ELIA
It was lonely in the Maidenvault, Rhaenys, though she were a sweet child and she loved her dearly, she was not much for company. E'er since Aegon had been taken from her Elia ached to have him once again in her arms. It felt almost as if he had died—though she knew it ridiculous to think of it in that way. She missed his little hiccups, his dimpled little chin, and the slight speckles of black amongst his loving violet eyes. She imagined a million times a day she heard his joyful laughter, and ear-shattering screams that she could only tell what he meant by them—for they knew a language that held more meaning than the spoken word.
She had fallen asleep amongst a pile of pillows—Rhaenys curled up next to her when she awoke to the sound of screaming somewhere far off. And it wasn't just any screaming—she knew it was Aegon's. Somewhere in the Red Keep he was being hurt—she knew it. But no one else seemed to hear them—Rhaenys, ever the light sleeper, continued to sleep soundly. She had dismissed it at the time to the remnants of a horrible dream.
It wasn't until Ser Jaime Lannister came that Elia knew she dreamed not.
Aegon… my babe… damn the king to the deepest of all the Seven Hells! May he be chained and know the agony like he has given me now!
It wasn't until she saw Ser Jaime staring at her and heard Rhaenys ask her what was wrong that Elia realized she had actually said that aloud.
"We must be going, now!" urged
"Where are we going?"
"Out of the Red Keep—away from the wildfire!" insisted Ser Jaime.
"And where in the city shall we go?" wondered Elia.
It was then that a fat figure stepped out from behind a folding screen: Aerys' Eunuch.
"Out of the Red keep and to a ship waiting in the harbor to take you, the Queen, and Princess Rhaenys to Dragonstone," said the bald man gently.
"How did you get in here?!" demanded Ser Jaime, putting himself between the Eunuch and her and Rhaenys.
"There is in this corner a secret passage that leads down to other tunnels and eventually out of the keep. The Red Keep is full of such passages and pathways and my little birds have found many. Come, my dear, we have little time."
Something was wrong here—the Eunuch wanted them out of the city too much and appeared too conveniently. "Fleeing the Red Keep I understand, but the city itself?" asked Elia.
"My Princess, the King, his son, and yours are dead. The rebels have defeated the Army of King's Landing and the Army of Dorne. They have also fought and killed your husband. Tomorrow they shall be at the gates to the city. Do you truly wish to stay and see if the new conquerors of Westeros shall show you mercy?" asked Varys
Rhaegar was dead? Seven help her. She had prayed to the Stranger to take him—the moment she had heard he'd run off with that she-wolf… but now… to think that her prayers had been answered. Seven help her she hadn't meant for this to happen. Was this all her fault? All her prayers and nightmares were to be answered? The Seven-who-are-One is cruel indeed.
A scream was heard not far from outside the doors to the Maidenvault.
"We have not the time to argue this any further, I must insist that you come, my Princess," urged Lord Varys.
It felt wrong trusting the man that Aerys in his paranoia had put so much faith in, but what other choice was there? Robert Baratheon would be knocking at the gate come morning, and when word of Aerys', Viserys, and Aegon's deaths left the Red Keep…only the Seven knew what would happen. Would the Gold cloaks listen to her and the Queen? Not likely. Elia remembered how the guards had dragged her here without a second thought and realized she did not want to test the loyalty of these men, nor did she care to find out. It made sense to leave now—before the stag beat down the door. Leave while confusion reigned o'er the keep. She grabbed a cloak for herself and Rhaenys, and with that, she, Rhaenys, and Ser Jaime followed Lord Varys through a passage hidden behind a false wall panel and began their descent into darkness.
Rhaenys, still tired had to be carried by Ser Jaime so that Elia could keep up with their pace—she had not walked this fast in all her life and the strain did much to make her lose her breath—but still she pushed on, taking moments when she could to breath deeper and fuller.
They arrived at the harbor as Lord Varys had promised and boarded a ship—The Dragon's Fang—where Ser Barristan had already brought the unconscious Queen. Along with them were a few servants and a few knights—most notably Ser Willem Darry. His brother, Ser Jonothor was missing, but they waited for him not as the ship set sail not long after they had boarded and settled in.
The trip to Dragonstone would be short, but it still required for Elia to find some rest and when she closed her eyes she saw her Aegon… her sweet babe engulfed in flames and heard the scream from that night. So the second night at sea, Elia walked the decks, trying to find some amount of solace, but all she found was the Eunuch.
"Trouble sleeping, my Princess?" he asked silkily as he joined her looking out onto the waters of Blackwater Bay.
"Do you have a penchant for asking the obvious, or are you truly curious?" asked Elia, her emotions still raw with the image of her darling son burning.
"Have I offended you?" asked Lord Varys, emoting as though he were actually hurt by her thoughtless lashing.
Elia reminded herself that it would do no good to air her suspicions here, not when she was indebted to him for her rescue. In fact it might benefit her more to reply with a different answer, "No, Lord Varys, my thoughts trouble me and make me irritable."
"Thoughts of your young son?" asked the Eunuch.
Elia wanted to spit at him. What right had he to speak of her babe? But she held her tongue.
"My Princess, I have some news which will greatly interest you concerning the whereabouts of your son. I had wanted to save this news for Dragonstone—but if it will help you sleep…" offered Varys.
Seven damn the eunuch.
"My son is dead in the Red Keep, what more is there to know?" asked Elia as diplomatically as she could.
"But that's just it, he is not, my princess. You do recall when young Brandon Stark came to… challenge your husband to a duel, do you not?" asked Varys.
Where was he going with this?
Elia answered, "Aye."
He then fed her the next juiciest bit of information, dangling it before her like he might a piece of string in front of cat—eager to see her take a swipe at I without thinking. He continued, "And how when he was first brought before the King he made that telling remark about Lady Dayne's increased fullness of her figure?"
Gods, the only thing she'd laughed at that entire day, only to be replaced with complete horror as Ashara had broken down crying.
Still, why would she need be reminded of all this? "I know the story, Lord Varys, as I arranged to send her out of the city myself after the Starks were murdered. I fail to see how it pertains to my son!"
"You did arrange for her to leave, but she left not alone. She left with a babe in her arms—your son, Aegon," confided Lord Varys.
Aegon? He could still be alive? Wait, no. No. This was not possible. He was dead. She knew not how she knew, but she could feel it to her core. Aegon was dead. Then her thoughts continued to turn over this. She had held Aegon in her arms as often as she could in the time since he was born—she knew him well. She knew him by his dimpled chin, his eyes, and his laugh. The babe that had been in her arms three days ago she knew in her bones she had given birth to. But then, why would Lord Varys tell her all this? Was he hoping that in her grief she would latch on to the first babe that he promised was her son—risen from the dead? And how had Varys known then though that there would be a rebellion. In those days it was simply a small argument between House Targaryen and House Stark—war had not come yet…
There was something wrong, not just with his story, and she would discover what they were. Had he planned all along for the rebels to win? Was he in a secret alliance with them? She would need to find out. She could pull a mummer's farce as well as the next man. And one day, Varys would regret ever taunting her with the false promise of Aegon's life.
But in the meantime, she would go along with it, publicly at least, "My son… alive?"
"Aye, my lady," answered Lord Varys with a sickeningly sweet smile, as though happy to have finally ensnared her in his web… like a spider. Only he did not realize that it was he who was the fly.