Love to Live

Looking Away

Aelinor couldn't tell how many times she woke up, pain slicing through her belly like a blunt knife followed by a sharpened one. Over and over, she opened her eyes, gave a low whimper, someone gave touched a wet cloth to her lips and she sucked thirstily. They never gave her to drink from a goblet and when she insisted, with a barely audible voice, through cracked lips, all she got in reply was that soothing – irritating, actually – murmuring in different voices and a new cloth to suck from. Some of the voices, she recognized. Carral's. Mikkel's and Alric's. Even her cousin Aemon was here. Someone who sounded very old. Each time, she asked his name and each time she forgot it as soon as she heard it.

And the swaying. Whenever she woke up, it was always swaying, everything around and all under her. In her more lucid moments, she realized that she must be aboard a ship but more often, it just felt as if the earth was shaking. The crimson mist in her head prevented her from actually seeing anything around, so she had to rely on those who never left her alone – Alric, Carral, Mikkel, Aemon, the old man…

How much time had passed? Weeks? Months? She didn't know. But one day, when she opened her eyes, she didn't see the red mist but a chamber with rich tapestries and furniture of solid oak. It was semi-dark because the shutters were closed. Aelinor raised her hands to rub her eyes and saw how wasted they had become.

She looked around, trying to find something familiar about her surroundings but could come up with nothing. She had no idea where she was.

"Easy, easy," her mother said from somewhere near. Aelinor turned her head to one side but even that small motion caused her pain. She groaned and was relieved when Daella stood in front of her. She looked incredibly aged and more exhausted than Aelinor ever remembered her to be, pale and sleep-deprived.

"What happened?" Aelinor whispered.

Daella supported her daughter's head while Aelinor drank from the goblet her mother held to her lips. "It's over," Daella said. "You're fine now. Go to sleep."

Aelinor did so and sank back into sleep – not a restless slumber but actual deep sleep.

"She finally remembered what happened."

Daella's voice was incredibly subdued. Looking at her, Mikkel wondered whether she had hoped that his sister wouldn't remember… ever. Such a thing was impossible, of course, but with everything Daella had been going through, she might have held some peculiar self-deceits to help her cope. Sitting on the settee in the wide solar of Lord Toland's castle, she had yet to reach for the refreshments offered to her and her sons for what was expected to be – and indeed, turning into – a very intense conversation.

The two maesters – their own Girar from Saltshore and the one who served House Toland at Ghost Hill – nodded, as if they had expected it.

"That's a sign of recovery, my lady. It shows that she's well enough to focus on things other than her immediate survival."

Daella gave the two men a long look. "And what's going to happen to her?" she asked. "The wound has barely started to heal at all."

Maester Girar was in no great hurry to answer. When he did, his voice was soft and his eyes concerned. "I am afraid healing would take more time. My lady is young and strong, otherwise she wouldn't be here now, but her state is making it all harder. Her belly is expanding, stretching the cut as well. The location of the wound is another hurdle. It's in the underside of the belly and with its constant expanding, it'll be very hard to keep it dry as it goes lower, between skin folds and under the increasing weight, and that's essential to healing. Thank gods that Lady Aelinor is so slender by nature. But whatever weight she's gaining right now seems to be going straight to her belly and I know of no way to fix that. We just have to do our best to keep the cut dry and clean – fewer layers of clothing and regular drying will help."

"I was hoping that in the state she was in, she's just lose the babe," Alric said. "Are you sure you can't give her something… to help?"

Daella took a deep breath and Alric turned to her, as if the two maesters were not present at all. "Do you really want Aelinor to give birth to this babe? When it can well be Maelys Blackfyre's?"

"Oh Alric!" Daella groaned. "Don't say such things."

"It's true!"

"Please my lord, my lady," Maester Girar cut in, impatient and annoyed. "There is no use of holding this conversation. It isn't a matter of choice. I was just informing you, not having a discussion. Lady Aelinor is too far along. Any attempt to extract the babe might lead to her own demise."

Daella started weeping.

"Stop it!" Alric shouted, flying from helplessness to rage in mere moments. "Stop this whimpering right now! Aelinor isn't dead – and it was a really close call, for a while I thought she would die."

He went to the shutters and pushed them more widely apart. The Sea of Dorne came more fully into view, blue and radiant. "She will see the sun rising above those waves once again. We won't leave her, so you can stop howling – now! Do you have any idea how worse it could have been? Just half an inch above or an ounce of strength more, and we would have been planning for her funeral."

As could be expected, her son's outburst only made Daella's tears run faster. Mikkel sighed, gave his brother a reprimanding look and embraced his mother. "Alric is right, you know," he said. "As indelicate as he is in approaching the matter. Aelinor lives and that's what is important now. We were very lucky indeed."

