I would like to dedicate this to Serina93. Without their encouragement I would have never thought to continue this verse. I hope it lives up to your expectations.
As always, I would like to thank Sigrid_Martell who gave this a look see.
The disclaimer: I own nothing. All things recognizable are property of G.R.R. Martin, David Benioff, D.B. Weiss, & company, & the asoiaf wiki.
I hope readers who enjoyed Mending Endeavors also enjoy this.
Chapter 1
"I have sent for His Grace."
An unnecessary announcement, Elia thinks, when the Grand Maester's apprentice flew out of the room as though the Stranger was after him mere moments ago.
She tells herself to breathe. To become harried now would do no good.
Things could worsen easily enough.
Her eyes return to the Maester. Ordinarily the poorly hidden reaction he has when confronted with her infirmities is satisfaction and false concern. Now, however, despite remaining stubbornly mute, his face is flush with confusion and irritation.
She does not understand his confusion. Even if this was...surprising and while he might not know her body as she does, he forged links. He should not be confused.
The irritation, however, rankles. It was if he believed this current malady resulted from a deliberate effort to shatter his pretensions of competence.
Even if she believed him free from such thoughts, his expression makes her want to give into her already simmering agitation and so she remains silent. She owes him nothing, let alone a reaction when he clearly desires one.
As it was she can barely contain her own grimace; this situation had not been her fault.
She internally amends, not entirely her fault.
Perhaps it was that which bothers the man now. Hearing the rustle of skirts and the soft, tense exhale of breath from besides her she knows this situation will bother more than just the Maester.
Hearing the rustle of skirts again, while she knows others may be displeased with the result of the Maester's examination, she cannot say she is. Yet, since a babe in her mother's arms she is familiar with causing difficulties for others. Now, unwanted, the feeling bubbles in her once more. In this moment, however, it is not thoughts of the displeasure of most she is consumed with, be it the man in front of her or the woman beside her.
There is nothing to be done about the Maester's reaction or Lyanna stubbornly insisting to stay while the Maester completed his examination. It was too late to prevent anything being done. Without her trying for it, trouble seems to find her easily enough and there is no need to borrow more of it.
In her state, however, the urge to give into responding in a way many surely will find fault with is a near certainty. This is why she settles for a quick, "Thank you, Maester."
She does not acknowledge his too sharp nod of agreement.
And yet, it is no small relief she can, if only for the briefest of moments, push thoughts of silent maesters or accusing, grey-eyed women away when Rhaegar enters the room with Oswell Whent marching a half step behind him.
The apprehension in Rhaegar's violet eyes is prominent. She wonders if it will vanish or intensify with this revelation. She cannot say for certain which reaction she desires more. She cannot say with any certainty how Rhaegar would react. Once she might have been absolutely sure.
"What happened? Is everything well?"
She hesitates. Two years ago, one year ago perhaps, her answer would have been yes, immediately and without hesitation. Now, what can she say? What should she say?
Besides her Lyanna springs up. As the girl, and Elia despite knowing better, sometimes still thinks of her that way, rushes towards Rhaegar. "Your Grace-"
'Your Grace'. "Your Grace" is not 'My love', 'Husband', or even, 'Rhaegar'. Her shoulders slump. They slump further seeing how Lyanna clearly longs to make her escape.
She cringes when Lyanna answers Rhaegar's questioning look with a rushed, "Excuse me, I should go". The anxiousness she tried to push away sharpens when Lyanna bolts out the room with Rhaegar and Ser Oswell staring after her.
It is too silent, she thinks. As quickly as the thought comes the damnable Maester lets out a far too deliberate cough and flees from the room leaving her with Rhaegar.
"What happened?"
Trying to regain some semblance of calm she does not feel, she squares her shoulders. "The Maester had some unexpected news."
She winces. Rhaegar's confusion gives way to concern quickly, but, he turns to the door as if hoping either Lyanna or the Maester will come back through it and give him a proper answer. "Unexpected news? Is something wrong with her, Elia?"
Wrong with Lyanna? Hysterics finally getting the better of her, she howls with laughter. She laughs harder at looks Rhaegar and Ser Oswell give her.
If she laughs she might not cry. She does not want to do that when she long since had her fill of tears. Of course, by the time her frenzy subsides her eyes are wet.
They still stare.
She takes a breath. "Lyanna? She is well."
They frown at her; surely thinking she is lying. Perhaps she was in a way. Lyanna was well physically. It was everything else which she could name which would make it a lie. Confused. Shocked. Worried. Hurt. Lyanna could be of it or more. She could not judge. She is in no state to judge anything. In truth, she does not have it in her to find out just yet; and certainly not when Rhaegar is still unaware.
