A/N: Happy march, guys. May it be far better than last march (with vaccines, I think it will).

Fprgive me for this chapter. Just remember "Longclaw's Rule of Happy Endings."

Enjoy.

Chapter 65: What Have I Done?

So many souls. So much death.

Oh, did it delight him.

The god soared above the city on dragon's wings, both present and not present in the vagaries of divine beings. Some chose to live amongst the heavens, some on occasion in the mortal sphere, while still others chose to weave in and out of both. Normally the god chose the first choice, but as of now he popped into the world of the living to achieve his goals. And with the stench of illness and death hanging over the city of his greatest foe's champion, his goal was in sight.

Closer than he had been since the aftermath of the Dance of Dragons.

Diving unseen from the clouds into the city itself, the god slowed himself to a hover - admiring his work. All over King's Landing were the results of the Red Plague. No mortal knew where it came from, though many had ideas. Some said Dorne. Some said Braavosi merchants. Most blamed Gerion Lannister and his expedition to Old Valyria… if the god hadn't been so preoccupied to notice the lion darting in and out of his domain… No sense in litigating such old gripes.

Carts of bodies rolled through the streets, greasy smoke rising into the air as panicked families tossed the corpses of beloved family members upon hastily built fires. Wandering septons and septas chanted their prayers to cleanse the vapors from the city, as did the red-robed priests of the so-called Last Hero - the god chuckled at the worship of that bitter old fool who seduced his foe.

So many perished, from the highborns on the east slope of Rhaenys' Hill to the poor wretches dwelling in the deepest slums of Flea Bottom. All gates were closed to travellers both in and out unless bearing supplies. All ships turned away from port, cargo left on the beaches for goldcloaks to cart back to the capitol. Thousands died daily, each departing towards the domain of the god himself.

In the distance, a greenish glow perpetually escaped the bowels of the ruined dragonpit, all efforts at restoration abandoned for the sake of the plague. Brynden Rivers' old trick was in full force. The infected corpses were incinerated with wildfire in one massive pit.

Oh, did the smell of such unearthly smoke delight him.

Still flying, letting each departed soul bring just a little smidgen of power into his cold, fiery heart, the god had to admit the dragons and their lapdogs weren't fools. Somehow they had advanced greatly in their understanding of the medical condition of such plagues. He remembered the efforts of Daeron II, unsuccessful and clumsy enough to kill both him and his two heirs. The men that journeyed into the hordes of sick without any precautious and died because of it. Now, no such idiocy was in the offering. Goldcloaks and Targaryen guardsmen strode through the city wearing large leather hoods and trousers - thick cloth covered their faces, while leather gloves were doused with the strongest Dornish red that the crown could acquire in bulk. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something the humans could rely on.

But the screams and silent sobs coming from the home of the last dragons were enough to truly fill him with the delight he so desired.

In an instant, the god was transported to Maegor's Holdfast… to a room deep within it. Unseen, he wafted between the figures both standing and seated round a tiny bed. The rail-thin maester, tending to his ward. The Dornish Queen, eyes red with long shed tears as she held onto the hand of someone she held the most dear.

A tiny boy, the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms… reduced to a shivering, fitful sleep - wheezing breaths barely able to sustain him.

Oh, did it delight him to see the shivering of the little Prince. To feel the sorrow and worry in the souls of those that watched him slowly die. Tugging at the strings like an omnipotent puppetmaster to cloud and manipulate the feelings of the lad's two mothers to draw them against each other. To create battle lines where none previously existed.

To prepare the greatest victory since the Dance, drawing the last dragons back into the void where they all belonged.

You will soon fail, dear sister of mine. Soon your precious champions will be no more.

For he was Balerion, god of the night itself… of the everlasting sleep. Every dragonrider deprived of life would serve him in death.

And only six remained upon the earth. Six that would need to die.

He could just taste it.

Not for the first time, Grand Maester Qyburn was thankful that winter had not yet abated in Westeros. The errant snowfall kept travelers at the minimum, while on the personal level it was much easier to wear the contraption of boiled leather that the armorer had fashioned for him. Protecting against whatever vapors caused the Red Plague it may have done, but airy it wasn't.

Metal probes in his gloved hands, he probed at his little patient. Crown Prince Aegon was prone in his bed, yearling body still and unmoving. His eyes didn't open, and no sound other than the rhythmic breathing pass through his nose. Each breath brought a wheeze out of his plague-battered lungs, resulting in a whimper from the Queen beside him.

