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Ride the Storm

Elia

Rhaelle had long ago given up on her romantic ideas of knightly virtues and makings… always connected to the sharpness and swiftness of one's sword, it seemed. The very day her brother had cowered from meeting an aging man and instead sent Ser Duncan the Tall, a man in his prime, to make sure that they won. Of course, Rhaelle could see the wisdom of this decision, knew that little would have been resolved if Lord Lyonel had killed Duncan as he undoubtedly would have but the fact that it was a statesmanlike decision did not make it a knightly one. Duncan had offended, the Lord Captain Commander had fought instead of him, and then she had been sent to pay the price, again instead of him. Whatever notions she had from the tales her mother and nursemaid said had died pretty fast and later, life had shown her nothing to dissuade her from this conviction, so the old woman was surprised at the curiosity she was looking at the man standing guard with. Arthur Dayne, recently returned from the Red Mountains, did not look like a man who had been in Dorne at all. Rhaelle could see that his fair skin turned quite dark in the sun – how else could he survive in his homeland? – and very faint paler streaks in his silver hair showed that a very long time ago, he had been sunkissed. In the semi-darkness of the hallway, the purple of his eyes looked darker and quite nice but Rhaelle remembered this same purple in his grandfather and namesake's tanned face. In the first Arthur's face, these eyes had been true flames of the most striking colour. He was tall and muscular enough but nothing extraordinary. Why had she expected something extraordinary anyway?

The Sword of the Morning. Her nursemaid had been Dornish.

He looked away immediately but not before Rhaelle noticed the awe on his face. Although they had seen each other at Harrenhall, it had been from afar – no one had wanted to aggravate Aerys' suspicions further, so she did not know him at all.

"What is it, Ser?" she asked, not kindly but not impolitely either.

"Forgive me, my lady. You look like my lady grandmother used to, in my memories."

"Aunt Rhae, do you think that at my wedding, I'll be as beautiful as you are?"

One of her first memories. The question that had come back at the time she and Ormund had made their vows. Had she been the same glorious bride as Rhae had been at her wedding to Arthur Dayne?

"Yes," she said. "I expect that I do."

Why had Robert not tried to kill him immediately? She had expected that she'd have a hard time talking her grandson out of it, yet here Arthur Dayne stood, guarding Rhaegar's abandoned wife and forsaken heir – nothing could convince Rhaelle that the man had not been ready to forfeit their lives to Aerys' whims if that meant the help of Dorne would be there – not even two days after his return, a disgraced Lyanna Stark being led by a different group and kept out of the Red Keep.

She nodded and he removed himself, his eyes going to her belt as if he was looking for a dagger. Rhaelle laughed. "Aren't you a little late with your defence?" she asked. "Or have you become so used of guarding that girl from the people who thought they were saving her that you now expect that I would kill a babe when my grandson could have had arranged easily enough in the disarray of his arrival, like some other people tried?"

Shame bloomed scarlet on his cheeks. She pushed the door and entered.

At first, she did not see anyone. Then, she heard Elia Martell before she saw her.

"Sleep, my sweet boy, the night is clear; close your eyes, dear one, Mama is here…"

Tears came to Rhaelle's eyes quite unbidden. She had inherited her Dornish nursemaid from her father and Steffon had inherited her later on. How often had she heard this lullaby? For a moment, the Red Keep and the faint smell of ashes that lingered despite their best efforts, this room and this woman stopped existing for her. The nursery at Storm's End and Naiyna singing the lullaby to Rhaelle's own boy were all there was.

Over time, the pain had lost its edge and become dull, a pale shadow dimming her joy of life so persistently that she no longer noticed it. Except when it intensified. In certain moments. When Robert inclined his head in a particular way and laughed. Or when Elia Martell sang this lullaby, out of sight and thus making room for memories Rhaelle had learned to suppress.

The windows were thrown wide open and when Rhaelle finally saw the Dornish princess in a chair at the far end of the room, she only spotted the two heads, one dark and one pale, under the heavy furs meant to keep them warm as the harsh wind relieved the persistent smell of fire. Rhaelle shuddered to think what would have happened if Aerys had succeeded in putting his plan to burn the entire castle in motion.

The child stirred; adjusting him, Elia looked up and startled.

"I've come with peace," Rhaelle said quickly. "Would you mind if I close these?" she asked and Elia shrugged.

"As you wish."

When Rhaelle turned back, she saw that Elia had moved over to put her sleeping son in bed. Her belly stuck out quite obviously. It was true, then. Rhaegar had gotten her with child before he left for the Trident. Rhaelle swallowed her pity because she could say it would be unwelcome – she could see that in every line of Elia's pale, gaunt face.

"My lady, please take a seat."

Rhaelle sat where Elia indicated and adjusted her skirts. The Dornish princess ordered some refreshment and asked a few questions about the advancement of the repairs of the city. The house for unwed mothers, in particular. "I heard it has taken a bad fire…"

"For someone closeted in here, you seem to know quite a lot about the events in the city," Rhaelle said, a little surprised.

