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One to Love

Chapter 12

Two days later…

It was late in the night when Aelinor finally opened the door to the familiar chambers. In her mind's eye she could still see Naeryne with the newborn Daella in her arms, desperately exhausted and so very happy. She cursed like a soldier when the image blurred, when Daella's face took over her mother's. The way Daella had looked when Aelinor left her not even an hour ago. The dark hair that made her face smaller and thinner. The way it stuck to her cheeks and forehead. The bleak expression in her indigo eyes. The bloodied sheets. The poor thing the maesters had scrambled to take out…

It was dark inside. Only her good knowing of the place helped her avoid the chair that was near the door. But her bad leg almost gave out and she cursed again, desperately trying to keep her balance. She had spent too much time leaning over Daella who refused to let go off her hands, biting at her lips in effort not to scream.

There was a sudden hiss, a candle was lit. In its meager light Aelinor made out Maekar's face. He was sitting on a sofa in the far end of the room and she squinted at him.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"I've got a headache…"

He looked at her. "Is it over?"

She nodded, very cautiously, because her head was too heavy. "The maesters say it went as fine as anyone could hope. She's young and healthy. She will have other children."

"With that husband of hers, it is no sure thing," Maekar spat bitterly. "Is she… well?"

"No," Aelinor said. "But she will be, in time."

She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. Naturally, she didn't convince him either but there was nothing either of them could do. Maekar stood up and went to her. "You shouldn't be standing," he said. "Come here…"

Then he frowned. "Looking like this? And smelling like this? Aelinor, are you drunk?"

She considered this. She had certainly tried to forget the dark tragedy she had just taken part in but… "I don't know," she said. "I think I am but since I was never drunk before I can't really say. Tell, how does one know when they are drunk?"

He slowly shook his head. "Carrying half a bottle with Dornish wine does help to this effect."

Aelinor looked at the bottle in her hands. "Oh! That's why I came. I took half of this right from the bottle. Then I decided I didn't want to drink alone. Pour us some?"

He wrapped an arm around her waist. She leaned heavily against him.

With age, walking becomes harder for her, Maekar thought. A horrible image sprang to his mind, a day when she wouldn't be able to walk at all…

He seated her on the sofa and filled two goblets of wine. Aelinor had certainly taken more than her fair share of that and his headache wouldn't get better with it either but for now, everything that kept their minds away from Daella's plea was welcome.

When he handed Aelinor her goblet, he saw that she was crying.

"It was a boy," she said softly. "They said it was perfectly formed for the age he died. But there was this smell. He had started… rotting."

She spoke the last word in a horrified whisper, as if she was revealing a shameful secret. But it was not her who should have been ashamed, it was Daella's bloody husband. The thought that he would not get what he deserved made Maekar sick.

"Please," he said. "Please, I really don't… I really don't think I can hear this tonight."

Aelinor looked at him and thought about what he said. Then, she nodded. "Not tonight," she said.

There was a long silence in which they sipped their wine. Suddenly, Aelinor started shaking. The wine in her goblet spilled over her gown and she tried to put it down but her trembling hands couldn't release it. Maekar took it and placed it on the table.

"Here, here," he said and stroked her hair. "It's all over now. This terrible waiting is over."

She sharply jerked her head back and looked at him. In the faint light of the single candle, her eyes were wide, the purple almost swallowed by the black. They looked Dornish. Like their mother's. Like Rhae's.

"How can you say it's over?" she asked. "How can you be so calm now? Don't you care?"

He looked stunned. He was fully aware that too many people thought he cared for too little things but Aelinor was not one of them. Not until now.

She suddenly caught his hand. "I am sorry," she said. "I know you care. It's just… for god's sake, Maekar, if you can't speak about this, can't you at least cry? She deserves this much, at least."

He shook his head. "That's the thing, Aelinor. I really can't."

She knew it to be the truth and that only made her cry further.

When she was over, she was having pains in her back for having sitting here for so long. Her head was swimming. Her bad hip was throbbing. There was no way she could return to her chambers like this and if she could, in no time the entire King's Landing would know that the Queen had been in drunken stupor.

Maekar seemed to realize it, too. "I'm giving you my bed for tonight," he said. "Come on."

She stood up and he lifted her up. "I can walk," she protested.

"I am sure," he said. "It's easier this way, though, so keep quiet."

In the solitude of his bedchamber, he undid the laces of her gown and looked aside as she was making herself comfortable in bed. "Sleep well," he said, although he knew her waking would be anything but fine.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

He sighed. "Aelinor, you've taken my bed so I have to find another one."

"But it's so dark here."

He couldn't believe what he heard. Aelinor had overcome her childhood fear of darkness decades ago. But then again, what had taken place this night was nothing short of a nightmare.

"Stay with me until I fall asleep?" she asked.

For a moment, she thought he was trying to find a way to tell her that he didn't like the thought of staying. But then, he sat on the bed and took her hand in his own. She sleepily remembered how strange it was, the way she had been as a child – when she was alone, the world was full of horrors; when she was with the newborn Maekar, they were a force and she wasn't scared for a moment. "I will stay," he said. "I promise."


The next day…

The first thing he noticed when he entered Aelinor's chambers was the cradle. It kept the attention of everyone in the drawing-room, from the ladies in-waiting to the man who stood in front of Aelinor. Maekar spared it a brief glance before looking at his sister and bowing.

"Your Grace, you have called for me," he said.

