Disclaimer: The world of Westeros belongs to George R.R. Martin, I'm just playing in his sandbox for a bit.

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Chapter Twenty

The Union of the Sun and Sword

Winterfell: 16th October, 303 AC

Elia:

Elia started in surprise when the knock came. Then she relaxed, recognizing the rhythm. "Just a moment, please," she called, rising to her feet and retying the knot on her dressing gown.

She checked herself in the looking glass, deciding that she was as well-dressed as she could be given she had been spending the day reading before the fire in her rooms and had no maid with her to help her change (nor did she wish to leave Paladin Dayne waiting so long). Hoping that he would not be displeased that she was dressed in her nightgown and robe, a pair of fur lined slippers covering her stockinged feet, she hastened to the door, pulling it open to reveal the patiently waiting man. The two guards, previously sailors assigned to Oberyn's ship, (Ser Garlan had stayed behind to be their Kingsguard whilst the other knights went to war with their king, but it was more important that he protect Margaery and Daeron than Elia, and so Elia was protected by the Dornishmen who'd bravely taken them to safety) were there as well. At this point, he had spent so much time with her, they were as unconcerned by his presence as she was.

"Elia," Arthur said her name in his thick Northron accent, the deep voice sending pleasurable shiver down her spine. "If you would grant me leave, I would speak with you, ah, without others?"

She smiled at him, quietly hoping that he retained his accent and slight difficulty with Andaii. He had been quick to gain fluency in her native tongue, but he still had a certain way of speaking that she found strangely attractive.

"Of course," she agreed. "Would you like to come in?"

"Yes, please," he nodded, following her inside.

"I have some tea brewing," she offered. "Would you like a cup?"

"No, thank you," he shook his head. "I wish to speak with you immediately. I cannot wait."

She felt a bolt of alarm, worried that he had received bad news from the front. He showed no grimness, but she thought he seemed a bit nervous beneath his Northron stoicism.

"Is everything well?" she asked anxiously. "Has there been news from the army?"

He insistently shook his head, reaching out to rest a hand on her arm in comfort. "Ní hea, ní hea (no, no)," he denied. "Forgive me, I did not intend to distress you. I simply-I have a question for you, and I cannot bring myself to wait."

Elia relaxed in relief. "Oh, forgive me for overreacting please," she apologized, Arthur dismissing it immediately.

"There is nothing to be forgiven," he assured her. He hesitated, then went before her onto one knee, reaching into his pocket to withdraw a beautiful silver ring with a jewel on top it, cut into the shape of a seven-pointed star. It was a moonstone, she recalled. A rare gem in the south, but House Dayne apparently had their seat on a mine of it.

"I am unsure how this is done for your people," he admitted, tone apologetic. "But in my culture, when a man seeks the hand of a lady, he goes before on his knees and offers her a ring. The kneeling is to show his deep desire, and the ring symbolizes eternity."

Elia felt her breath catch. One hand covered her mouth as Arthur took the other, pressing a reverent kiss to her fingertips.

Rhaegar had never treated her in such a manner, as if she were the most precious treasure he had ever been gifted with.

"I have been granted leave by my King to take up the position of Ambassador to the South," Arthur informed her. "So if you honour my request, you would not need to leave your children behind. I vow, I would never shame or harm you. I would stand between you and all threats, defend and love you as the blessing from the Gods that you are. You are as your House's emblem, the sun of my world now. I cannot be worthy of a woman as mighty and strong, as beautiful as you, yet I would seek every day for the rest of our lives to be so. And so I dare to come before you on my knees and beg for your favour and acceptance of my heart's greatest desire.

Elia Targaryen, of House Martell, Queen Mother of the Six Kingdoms and Princess of Dorne," he continued, staring up at her as if he was a septon and she were the Maiden come before him. "Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"I cannot bear you any children," she warned him. Her eyes swam with tears, and she longed with all her heart to accept immediately, but she could not deceive him. A wife's primary duty was to give her lord husband sons and daughters, and that was not something she could do.

He shook his head, expression of love and adoration unchanged by her confession. "I have raised my nephew as my own son," he replied. "Have helped raise and teach my sister's children. I need no children from you. What I seek is your heart, for I have given mine to you."

"You have my heart already," she told him, her tears spilling onto her cheeks as she revelled in the love this man, who held her hand so gently yet was the most fearsome of warriors, gave her. She had never been treasured in such a way, and she could have died happy right there, so long as he kept looking at her that way.

"So you will marry me?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes!"

He jumped to his feet, and pulled her into a passionate kiss. She returned it, not even caring when she lost her breath, for how could she feel anything but delight when she was being bathed in the love of the best man she had ever been graced to meet.

In that minute, she believed him when he called her the sun, for how else would she be able to glow the way she was?