Elia shrugged, taking a dainty sip of her tea. "I'm closeted in here and guarded, so I would not run," she said. "No one takes any interest in my charities. In fact, given the expenses surrounding any change of the regime, the new King is likely relieved that I can help out some."

No, Rhaelle thought, Jon Arryn is. The influence the man wielded over Robert was starting to grate on her nerves but she could nor deny that the man had a good head on his shoulders.

Silence descended; making some conversation of little importance over the repairs and building good sleeping habits in one's babes, Rhaelle wondered when Elia Martell would realize that she would not win this little battle of wills. Soon, courtesy would be observed to the end and then, under normal circumstances, the visitor would have told the Princess of Dragonstone what had urged her to come here. Just a year ago, it would have unfolded just this way; now. Elia finally accepted that she was in the weaker position here and asked reluctantly, "Did they tell you about… about the match?"

"Yes," Rhaelle replied. "They did."

She did not mention that the idea had been her very own. Jon Arryn had pressed for Cersei Lannister as a better option which could bring them healing and the friendship of the West; Rhaelle was on the opinion that letting a bear heal something for you would only lead to a vital organ being torn to shreds in the long run.

"Why do they want me?" Elia asked. "I'm much older than your grandson."

Rhaelle gave her a look of consideration. "I wouldn't exactly call you an old crone. And you're of proven – err, currently proving fertility."

Suddenly, Elia burst out laughing and laughed so hard that Rhaelle thought she would wake Aegon for sure. She laughed and laughed until tears started pouring down her cheeks and she could no longer take breath. Rhaelle silently pushed a goblet of water towards her. "Here."

"Thank you," Elia managed. "Yes, you can say I'm quite fecund. Still, there is no guarantee I'll be able to give King Robert an heir. This is going to be my third time in the birthing bed in three years. This takes toll."

Rhaelle shrugged. "Why, he's going to wait until you recover, of course. And even if you don't give us any heirs, it isn't as I lack grandsons to take the throne after Robert." She leaned forward. "I want the stain of this sack washed," she said candidly. "I want Robert to be seen as the good and just king who did justice to the wife Rhaegar mistreated. I don't want to have his reign start by rewarding the butcher who half-destroyed King's Landing. I want to reattach the ties binding us to Dorne. And you're my best way to achieve it. You managed to survive in a court that hated you, with your husband all but making a red dot out of you for everyone willing to shoot at. I know some other things about you as well. I do believe you'll make a great Queen of peace and fresh start."

Elia did not look thrilled with the exalted position offered to her. 'And one who will be even more invested in King Robert's success than you because each sniff of failure might bring suspicion and danger to my children, I suppose?"

Rhaelle smiled, delighted that she had been understood. "Precisely! You keep your end of the bargain, your children are safe in Dorne. Does this not look pleasing to you?"

"More than the Wall and the motherhouse, for sure," Elia sighed. Rhaelle could see the suspicions running behind her hooded black eyes, the realization that Rhaelle wanted to make her a pawn that she, Rhaelle, could exploit… She did not mind. Over time, Elia would realize that Rhaelle had no aspirations to grab a position belonging to the King's wife. She would be content with her own. But between Elia Martell, motivated more than anyone to keep Robert under her influence, and Rhaelle who wanted the best for her House and her grandsons, this dream of hers to leave a golden mark through her offspring might actually come true. She extended her hand.

"Then, may I tell Robert that you have made your mind?"

Elia was a little pale but determined. Her hand was very cold, her handshake, very firm. "Yes, you may."

"Very well. I expect that by the end of the day, you'll be allowed to leave the Red Keep. Guarded and without the children, of course, but you'll be allowed to leave."

Elia nodded. "Thank you."

"Can I do something for you?"

"Yes," Elia said immediately. "Get Ser Arthur out of here. Replace him with someone else. I don't want to see his face each time this door opens."

Now, now, this was interesting! Rhaelle had been assuming that Elia had wanted a friendly face close by and a guard she could trust… but now, it looked that no one had bothered to ask about her opinion. Or if they had, they had used this knowledge to punish Ser Arthur. All of a sudden, things became a little clearer in Rhaelle's mind. After all, Robert could only kill Arthur Dayne once.

"Do you want to tell him in person?" she asked. "A queen is entitled to choose which guard not to see."

But the look that Elia gave her was so weary that worry shot through Rhaelle's veins. The young woman had already taken much more than a woman could stand, much less one with child. "No," she said indifferently. "I don't. Just removing him will be enough. Thank you."

"How far along are you?" Rhaelle asked.

"In my sixth moon."

"Very well. I'll send you a maester enjoying my full trust, then."

"I'd love this," Elia replied and in the brief meeting of their eyes, they both knew that their minds worked in a similar pattern in more than one way.