The Light That Burns

Naked

Elaena Targaryen would never feel more naked in her life than she had in those years in the so called Court of Love – not even in her wedding night with the old Plumm, not even at the births of her children where maesters, midwives, and handmaidens all had a good look at her writhing body and the gory substances coming from all her orifices. The magnificently furnished building was the place she was stripped of everything – the clothing of her choice, her hope, her freedom. She only had what Baelor would give her. Not that it had been different before – she had always been dependent on the king her father or Daeron. But she had never realized her own dependence as entirely as she had now. She had never wanted something and been refused because the King would not like it.

Despite the flock of highborn maidens brought in their prison to serve them, the three princesses soon learned not to get too close to any of them. Many of those served as spies to their families and this way, to Baelor. And there were those who, spies or not, could not stay for more than a year or two there, in this golden cage. Written pleas to their families and heartfelt tears brought to the young women being taken out of the Maidenvault every so often.

Daena often spoke of what she would do once they were free. Elaena never did it, out of fear that there would be three or four years until this day came. She never envisioned full ten.

Days dragged on, so terrifyingly alike. Sometimes, she woke up at night and frantically tried to remember how much time she had spent here. Other times, she could not say how many months there were until her next nameday. Time held no sway here…

They were allowed visitors sometimes, as long as they were women. Naerys came quite frequently, too often heavy with child, or mourning the loss of one. Their mother came every two months, never missing a time, even if she had to come from Driftmark where she spent much of her time now. She doesn't want to watch the septon ruining the Seven Kingdoms and us both, Daena often said angrily and while Rhaena was appalled, Elaena thought their sister had the right of it. She didn't know whether Daenaera wasn't allowed to visit them more often, or just couldn't bear it. The Seven knew that Elaena and Daena barely managed to take it as well – and even Rhaena who wasn't as strongly opposed to their imprisonment took it hard, no matter how desperately they wanted to see her. Elaena could see her mother growing old and that was one of the very few things interrupting that terrible timelessness – Daenaera's aging. That alone could stir the anger the monotony of her life had stifled long ago.

Until the Dornish girl arrived.

Elaena knew that Daeron had tried to obtain permission to visit them a few times. Baelor had always refused. Even his Hand who practically ruled in his stead wasn't allowed to permeate their isolation. But it looked that Daeron was a special case. Baelor remembered all too well that his nephew had been Elaena's playmate and constant companion. Somehow, to his addled wits, that had clearly translated into Elaena being willing and able to easily seduce the boy with her evil charms, so Daeron had never been granted access to the princesses' guilded prison for his own safety. Never. Until he brought her over. Her. The Dornish girl.

At the first moment, she returned his smile and said something she thought was courteous. From the smiles around her, she knew that she had said the right thing but for the life of hers, she couldn't remember what it was. She was too busy watching him and recognizing in his familiar yet unknown features just how fully life had gone on without her, as if she was the soul of someone long gone who had escaped the watchful guard of the Stranger and gone back to see how everyone had learned to cope without her. Daeron was much changed, grown up, and had almost nothing to do with the boy she remembered, except for the fact that he was most certainly not a warrior. Elaena had never thought he would be and anyway, they had very rarely played at tourneys and warriors back then.

But he had found a maiden, it seemed. That much was clear by everything they did not say.

Elaena hated her from the start. From the moment she saw the newcomer's dark hair and eyes, so different from her own. Her ugly dark skin. The cloud of exotic aroma rising from her clothes at every movement. It felt strange because she had spent many days listening to the sounds of the festivities marking Daeron's wedding and trying to imagine what Mariah Martell was like. She had held no antipathy for the Dornish girl then and yet now it came bursting out – the resentment, the long held hatred of Dorne, Daeron's fierce threats and vows that those vile sand-dwellers would not oppose him. And now one of them was received with honours here, at King's Landing? One of them was considered worthy to wear the crown of Queen one day while Elaena and her sisters, born Targaryen and dragons were to waste their lives away buried here? That was so terribly unfair – and somehow the besotted look Daeron was giving the Dornish creature made it all worse. Mariah Martell could not have possibly done something good enough to deserve the position at court, the crown waiting for her, and love all combined in one marriage, one man. Elaena's onetime companion who had had a life, for the Seven's sake! A life without her. A life that he would still keep living once he left here, but with the Dornish snake next to him. At this moment, Elaena finally realized that Baelor's fears for her chastity might have been well-founded. She might have tried to seduce Daeron had she been given the chance. Living with him would vastly better than living in this cage. Or would it be not? She felt dizzy at realizing that she no longer knew the answer. She had spent here… oh my, seven years. Seven long years, and she had to count the because she had not felt them pass.

The Dornish girl smiled at her, clearly not picking on the chaotic disturbed thoughts in her mind. "I am honoured to meet you, Your Grace," she said. "I've heard much about you."

To Elaena, that was a new blow, this well-practiced courtesy, the realization that she had been demoted to a piece in someone's fond memories. Daeron had lived in those years – and she had not. "I am sure you have," she said and then, to her horror and mortification, she lost control over the resentful being currently inhabiting her skin. "You are just what I expected of a Dornishwoman. And what Daeron expected once, as well." Her lips stayed flat, just like her father's. "So, what was the common refrain in such occasions? I am pleased to meet you."

Daena laughed aloud. Rhaena looked horrified.

Mariah Martell did not even flinch. "I don't believe that," she said. "But I am no more pleased than you, I assure you. Can we go already, Daeron?"

"Of course," he said readily. "It was clearly a mistake to come here at all and I'm sorry I lost your time." To Elaena's distaste, he rose while speaking. Like an obedient hound! She waited for him to say something evil to her, so she could feel justified in what she already perceived as a shameful loss of temper. But to her horror, he didn't even bother with the formal goodbye. She watched him go, her cry frozen in her throat, realizing with horror that she might now have all her remaining years to remember this encounter and regret that she had tarnished one of the few good memories that still hadn't eluded her with the stain of her own despair.