Outskirts of King's Landing: 21st October, 303 AC

Ariella:

Ariella could not help but study the Crownless Dragon intently. Inwardly, she smirked as he tried valiantly to hide his discomfort. His guard, one of the men in those ridiculously impractical whitecloaks, was not so successful. She wondered if it was her staring unblinkingly at him that unnerved him, or if it was her appearance. She had inherited thick black curls from her Blackwood mother, but her left eye was blood red (as had been the case for her father and his three sisters, their mother, grandfather and great-grandfather, ever since their House's founding). The right eye was a blue-tinted purple in her case.

Her young House had never been large, and she was almost all that remained of it now, after losing three siblings to the recent Wight War and one to a fever in childhood. Her cousins were all members of their fathers' Houses, sharing no features or skills with her own. She was a Greenseer, not a warrior, and she would not have come to the war front had she not been so curious about the dragons and what they were like in person.

After all, in another, far different life, she might've been raised as their kin.

"My la-ah, Good Greenwoman," the Crownless gave her an uncomfortable smile, stumbling over the correct address. "Might I aid you in some manner?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I am Ariella," she introduced herself at last. Her Andaii was far better than that of most of her people. She barely had an accent. "Of House Ravenstar. I am the twice-greats granddaughter of the one you call Bloodraven and his lover Shiera Seastar. I came to lay eyes on the land they were born and raised in, and the descendants of the kin that betrayed them."

Around them, most people were going about setting up the camp for the siege. They surrounded the capital city of the south and everyone was determinedly ignoring the disgusting smell of shit that was carried to them by the wind (though more than a few pointed comments were made in the hearing of the southrons, pointing out the superior lay-out of Wintercity and its' sewer system.). No one bothered to pay attention to the stunned young King Claimant, or his equally shocked guard.

"You stun me, my magnara," Aegon the Crownless finally croaked out. "We had thought Bloodraven and his sister went to Essos after their banishment."

"No," Ariella shook her head. She wore her curls loose, with several thin braids with beads woven into the locks. She felt the beads (carved and painted by her late elder sister Melissa as a present the day she left to begin training as a Greenseer) bat against her cheeks, briefly staining them red. "Bloodraven is an albino, and thus blessed by the Gods of the Forest, River and Stone. His mother was kidnapped by Aegon the Rapist, and she raised him to worship our gods in secret. She knew that it would be vital for him, for albinos are humanoid weirwood trees. He Saw that he must come North. Shiera followed him out of love. She had magic in her veins through her Lysene mother, and so the Greenseers agreed to train her also. When their training was done, they had a son, Daeron. He was my great-grandfather. So you see, I am kin to you, and I wished to see whether or not you are worthy of Bloodraven's belief in you."

"You speak as if the man still lives," the whitecloak scoffed, though he still looked pale and anxious.

Ariella turned her gaze to him, hiding a smirk at the way he shifted in discomfort at her eyes. "He does," she stated serenely.

"Impossible!" the guard, who was beginning to annoy her, the same way a cricket that wouldn't stop chirruping annoyed a person, blurted out. "The man was born in 175, for the love of the Gods! He'd be well over a hundred by now, were he still alive!"

"Indeed," Ariella hummed. "You do know how to do sums, after all. I am impressed, I had not believed you had so much ability to think."

He looked deeply offended but she ignored him and went on. "Grandfather has seen one-hundred and twenty-eight namedays."

"How can he still be alive then?" her distant cousin asked, shocked. "Is that a common age for Winterlanders to live to?"

Ariella scoffed at that. "Of course 'tisn't," she sniffed disdainfully, her Winterlander side amused by his blatant embarrassment at the stupidity of his question. "In fact, because of our harsh lives, we tend to live shorter lives than you southrons do. But Grandfather is a Godstouched, a vessel for the Gods. They will keep him alive as long as they require him. Though, his health has begun to fade these past few years." She could not keep her sorrow out of her expression and tone as she made that admission. "He served as High Greenseer for the latter part of King Beron's reign, all the way through to King Eddard's reign. 'twas only a few years past that he retired as advisor to the King, after the end of the most recent Wight War. Now he lives in Wintershold on the Isle of Faces, which is the headquarters of the Greenseers, where we go to train and such."

"I see," Aegon murmured. He hesitated before offering tentatively. "If it would be possible, I would dearly like to meet my distant uncle. I know that history becomes more and more distorted over the years. I would like to hear the truth from someone who lived it."

Ariella smiled approvingly at him. "When the war has ended," she replied. "I will take you to the Isle, where you might meet Grandfather. He will be pleased to see you. I think he wishes to make amends with the last of his kin before joining Grandmother in Valhalla."

"I look forward to it," was the Southron King's sincere reply.