An Oath to Keep
Chapter 7
"They cannot leave."
If Rhaegar closed his eyes, so he would not see the feverish burning of the purple eyes and those hideously long nails, he could have believed that his father was perfectly sane. His tone was actually quite… reasonable. Maybe he could have him convinced…
I am going mad, too, he thought miserably. He knew his father was mad, yet he thought he could still find some sanity in him? After what had happened to Lyanna's father and brother? To all those Hands? To Elia's poor lady in-waiting? When they were in a war?
He looked around the hall he knew since the very beginning of his life and tried to imagine what it had looked like when Rickard Stark had been cooking in his armour… When Brandon Stark had strangled himself.
He turned around and looked at the madman responsible for all of that. "Dorne isn't our enemy, Father," he said, trying to sound as if he was talking to someone sane. "We can only win their animosity if we keep their people here. Their lords are ready to fight alongside us, aren't they?"
Aerys was so emaciated that it was surprising he still had the strength to go on. His bones stuck out hideously, his robes that had been mended many times still billowed around his frame. He looked like death, yet he was still alive to bring death for everyone around…
"They are ready to fight with us exactly because we keep their kin here," the King snapped.
Since it was the truth, Rhaegar had to convince his father that it wasn't. "They are Dornish," he said, derisively. "I didn't think they were so strong as to defy us. I thought we could manage without them if we must but since they are so important…"
"They aren't," Aerys snapped. "Their pride was always greater than their power."
Rhaegar nodded, doing his best not to meet Arthur's eye. The Dornish knight was doing his best not to look at him, either. Surely Arthur knew it was only a game, a gamble Rhaegar was taking to ensure the hostages' freedom? Even so, it was not a nice thing to hear.
Rhaegar shrugged indifferently. "It may be so," he agreed. "It isn't this important."
Aerys' eyes, gleaming and frightening with the shrewdness behind their madness, rested on his son's face. Rhaegar did his best to give him a steady look. "We've already agreed that we should send a raven to Casterly Rock," he said. "Do you think we need to send help to Lord Tyrell at Storm's End?"
The King's narrowed eyes went to his son's face with suspicion and doubt. And in this moment, Rhaegar knew that he had won.
I am not going to cry, I am not going to cry.
Elia repeated the mantra as Ashara helped her dress in her best orange and black gown. She repeated it as she walked towards her solar and made sure that the curtains were open and there were refreshments served. And she started crying as soon as her cousin Alor Gargalen entered the room.
He crossed the solar in two strides and took her in his arms. "Don't cry," he murmured. "Please, Elia, don't cry."
But she couldn't stop. The names were pouring from her lips and each one pierced him like an arrow. His father's name. His brother's name. His cousin's name. His friends' names… All those they had loved and lost.
"I am sorry," she wept. "I am so sorry."
"It was not your fault," he managed. He was rocking her, whispering endearments but his tears fell in her hair.
Elia clung to him, her fingers running over his head and back, as if she wanted to make sure that he was alive, that he was there, with her. Up to this day, she had not been allowed to make contact with her countrymen who had arrived under her uncle's lead. Indeed, she had started to believe that they would leave for the battlefield without her seeing them.
When they calmed down, she hugged her other cousin. Blaze had grown into a fine lad that strongly resembled the young Oberyn in features, although his eyes were blue and his hair auburn, like his mother's, with her Reach descent. In his haunted eyes, she saw the shadows of the recent past. Like Alor, Blaze too, had been present at their relations' deaths... What a harsh way to start one's life, she thought with sympathy. And she had used to think that Rhaegar had had it bad, with that unfortunate nameday of his!
"Tell me," she said. "I want to know."
"Elia, I am not sure…" Alor started.
She looked at him, almost smiled. Alor had morals that would put Oberyn to shame. He was capable, dashing, charming, relentless – but he cared about his kin. And when it came to the women in the family, he was worse than mother hen.
