got a glance if this much. Those who, after some staring, recognized her, hurriedly offered their bows or curtsies that she acknowledged but the enchanted look from their eyes was gone and that stung her like a bodily pain, although much smaller than the ones that tormented her.
"Don't mind them," Ultor said softly as they entered her garden. "You look magnificent."
Surprise made her laugh. "What?"
"Oh yes, you do," he confirmed, seriously. "It's good to be alive."
To this, she could find nothing to say. She was so grateful to be alive, except for the moments her road back to health was so bumpy that thoughts like just letting go sneaked into her mind. And then, Daeron would rush into her room, Aerion would give a wail, or Maekar would stride in after a tiring day, and those thoughts would retreat, leaving new cold of shame where the snake had lain.
In her garden, as she saw with satisfaction, things had been kept just the way she had wanted them. The head gardener of the Red Keep bowed. She could feel his delight at seeing her at her own feet, even if this weak. She and the man had a long history, starting with their shared fascination with blue roses many years ago and going through the creation of this very garden, turning the patch of land into a vision of ruby, sapphire, pearl, and emeralds, all coming from the earth itself. He had maintained her garden immaculately and she could feel his pride when he showed her around, showing her the bulbs and sprouts under the recently removed glass coverage.
"Glass!" little Aurelia squealed and Dyanna realized that she had no idea when her niece and goodsister had joined them. The gardener smiled at Aurelia but he clearly felt at a loss of how to explain to a child the concept of glass gardens and their elements or even if he should explain it at all, so Dyanna undertook the task.
Ultor was now listening politely but his attention had clearly diverted to the sounds from beyond the solid wall at the bottom of the garden. The practice yard. "Do you want to go there?" she asked.
To her surprise, he gave her a look that was very serious. "One learns many things in the practice yard. Even when just watching," he said. "It's a good thing to know your future enemies."
A cold hand suddenly turned Dyanna's heart to ice. "There isn't going to be any enmity," she said but he was already headed down the stone path. Near the door, he suddenly stopped and turned back to look at her. She recognized the man coming towards her but nodded at Ultor to go anyway. She didn't need to look like if he was guarding her. Instead, she turned to Aurelia and Arlene and kept talking about glass gardens. Coming from Myr, Arlene had never seen one either.
When he reached them, she looked at him and smiled. "Ser Aegor," she said. "What do I owe this pleasure to?"
At first, he couldn't recognize her and when he did, the gloating rejoicing in his eyes turned brighter as he offered his bow. "Your Grace," he said. "I didn't think you'd be well enough to leave your bed."
"And I can see you wanted to see if you were right," she replied. Now, with no court to watch them, she felt as little constrained by manners and propriety as he did. In some respects, they were truly similar. They had always known that they couldn't fool each other. "You weren't."
If he could smile, he would have. "Like a cat guarding its perimeter. Or perhaps just too stubborn to admit weakness, so it fluffs it moulted fur and pretends to go on the prowl anyway."
His eyes went to the veil covering her head and Dyanna felt furious blush creeping up her cheeks. Soon after the lesion had been removed, her hair had started falling out. She had no doubt that the news of how they had cut her glorious black mane had spread the day it had taken place.
As she fought the instinct to hide her head better, he glanced at the little girl at her side. "A pair of violet-eyed kittens, and just as curious."
Aurelia looked up at him and squirmed under his derision but instead of hiding behind her mother, she asked, "Why are you so angry, Ser?"
Dyanna smiled. "A curious kitten, indeed," she said. "And a clever one. So, why are you here, Ser Aegor? Besides trying to assess when I die?"
He narrowed his eyes. In the sunlight, his good looks were undoubted but his ever-present discontent marred them, turning them into a mismatch of separate perfection. Not unlike Maekar, Dyanna thought, but of course, Maekar's features had never been this perfect. And he wasn't discontent all the time. Still, the resemblance gave her chills and made Ultor's words about enmity more prophetical and terrible.
"I thought you were a smart woman, my lady. Surely you know that the court had other interests, besides wondering what you do all the time now that you are not like other women at all? Like the news from Dragonstone, for one. The shortest path to the sept runs from here. I expect that there will be many of those wishing to pray for the Princess. She lost another babe, so sad."
Dyanna stood without moving, just staring at him as he bowed again and went on his way. And the certainty in his posture, the bounce in his step told her that as she had been fighting her war with the Stranger, the court had been preparing for another one. A war that was so very close. Perhaps.
"He's very scared."
Surprised, Dyanna turned to her goodsister. Perhaps she had not understood? Arlene's common tongue, albeit grammatically correct, still bore the heavy accent of her home city of Myr.
"He tried to scare you away," Arlene went on, answering Dyanna's question. No, it had not been a mistake.
Dyanna shook her head but then the word caught in her throat. She had been staying away from court for a year and more now. Could she have lost the sharply honed instinct that told her what was what? Even Maekar's blade would go rusty if not well-kept, so why not?
Arlene's dark eyes were narrowed now. The sun turned her golden skin glossy-black and Dyanna was suddenly reminded of the tales of Princess Nymeria and her warrior women, although Arlene's hands had never held anything heavier than her child.
"They say that your health was a heavenly sign of the ruin befalling the King's family that could not let the land unaffected either. Daemon Blackfyre is showing off his lady wife's fertility and strong constitution as a contrast to you and the Princess of Dragonstone. Women whisper that you have certainly lost your allure and the shame and pain will make your lord eventually go as mad as his brother. This one saw that you're dangerous, that you're getting back to health and hoped that by speaking to you like this, he'd make you keep to your rooms out of shame."