She looked at him, apparently surprised to see him. Her face was carefully painted, so the signs of her hangover were not obvious. Still, he suspected it was a hell of a hangover. Aelinor had drained almost a whole bottle by herself. "Ah yes," she said. "Please wait until I am over."

Again, he looked at the cradle – shining, and impressive, and gold. "I'll give you an escort," Aelinor was saying. "I want to make sure that this gift will reach them intact and was it known what it is, it would gather you unwanted attention."

The man nodded. "I believe so, Your Grace. You have my word that I'd give this to Lord Aegon and Lady Rhae in person. They will be very grateful, I am sure."

So am I, Maekar thought. He had noticed the gems that Aelinor had filled it with – dark sapphires, shining emeralds, milky pearls. Tens of handfuls of them, and all of them the finest. Enough for Aegon and Rhae to not depend on Maron and Daenerys, enough for them to live lavishly for years and since this was a gift for the birth of a child, that meant that they had a child, a living child that would be cradled in this royal gift. The relief he felt was so profound that for a moment, the world disappeared.

"Tell me again," Aelinor said. "Tell me about Lady Rhae and her son. I want to hear it once again."

While the man was talking about how Princess Daenerys had invited the highest ranking ladies of Dorne to visit her and they were thus present for the birth of a healthy boy – a happy coincidence, no doubt, since the tradition dictated that any child of any princess of Westeros should be born with the highest ranking ladies in attendance – Maekar looked at Aelinor and smiled at her briefly, gratefully. After a moment of glaring at him – he could not imagine why – she smiled back.


Five days later…

In the end, they resolved the matter in the presence chamber. Aerys sat on the Iron Throne. Aelinor stood next to him, her face darker than her black gown, sewn with lines of pearls. Maekar was on the steps to the throne and the seven Kingsguards were spread in even spaces against the walls. In the darkness near the throne, a glint of silver hair and the cold light of a red eye betrayed the presence of the Kind's Hand, Lord Brynden Rivers. Lord Baratheon could not help but be intimidated. The gold cloaks who had escorted him to the chamber bowed and left.

He was unsure of what to do next. The grim faces of the people in the hall were not exactly encouraging but Baratheons were never the ones to be cowered, so he stepped to the throne and bowed.

"Don't."

Fire and blood, those were the words of the House Targaryen but the people around him were ice – purple eyes the shade of a cold night, fair hair like the snow of the long winter, grim expressions like the sea at Storm's End right before a storm. Daella did her job well, he thought and looked around for her. He did not see her anywhere.

"It's too late to show obedience by bowing," Aerys said. "You had your chance to prove your loyalty by treating my beloved nieces with the respect she so richly deserves. You squandered your chance, so don't try empty gestures."

"Your Grace," the lord of Storm's End said. "It was just a misunderstanding. A family quarrel."

Aerys snorted. "One that you, yet again, decided to settle with fists?" he asked. "Don't try to explain, Lord Baratheon. Daella told me you are used to beating her black and blue. And I believe my niece, not you. The maesters said you've killed your child with the last beating."

"The maesters seem to think they know all there is…"

"That's enough!" Maekar exploded. "Let's be done with it while I still have patience to wait." He took a deep breath and regained control. Then he looked at Lord Baratheon. "I forbid you to lay a hand upon my daughter, ever again," he said evenly. "I forbid you to stop her from leaving your wretched castle and traveling wherever she likes, whenever she likes. Do you hear me?"

Baratheon laughed. "It's my right, Your Grace," he said. "A husband is in full charge of his wife, short of killing or maiming her. That's the law."

"Laws," the Queen mused. "Such fascinating rolls of parchment. As long as I know, according to the law we could demand that anyone who raised a hand to a royal spend the rest of his days in the black cells?"

Baratheon wisely kept silent. Inwardly, he was grateful that he had gotten away so cheaply. He had expected a scandal, a dissolving of the marriage, a campaign of slanders. They were obviously desperate to keep the loyalty of Storm's End and through them – that of a few other prominent Houses. He silently thanked gods for Bittersteel. If Targaryens didn't need him so badly, he might have ended up in the black cells.

Maekar said coldly, "The law does not protect Daella and I know it. However, I will. If you do something like that ever again, if you lock her, beat her and make her unhappy, in general, we will obliterate your House, my lord. Storm's End will be given to another House, thus raising it to prominence." He gave the younger man a piercing look. "The House Baratheon will be no more."

The young lord looked stunned and went pale. He knew that they could do it, of course. They would not risk losing Storm's End support for no better reason than a past event that could not be mended. But they could erase the House Baratheon if Daella came running to them, crying that he had beaten her. For gods' sake, what was wrong with her anyway? Why was it that she never fought back?

"Yes, Your Grace," he said miserably.

"I place no trust in you and that's why I am sending Ser Ronal with you to Storm's End."

Baratheon looked at the Kingsguards and tried to find out who Ser Ronal was.

"He will report to me regularly. Daella will be free to come and go as she pleases. You won't stop her and won't abuse her because of that. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"If I only learn that you did as much as raised your voice at her…" Maekar said and left the threat hanging. Of course, he knew that Ser Ronal could and would be Daella's champion in the hall but not the bedchamber. And the fact that he had to send her back to this detestable brute made him sick. The thought that Baratheon would escape intact made him want to commit murder.

"And we will learn, make no mistake about that" a soft voice said from the shadows. A red eye glinted like a glass of wine, like a drop of blood. How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven has? A hundred eyes, and one.

Baratheon nodded grimly and the meeting was closed with everyone feeling desperately dismayed with the way things had turned out.