"She ran out of here." The heightened sense of unease, both Rhaegar's and her own, cause her shoulders shake again.
Stifling her rising consternation, trying for firm and likely failing, she repeats, "Lyanna is perfectly well."
It answers nothing, but, she hopes it might reassure Rhaegar. She hopes it might reassure herself knowing it will not.
Oh gods, she thinks bitterly…Lyanna will have to be fine. Her shoulders slump again. No, that is not…
She shakes herself and straightens. She will have to try to fix things with Lyanna later, if she can. At this moment, however, Rhaegar seemed poised to speak again and only the gods know where his thoughts may lead when her own thoughts have not ceased moving. "Lyanna brought me here to see the Maester."
"You?" Rhaegar deflates.
Relief. Rhaegar feels relief.
Suddenly irritated, she almost shouts.
She tells him she needed to see a maester and he is calmed! How accustomed to her "frailty" he must be. She only suppresses her annoyance because he would hardly be the first or last to think of her 'illnesses' with regularity. That and how she chose to reconcile with Rhaegar. It would take more than effort for everything to be righted and Rhaegar had always been a different sort of man. Besides, at her mother's heels she learned anger is a wasteful emotion. Even if she could summon it, she is too anxious.
Working herself up is not going to help matters at all.
She breathes deeply wondering if a simple sickness would have made her this hesitant. Perhaps, it might have been better.
Laughter threatens to escape her again. What might have been does not matter.
Looking up again, she sees clouds form on Rhaegar's face. The concern is still genuine. Something to take heart in? Even now she cannot be sure.
She tenses when Rhaegar sits next to her and takes her hand. Remaining silent, she does not know what to do with this odd yet familiar uncomfortable thing remaining between them. Who knows where this may lead?
"What is wrong?"
Her hand jumps in his and he holds it tighter.
Wrong? Nothing. Wrong? Everything.
Taking another breath works marginally to steady her.
She lets out another hysterical laugh which only serves to increase Rhaegar's worry.
Rather than bring herself to look at Rhaegar, she turns to see Oswell Whent's equally anxious face shifting. Obviously finding something in her expression, his face becomes a study in horrified realization.
She is unsurprised at that. Knights are supposed to be quick thinking and the men of the Kingsguard are the pinnacle of knighthood. What shocks her is how quickly his horror becomes amusement. As if to prove her impression, the knight laughs loudly.
She flinches back and Rhaegar's hand tightens against hers. When Rhaegar glares at Whent, she winces again.
But, Whent, for once, is not looking at Rhaegar. Rather, he is staring at her, his lips quivering.
She stiffens. He finds this comical.
The nervousness in her is gone now, replaced by ire.
Of course, he finds this amusing. This is not his life. He is just a spectator and they get to take delight in such things.
Naturally, he catches her watching him. The mirth on his face slips quickly. He dips his head. An apology, she recognizes.
But, then, he gives her a soft smile.
It shakes her.
Oswell Whent has looked at her courteously, pityingly, and perhaps brazenly even; never gently. What was this now?
She does not understand completely why relief fills her when the man grins easily at Rhaegar's terse, "Oswell?"
It is almost comforting to see the playful grin she knows. "Your Grace?" It sounds as though the knight is trying to fight off another bought of laughter. This time it rankles less.
"Are you ill, as well?"
Before her guilt settles further about increasing Rhaegar's worry, Oswell guffaws again. "No, my king. I am not ill." He leans forward, grinning almost conspiratorially. "Your worry is needless."
Whether it is was for Rhaegar or for her, at those words she feels lighter even if only for a moment. Ser Oswell Whent is Rhaegar's man. He always had been. That has to count for something, she thinks. She hopes it counts for something. That hope and having to acknowledge how Rhaegar should know emboldens her enough to intercede. "No one is ill, Rhaegar."
Rhaegar's pivot towards her is sharp and Oswell only laughs harder. Her husband looks between them and gives them both incredulous looks. It was as if he believed them mad. Perhaps she is because she is more at ease now than she ought to be. It may be fleeting, but, for now…
Doubtfully, he asks, "You are not ill? Then, what?"
Oswell snickers and this time she finds herself giving in. It is either laugh or cry and this was nothing to cry about. That the gods chose this path for her astounds her and absolutely perplexes her; but, she should not feel anything less than joy. She has no right to feel anything less.
Whatever may come, she resolves not to feel anything less. This is everything to take joy in.
Obviously grown more confused and increasingly anxious, Rhaegar prompts, Elia?"
She sneaks a glance at the knight again and gets an encouraging look in return. It was pleasant to see, but, she realizes, it is not something she requires in this moment.
Now without trying a smile comes to her lips easily. "I am with child."
All she can see now is Rhaegar's smile and all she can feel is the taste of his lips on hers.