"Please," she said. "I… I dream of it at night. Every night… Please, tell me. I fear not knowing more than I fear knowing!"
Surely the pictures her vivid imagination drew were worse than the reality of what had happened? The fury that her kin, the people she loved, the young men she had grown up with at the Water Gardens and countrymen she didn't know had died because of her fickle husband's lust for another woman had something to do with it, prompting her to picture their deaths as something more horrific than it had been, right? Either way, she had to know. She felt that she'd go mad because of not knowing!
They still weren't sure. The details were too gory. But Elia's insistence was such that they soon started talking, intending to keep it brief – and then finding out that they could not stop the words from pouring. Elia learned how they had been brought in front of Robert Baratheon who had proclaimed that he'd cleanse the realm from every drop of dragon blood, starting with Daella Targaryen's offspring. Alor had been spared only because he had been severely wounded and the maesters could not guarantee that he'd survive, Blaze – because for all his hatred of dragon blood, Robert Baratheon was no murderer of babes, as he had snapped to one of his bannermen.
Biting her hand to suppress her sobs, Elia heard how irritated Errol had been by the fact that he had to die in his bloodied chemise. He had always been very strict about his personal hygiene and Alynna had tried to wash his clothes as best as she could, so he'd look presentable. How her other cousin, Denor, had suffered a painful but not mortal injury that prevented him from walking, so his father had carried him to the place of their deaths. How Robert Baratheon had declared that he would have them executed by sword, like men at-arms, and that had been his mercy to them. How Alynna had insisted that she wouldn't leave them to die alone, yet she had fainted the moment the first sword came down. How the rebels had not had a professional hangman with them and cutting off Errol's head had been an awkward and clumsy affair that had left many of the men at-arms around throwing up. How the host had roared at the sight of the pale fair head on the spike and how Alynna had come to consciousness to see the ghastly trophy directly in front of her… How she had been separated from them and given to Robert's own maester to attend her… How in the little squirmishes that followed they had lost her and in another one, they had managed to escape…
"Oh!" Elia exclaimed, a sob in her voice. "That's right, you don't know… Alynna is fine, we've found her."
They both looked at her with such relief that she hugged them again. "We've found her," she said again. "She's fine. Just yesterday, she gave birth to a healthy boy."
Alor closed his eyes. What suffering had his sister and cousin's child come into the world to! His father was dead. His grandfather. Two of his uncles… Everything trembled beneath their feet. But oh, how grateful he was that Alynna was fine. That the babe was fine. Now, if they could only get her out of the city… Of course, he was aware that they were looking for her, as a way to help his family's loyalty to the Iron Throne. But in this moment, he was ready to believe that she would make it. Somehow. She had gone so far. She had to survive now. She had to. And so had Elia. As to that husband of hers… His lips curled into a cold smile. Kinslayers were cursed in the eyes of gods and men but Rhaegar Targaryen's crimes had severed any ties of kinship. Sooner or later, in a year or five years, his time would come. The night before Alor had left with the army to fight for the Mad King yet again, he had had a heated quarrel with Oberyn. They had not been arguing whether to kill Rhaegar or not but rather, who should have the pleasure. And they still hadn't settled it. Alor truly felt that he should have the honour. It was not Oberyn who had the best claim over the wretched bastard… Sure, once Alor had thought that a slight was worth avenging more than anything. Having his father and brother killed before his eyes had changed this.
"You'll make a lovely widow, dear cousin," he murmured. "Especially if you keep this gaunt look about you. You really shouldn't gain any weight soon."
Elia gave him a startled look. "Don't joke about that, Alor," she said. "Please don't."
"I am not," he assured her.
"That's what I'm afraid of," she murmured and reached for a goblet of cold water because her mouth felt suddenly dry. "Don't do anything, Alor. And stop Oberyn from doing something, too. Please. Do it for me."
"Very well," he conceded. Lies were a necessary evil and she really didn't look well enough for him to give her more worries. Yet he could not keep the edge out of his voice when he added, "Fighting for the King and Prince supersedes all, right? No sacrifice is too big."