Of course, he knew that it would be incredibly hard on his sister to give birth to a child who would forever remind her of the tragedy. No matter who the father was. Mikkel feared to ask Aelinor the question, mostly because he was almost sure what her answer would be. But they had to think of the positives, not minor things like loss of prestige, Aelinor being shunned and disdained, and whispered about for decades. That was just the hand they had been dealt and they had to make the best they could. Because it could have been far worse.

"Whose child is it?" Mikkel asked. "Eltor Dayne's, or Maelys Blackfyre's?"

Aelinor looked down. It's been a whole week after she regained consciousness but she had yet to master strength to venture outside of her chamber. She was now lying on her side on the made up bed because that was the only position where her growing belly didn't press against the wound that was taking so terribly long to scar. She was attired in a loose gown borrowed from Lord Toland's daughter. Her hair, recently washed and brushed up, was falling loosely over the pillow and bedcover, looking as dull as her eyes.

"I don't know," she said tonelessly.

That was what Mikkel had feared most. A bastard of the Blackfyre bastard they could leave out of their sight, with an obscure family, or even leave it to the King to deal with; a child of Eltor's would be a Dayne. But this? They couldn't act in good faith in this uncertainty. And he could foresee that Aelinor might go mad looking at her child and trying to guess…

"Are you sure?" he asked, insistently. "Think again! Aelinor, it's important."

In the same hollow voice, she repeated, "I don't know."

And she closed her eyes because she couldn't turn her head towards the wall without disturbing this loathsome belly.

Mikkel didn't insist – there would be no use of it. He simply stroked her cheek and murmured, "Never fear. We'll take care of both of you, little sister. All will be fine."

She was silent. Only when he was already near the door, Mikkel thought he heard her murmur, "It won't. Nothing will be fine ever again."

Another week passed before Aelinor gathered both strength and fortitude to leave her bedchamber and go out of the building. The thought of people staring and whispering behind her back – not to her face, not yet when she still bore the mark of her participation in the battle – terrified her. She felt so foul, so lowly. She didn't know how she could look anyone in the eye. But the thought of hiding forever terrified her further.

She declined her mother's offer to accompany her. She didn't need any watchdogs. She had to do it alone, without any reminder of her illustrious lineage. Because lineage would not protect her forever. There was no use to start relying on it.

Melyne came to her as soon as she and Aemon had broken their fast. Her offer to accompany her, Aelinor had accepted. Melyne might be the King's gooddaughter but she had been born a Swann of Stonehelm. Hardly someone who could make impression the way Daella could.

"You look splendid," the young woman said, trying to hide her worry behind a smile. Aelinor had indeed taken a great care in choosing the dark purple gown among the three Nymella Toland had provided her with. Her cloak was not voluminous – that would infer that she was trying to hide her state out of shame. Her hair had been washed with herbal potions and she had painted her face painstakingly. No one should see the dark bruises under her eyes, the mark of the sleep-deprived, or how sunken her cheekbones were.

"So do you," Aelinor replied. Indeed, looking at those dark-brown eyes, the same shade as her hair, and dusky skin, no one could wonder why Aemon had stood against his father, risking a lifelong banishment from the realm to have her. It was a shame, the way their relationship had strained over the years. Now, Melyne preferred to spend much time in her family's seat while Aemon stayed in King's Landing. But immediately upon hearing about their arrival at Ghost Hill which had been turned into their commanding seat, she had boarded a ship to get here. Aelinor hoped that at the end, she'd return to King's Landing with Aemon. Those two were as easy for her to get as were Alric and Arianne. Her mind simply could not fathom why her brother and his wife who had been wed for reasons that had nothing to do with heart were so happy while Melyne and Aemon, with their love match, were drifting apart.

"Come on," Aelinor said. "Let's go."

She wanted this to be done with before the cut would start bothering her again. Besides, every moment of delaying made her more vulnerable of the temptation to just leave it for tomorrow… and then the day after tomorrow… and so on.

Melyne held out a hand. Aelinor shook her head. "I can do it on my own…"

They didn't have to go too far – just a few halls, and they were no longer in the apartments that the family dwelled in. A short flight of stairs led them to a door that opened into a yard filled with people. At first, knights, servants, and women bowed out of habit, out of deference to the obvious rank of the two well-clad ladies. But when people started making their faces out, murmurs arose. More looks came their way and these looks soon turned into outright staring at Aelinor's bulging belly. Greetings became more like muffled stammers. More and more people changed direction to avoid meeting them, as if by going near Aelinor they would become infected with her dishonour. There were also those who turned their backs on her quite obviously and that brought her some strange relief. At least they showed her openly where she stood with them. The stammers hurt much, much worse.