"If so, he's wrong!"
Suddenly, Dyanna saw the future as clearly as she did the sand in the shallows of the Summer Sea when the sun shone and the surface was green and translucent like a well-kept glass mirror. Daemon Blackfyre would make his move, urged by Bittersteel and propelled by the bad luck Jena's difficulties and Dyanna's bad health had brought upon the royal family. If things went the best possible way, the realm would be drowned in blood. If not, it would still bathe in scarlet and Dyanna's boys would be sent to the Night's Watch when they grew up. If they were allowed to grow up at all. Maekar would be one of the first to lose their lives under the new king. Dyanna might well end up a Silent Sister if she didn't accompany him in death – she didn't come from a great enough House to be certain that she'd be shown mercy. Of course, she might take her own life anyway – what would she have to live for without Maekar? Without her children? Westeros woud be turned into Daemon's – Aegor's, in fact – own domain and the greatest king since Jaehaerys I would be cast as a meek, useless usurper.
Dyanna looked at her goodsister and her eyes, violent indeed and indeed those of a cat guarding its perimeter, glinted harder than any amethyst. "If so, he's very wrong indeed!"
Shame or nor, she'd return to court very soon.
And still, when the day came, she felt terribly insecure. Her hair had been brushed out and almost as glossy as it had been before, her skin – carefully powdered, so it no longer bore the pallor of ailment but a shade almost indistinguishable from her own fair complexion. Her gowns had been fitted to her newly gaunt frame, hiding the emaciation. The pads were placed so masterfully that her breasts swelled the front in exactly the same way. She even had a hint of cleavage. But when she looked in the mirror, she only saw the ugly, maimed woman who had been staring back at her for many months. For a moment, she saw what the mirror truly showed but then mist descended and when it dispersed, it was the same monstrosity on the other end.
"What?" Maekar asked sharply. She hadn't heard his arrival and startled when she saw him in the looking-glass. "Don't tell me that you aren't ready yet? You've been preparing for at least two hours…"
So he knew. Dyanna wanted to ask him angrily where he had been when all that she had wanted was for him to be there as she went through the tortured anticipation of making herself as beautiful as a deformed woman could be but she couldn't even do that. The crushing weight of despair deprived her of that, even. She turned to him and the mirror caught the movement of the amethysts fixed in her hair. She had always taken pride in her locks, so black that they sometimes looked bluish, reaching under her hips, soft and thick… Now, she had managed to return them to shine but they barely hugged her shoulders, too short for anything but the simplest of styles. Unbidden, tears came. She looked away but it was too late. Maekar, who had heard too many of her laments, caught her by the shoulder, careful not to disturb her dress or the bruises and wounds underneath.
"Listen to me! You're well now. You promised that tonight, you'd come with me to the great hall. You look magnificent. You'll put all other women to shame. You defeated the Stranger, Dyanna. Don't tell me you're going to run from the peacocks at court? When you look this beautiful?"
She was staring at him with eyes that held nothing. She wasn't even seeing him and that scared him in a way her sobs when she had been in constant pain after the cutting had not. All that time, she had been fighting. Now, she looked ready to crumble when she had conquered it all. All because of that stupid hair?
"How can I believe you, Maekar?" she finally breathed. "How can I when the looking-glass is showing it all?"
So, here it was. What he had feared most. That shame of her looks, that knowledge that no matter how well-maintained the illusion was, people would know what lay under the silver of her gown. Since she had started developing the wounds from that constant lying in her bed, her self-confidence had taken a further plummet. "I'm disfigured, Maekar," she wept night after night. "I'll never be the same. I'm… unsymmetrical." Now, when she had all the reasons in the world to keep going with her head proudly raised! The pain of removal had finally started going away. She no longer lost her balance when standing up thanks to malnourishment. She had started taking interest in the doings of the world. She had even supervised the transfer of sums to a few of the charities she held dear. She could now watch the children for hours at time, read to them, walk with them if they weren't busy. He told her all of this. She didn't disagree. But she stared at him silent, distracted, disbelieving, his words not reaching her. No more than they did now.
"What is it showing? The softness of your skin? That amethyst of your eyes that no other woman has? And I have no idea how you can believe me but I am the one you'll have to believe. So, are you going to walk on your own, or am I going to carry you there?"
His rudeness almost led to an outpour of tears but he preempted it by reaching for her hand in a manner that made it clear that he'd drag her out by force if need be. He didn't know if he had it in him to make good on his threat but he was glad that he didn't need to find out: Dyanna clearly believed him. She took his arm and made the first step to the door, resigned to her fate but not looking at him. We'll deal with this later, he thought. Step by step. For now, she's going to face court and that's enough.
At this moment, he didn't know just how easy Dyanna would find it to position herself safely behind the shield of her onetime self-confidence and project in when she didn't feel it at all. He didn't know that when the rest of court would believe that she was still the woman she had been, she would relax a little and actually started being her soon enough. And he certainly didn't know that tonight would be the night when she'd reach out for him in a way she hadn't since the last few weeks before Aerion's birth. In the whirlwind of his fear for her very life and the slow, painful steps to her recovery he had forgotten that he was young, that he loved her with his body as much as his heart. He had forgotten but that night, he remembered.