Elia brought a wet rag to her son's head. "Here you go, sweetling." Hopefully it would reduce his fever.

Prodding the boy's knee, Qyburn frowned underneath his hood. He pressed harder and found Aegon's leg flinch away from the painful stimulus. "That is good," he murmured to himself.

Gaze going to the maester, Elia's eyes shone with hope. "What's good, Maester Qyburn?"

"His Grace responds to pain, which is a normal human function."

"Does that mean he'll wake up soon?" Elia stroked her beloved son's cheek. Please wake up… please… She had suffered from this affliction in her youth, but from what she remembered never once had fallen into a coma.

Qyburn sighed. "It's hard to say, your Grace. The fact he hasn't been felled by the vapors of this Plague as most of the dead would is heartening." Notwithstanding his hopeful tone, Qyburn watched as the Queen's face fell. She resumed her seat at her son's bedside, taking Egg's hand in hers. Just before he turned to make his exit, he noticed a tear fall from Queen Elia's cheek.

Sometimes he hated his position.

It hadn't been quick for him to make his discoveries of the cleansing properties of potent, sour liquor. Observations that scrubbed hands and unstained bandages cut down illness among soldiers treated at the Citadel were quite observable, and such had caused Qyburn to scour the histories for anything he could gather on the subject. Learning of a Yi-Tish discovery involving their brewed alcohol and the cleaning of wounds, he presented his findings to the Seneschal… given his other experiments, it had not been well received.

Here though, the King and Queens backed him up fully, and the Realm was the better for it.

Over a quarter hour passed before he had cleansed his leather hood and trousers. Qyburn wiped the sheen of sweat on his forehead with a rag as he entered the hallway, but halted in his tracks. "Your Graces…" He bowed. "Forgive me for my impertinence."

Rhaegar waved him off. "Forget all of that… how is my son?" His voice threatened to catch on the last - never had Qyburn seen the Targaryen monarch so despondent and… broken.

If Rhaegar was broken, Queen Lyanna looked ripped beyond repair. "Has he woken? Gods, please tell me he's finally awake." It seemed as if she hadn't slept in days, much as Queen Elia. From how the servants gossiped, she had been in the Godswood most of the day when not tending to the other children or in Small Council meetings. All life leached from her.

Qyburn took no pleasure in shaking his head - Lyanna's expression grew more tortured while the King muttered an epithet in High Valyrian. "He is receptive to pain in the most basic way, but his body remains both unresponsive and wracked by the worst of the Plague, namely labored breathing and high fever."

"So is he close to…" Rhaegar gulped. "To death?" He hated himself for having to ask that.

Pursing his lips, the Grand Maester shrugged. "His fever is still as high as it was when he first fell ill, and he's still managing to breathe well enough to survive, if difficult." He had seen so many instances of the Red Plague, both much better and far, far worse. "In the last three days Prince Aegon has not awoken, yet hasn't gotten worse - it's a balance that is keeping him alive but not close to recovery."

"What are you saying?"

"Your Grace," he answered Queen Lyanna. "I cannot speculate in the slightest since I have only begun to scratch the surface, but House Targaryen holds… great secrets in its blood. Given his symptoms, perhaps it is the Prince's way of protecting itself as it battles the vapors that so assault him." Such seemed to mollify the worried King and Queen, but not easing their sorrow. "He has Queen Elia by his bedside, which also is helping."

"I should be there," Lyanna lamented, voice accusatory. "She shouldn't have to do this alone."

"Lya," Rhaegar cautioned. "We talked about this. We can't let the vapors affect you too."

Qyburn agreed. "His Grace is right. The only reason Queen Elia can tend to Prince Aegon is that she's already been afflicted in her childhood."

Lyanna sighed, burying her head in her hands. There was nothing she could do for her son, and her mind continued to hurl her into the darkest of places. "There's nothing we can do…"

"There are some treatments for this illness dating back to the days of Septon Barth, but the Citadel has outlawed them as heresy…"

"Do it," Lyanna said without hesitation.

"You sure, your Grace?"

Rhaegar nodded. "I'll shield you from reprisals. Just save our son."

Qyburn bowed. "I'll see it done, your Grace." Not wasting time, he scurried off to his chambers to begin preparations.

Alone again, Rhaegar instinctively turned to his bride. He just managed to catch her as Lya collapsed into his chest. "Lya…"

"We're gonna lose him." Lyanna was sure she had cried herself out, but the words of their Grand Maester only drew our fresh tears. "So many dead, and our babe among them."