Holding her head high, Aelinor went through the yard and entered the garden, went past the lilac-shrubs, the dahlias, the roses, the jasmine along a small arbour.

"Those worms," Melyne hissed but Aelinor shook her head swiftly. Don't speak, she wanted to say, too scared to open her own mouth because she might start sobbing.

Finally, the two women sat on a sunlit bench and Aelinor squirmed because she couldn't find position that would make her comfortable. The child stirred again – hadn't stopped moving restlessly – and with pain and anger, she thought that it would better learn to keep quiet. That would be its life, as well, rejected by all.

Melyne seemed to have felt her reluctance to talk, for she didn't say a thing. A serving girl brought them tea that they didn't touch. Instead, they kept pretending that they didn't notice the looks and whispers coming their way.

Until the tea grows cold, Aelinor decided. She would wait until the tea grew cold before going back to the safety of her own chamber and wiping the wound that had started stinging with sweat.

"When are you going to return to King's Landing?" she asked after a while and saw the look Melyne gave her, one that she didn't recognize.

"I don't know yet," the older woman replied. "When the last of those pirates are cleared away, I might go with Aemon."

"I don't know whether I'll ever be able to go back there," Aelinor admitted. "Or whether I'd want to."

Melyne sighed. "Let them talk. You know the truth. That's what matters."

She didn't believe it, of course. The world mattered. But she could not say so to the girl. Aelinor would have to find that on her own. Just like she had…

Aelinor's breath hissed sharply between her teeth. Melyne turned to see what she was looking at and saw Ser Gerold Hightower walking determinedly in the opposite direction. One look at Aelinor showed her that it had not been the direction the knight had been initially walking in. For a moment, Aelinor's mask had slipped and while she was staring at the back of her onetime most ardent suitor, there was pain, surprise and insult in her eyes.

"Men," Melyne said angrily. "You know why he's doing this?"

Yes, Aelinor knew. She was surprised by how injured she felt. She had never reciprocated Hightower's sympathies.

"Because he sees me as soiled," she said bitterly. That was the truth, she was soiled. Everyone would turn her back on her now, including those who had fervently wished to wed her not a year ago.

"This, too," Melyne agreed, trying to calm her down. "But mainly because he's madly in love with you, I know this." She fell silent and to her horror heard her voice say, "I also know he isn't the only one."

Aelinor leaned backward in another vain attempt to accommodate her belly and gave her a look of confusion. "What do you mean?"

"That you don't see others who aren't indifferent to you either."

Aelinor's eyes didn't leave Melyne's face. All of a sudden, the strange coldness that had taken over their relationship in the last year or two made sense. Ever since her wedding to Aemon, Melyne had been friendly to Aelinor, at the time a mere child. Despite the eight year difference between them, they had similar interests and Melyne enjoyed helping Aelinor develop hers. Aelinor had felt terribly sad at seeing the widening rift between the couple. She had been too young to understand why love hadn't been enough to keep them happy. She still wasn't sure how things between those two had started festering but at the end, they seemed more content together after having been apart, so they had started spending more time away from each other. At one of Melyne's returns from Stonehelm, Aelinor had found a sudden coldness in a relationship that had always been warm. Not that Melyne had insulted or shunned her. Aelinor could not even say what she felt the coldness in. Now, though, she suddenly realized that despite the fact that Melyne had invited her to her chambers a few times over the last years, Aemon had never been there. It would have been ridiculous if that had been the reason for Melyne's behavior! And yet…

Another memory came to mind from the sea of long forgotten, neglected, unimportant. It had been a few months before her leaving for Dorne. The two of them had been sitting in Melyne's solar when Aemon, having returned from the Kingswood earlier than expected, had joined them. All of a sudden, Melyne had suggested showing Aelinor how to apply painting on her face and what hairstyle would look good on her… She had treated her like a child! Now it all made sense, the conjectures and vague apprehensions torturing Aelinor with her unable to explain when and what she had done.

"I think you're wrong, Melyne," she said softly. Her face suddenly went white. "You're wrong and what scares me most is the fact that you think it's true."

"No," Melyne replied. Her face had also gone white but unlike Aelinor, she looked calm, as if she had finally given voice to something that had tormented her for a long time. "I am not. And you'll find that out by yourself. I just saw it before you did. And now, we have to go in. You need some rest."

She rose and helped the girl rise as well. Aelinor's strength had drained off her and she could hardly walk, this hateful belly weighing her down, the wound burning like the day Maelys had dealt it. Melyne supported her with great care and helped her go back to her room, change the gown, dry the cut. When Aelinor lay back down on her side, Melyne stroked her cheek and held her eyes for a long time.

"I am not wrong… You'll see…"

She headed for the door slowly, hesitantly, as if she wanted to turn back and say something else. But at the end, she didn't.