Elia touched his hand. "You aren't the one to blame, Alor."
"Tell it to my mother," he said bitterly, pushing her hand away. For a moment, the hatred went out of his face and he became what he was – a young man who had lost so much, a young man who felt guilty for surviving, a young man in pain. "Tell it to Uncle Mikkel. For that matter, tell it to Alynna."
Her tears flowed again. He reached out quickly and wiped them. "I am sorry," he said regretfully. "It's just… I am so angry that I lash out at everyone. I heard that everyone is fine? They are in your rooms? I saw a good number of them as Ashara led me here…"
Elia rested her head against the back of the settee – the only piece of furniture in orange and black that she had. After Rhaegar's disappearance with the girl, she had wanted to put some defiance and have her rooms renovated in Martell colours. Aerys' increasing bursts of madness had dissuaded her pretty fast. "Except for Jaline," she breathed.
He nodded, his face unreadable. Once, years ago, Jaline had been in love with him – Elia knew it. And he – he had thought he loved her, too. It had been a brief thing but it had looked sweet.
"How does she fare?" he finally asked.
Elia looked aside. "She's getting better," she said. "Soon, she'll be able to… go to the looking glass. For now, we haven't let her see her reflection."
"This madman." There was a mix of sympathy and revulsion in Blaze's face.
Alor rose and went to the window with his back to his cousins. For a while, he stayed there deep in thought, detached from all of it. The opening of the door made him turn back. His expression changed to one of derision.
"The Kingsguard. I should have known." He glowered at the white cloak and the man wearing it.
Without reacting, Arthur Dayne turned to Elia and bowed. "We are ready, my lady. Ashara is waiting."
She nodded. "And the others?"
He hesitated, not wanting to acknowledge that he had still to find the courage to approach his brother's friends – his own one time friends – and explain the situation. In fact, he had hoped that she'd do it for him. Because Ashara had flat-out refused – she was still punishing him for helping Rhaegar take the wolf girl, taking her to Dorne, of all places, and guarding her when, according to Ashara, Lyanna Stark belonged to the bottom of a stream in the Red Mountains or better, buried alive in the desert sands. And she was punishing him exclusively for staying for so long at the Tower of Joy without going to Starfall, leaving Arel to face the change in his life alone.
Elia's face showed that she understood. "Thank you, Ser Arthur," she said. "I'll arrange the rest of it."
She turned to her cousins. "I need to talk to Lord Manwoody," she said. "And Lord Allyrion, as well. Could you tell them to join you and wait for me with Ashara? We're going out."
"Sure," Alor said, surprised. "Where are we going?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes went to Arthur who was looking at her with the same question: how much could they explain here? Was it possible that word of their plans could go out in time to bring up a failure?
Alor looked from Elia to Arthur and then back. "Wait," he said, his voice low. "Are you two…"
"No," they said together, confirming his suspicions. He grinned in delight, feeling somewhat vindicated – Elia was surely happier now and the Targaryen scoundrel was being cheated on. "I never thought you would take Errol's advice," he told Arthur.
The young Kingsguard stared at him blankly. "Either cut her out of your heart, or become her lover," Alor said, bringing back memories of a conversation the three of them had had about two years ago in Sunspear. "One of those should help. Staring at her like a sick puppy is bound to give you trouble one day."
Arthur remembered how shocked he had been at the suggestion – and the fact that Errol had truly meant it. He felt as if that had happened a lifetime ago – that night when his shift was over, when he was laughing and talking to his old friends in the ancient palace of the Martells. Where had this world gone? What had become of all of them? Alor and him… Errol…
He knew Alor Gargalen well enough to know that his new relationship with Elia had almost made Alor forgive him. But not quite.
"Where are we going?" Alor asked and rose to follow Elia's instructions.
"We have a wedding to attend," she replied. "For now, I am free to leave the Red Keep and so are you but hurry up before the King changes his mind."
