Anon asked: I wish you would write a conversation between queen regent Elia and a returning Arthur over the abduction, Aerys threatening Elia, & the Tower of Joy being in Dorne. Assume Rhaegar and Robert are dead.

She's put this off long enough, and she's commanded herself to be calm and detached, but it doesn't hurt any less when he's escorted into the throne room. Without his Kingsguard armor and his sword, he seems…less. She hadn't wanted to put him in the black cells, but failing that she hadn't known what to do with him either; Doran had suggested confining him to a room, and so she had.

She straightens her posture on the throne, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it is. Aegon the Conqueror had constructed it to be so–and had succeeded. Arthur only glances at her briefly before going to one knee.

"I presume you know why you are here," she says without preamble. "I have filled six Kingsguard positions, but the seventh…"

Oberyn had pressed her to strip Arthur of his white cloak, and Elia had agreed his transgressions merited at least that, yet she hasn't brought herself to do it. "I submit myself to your judgment."

For some reason, his obeisance irritates her. Since they were children, he'd never shied away from voicing his opinions, and that hadn't changed when she became Rhaegar's wife either. For all that she'd planned on being levelheaded, she realizes that what she truly wants is to argue. Even the remaining rebels had been courteous enough, not to mention the sycophantic loyalists.

She turned to the guards at the doors and commands, "Leave us." They hesitate, but one glare from her has them doing as she says. Once the heavy doors bang shut, Elia descends from the throne and stands in front of him. "Oh, for gods' sakes, get up. The time for standing on ceremony is over."

He looks up at her and slowly gets to his feet, for once unsure. "What is it you wish of me?"

"I want your head," she snarls. "There are two rebel soldiers on my son's Kingsguard now, and do you know why? Because they swore an oath to their leader, and they saw it through to the end. But you?" Her hands clench into fists at her sides. "My uncle gave you your knighthood, my mother opened our home to you. You swore yourself forever to House Martell, and at the first opportunity you betray us. Rhaegar may have started all this, but you were right there by his side. What do I wish of you? I wish to hear one reason why I shouldn't let Oberyn poison your drink the way he longs to."

There is true shame in the violet eyes she knows so well, but it means little to her now. "I have no reasons," he says after a moment. "All you say is true."

She knows she shouldn't, she knows it undermines her authority, but the frustration takes over. With a war's worth of anger, she cracks her hand across his face. He looks hurt, but not particularly surprised.

"Then why?" she hisses. Hot tears spring to her eyes, much to her chagrin. "What did I ever do to you? We have been friends our entire lives, Arthur, or I thought we were. And once we were almost—"

Once we were almost more than that.

She can plainly see he too remembers that one night so long ago, the one they'd never talked about, but at the very least he seems to know now is not the time. "You did nothing."

"So explain it to me!" Her voice echoes in the cavernous throne room. "Was it Rhaegar's bloody prophecy? Is that it? You believe that nonsense?"

"No, I don't. I…I feared for the Lady Lyanna. I feared what Rhaegar might do if it came down to it."

Elia recoils. "She entranced you, too? Rhaegar wasn't bad enough, you lusted after her as well?"

"Seven hells, what do you take me for?" he snaps. Finally, she thinks. Maybe there is blood in his veins after all.

"Well, some job you did protecting her. Pregnant and dead, that's how she ended up."

"I didn't—I was away retrieving supplies when Rhaegar got her with child," he says. "By the time I returned, there was nothing to be done."

"And what about us?" she demands. "What about me? What about Rhaenys, about Aegon? We were, what, acceptable losses?"

"No. I thought you'd be safe, I never expected—"

"You knew what Aerys was capable of! How could you have not expected it?"

"What do you want me to say? That I regret what I did? Of course I regret it. That I should have done things differently? Yes, I should have. And I'll spend the rest of my days trying to atone for that. If it is my life you want, I will walk to the headman's block myself. Is that what you want?"

Is it? It would satisfy Oberyn, to be sure, and there would be a certain catharsis in it for her, too. But does she truly want him dead? She doesn't know. Seven hells, she doesn't know. She turns away from him and shuts her eyes, praying for clarity. This should be easy, this decision. He'd committed treason, to the crown and to her, and there is only one acceptable punishment for such a crime. Please, she begs the gods, tell me how to proceed.

"Elia." His hand brushes her shoulder; barely, as though he's half-afraid she'll pull out a dagger and slash his throat right here and now.

"It's Your Grace," she snaps, whirling back around. "And don't touch me. Don't you dare."

He holds up his hands in supplication. "I'm sorry."

He looks utterly defeated, utterly lost, much like she feels. She lets out a breath and murmurs, "How could I ever trust you? How could I entrust my children to you when you left us to the Mad King's whims?"

"I do not ask for your forgiveness."

She knows what Mother would do. Exile, or imprisonment at the least. But Father…

"I won't kill you," she says finally. "Nor keep you in a cell. For Ash, not for you."

"And the Kingsguard?"

"I don't know," she answers. "Be grateful your heart still beats."

"I can assure you, my queen, it does."