Unable to stem her sorrow, Rhaegar rubbed her back. Trying to keep it together himself. Goddess… The image of the beautiful being he had witnessed while wounded from Robert's warhammer filled his head. Protect me, protect my family…

In his deep prayer, Rhaegar failed to hear Lyanna's murmurs. "My fault… my fault…"

Lips curled into a tight, respectful line, Tywin looked up from the ravenscroll to eye his brothers. "Well, Lord Garlan at four and ten is already more of a leader than his idiot father ever was." It had just come from Highgarden, the maester of Casterly Rock wasting no time in delivering it to his Lord's solar.

"Could be the Queen of Thorns," Tygett muttered with a frown. "Surely she's controlling the boy, her or his Hightower mother."

"Don't forget his wife, the Blackwood," added Kevan.

Gerion, always the odd man out as he sat with his feet propped up on Tywin's massive desk, laughed. "Poor bastard, surrounded by older women clucking over his every move. Least he can fuck one of em." He laughed again at his own jape.

Tywin's vein throbbed on the side of his face, but he couldn't touch Gerion. I promised mother… "No, it's him. Blackwoods aren't crafty enough for this while Alarie Hightower was more concerned with running the household than politics. As for Olenna, this doesn't fit her."

"And how would you know that, brother?" Tygett challenged. The two always had a difficult relationship.

"I know Olenna well. I know how she thinks and how she writes. This isn't it." Gods, I wish Loren were here. The non-lion of the room wasn't his dear friend, but his goodbrother Emmon. Silent as a mouse, Tywin hated him for it - not recognizing that Emmon was quiet because he didn't wish to provoke the old lion, not that it would have made any difference had Tywin acknowledged it. Sighing, he leaned back. "Garlan requests reinforcements to hold off more of the refugees."

"Can't his own archers and levies do it?" Kevan inquired.

"The Reach is big, Kev," Gerion replied. "I like it - joint operation. May I lead it?"

Tywin shook his head. "No, things are already pretty dicey with you in terms of rumor." For once, that shut Gerion up - most did blame him and his expedition for bringing the plague to Westeros, even though the entire ship would have been infected if it was him. "I'll send Roland and Clegane. They're steadfast and aggressive. Lefford can continue to hold the Golden Tooth." All passes through the crags and peaks were sealed off on Tywin's orders. It had prevented an outbreak in Lannisport… so far.

"Shouldn't Dorne be a part of this? They have as much to lose as the rest of us."

Glaring at Emmon for the temerity to speak, Tywin grunted. "Have you ever known Doran Martell to care about anyone but his own people? No, they're going to fortify their own borders and be done with it." Tywin was doing the same - as were the Vale, North, and Ironborn - but at least he realized the importance of collective action."Fuck, I'll deal with this later." Not bothering to answer any of his brothers' questions, he stormed out.

When this bad of a headache struck, he needed his refuge and the providence not to run into Tyrion on the way there.

Luckily for him, his Imp son decided to be elsewhere that day. Probably spending my coin on the brothels in Lannisport. 'You only live once,' as he put it. Shaking his head in disapproval of Tyrion not for the first time in his life, Tywin brushed into his chosen refuge… only to see he wasn't alone. "Daughter."

Fixing her bodice, Cersei had just finished nursing Robb when the Lord of Casterly Rock walked in. "Father." Her brow rose. "What are you doing here?" Tywin was many things, sentimental wasn't one of them. He didn't visit the nursery once during her and Jaime's youth and that wasn't likely now. "Looking for me?"

Tywin's gaze fell to the floor, shaking his head. "Just… needed to see my grandchild for a moment."

Brow rising, Cersei ended up smiling softly. Rocking the golden-haired, sleeping babe in her arms. "He does bring happiness to whoever holds him." She wasn't going to hurt her father's leonine pride… Cersei would use Tyrion for that when he returned. "Want to hold him?"

Watching how serene his first grandchild - living grandchild anyway - was in Cersei's hold, Tywin demurred. "Yes, but hold him for now." Instead, he approached the second crib in the room which contained a far more active babe. "Hello Pod." Awkwardly, he picked up Loren's orphaned son - gingerly kept in Casterly Rock as a promise to his friend. "You could pay a little attention to him to."

Cersei frowned. "He's not my son."

Tywin frowned harder. "Loren was like an uncle to you… more than some of your actual uncles to be honest." Tygett was a pain, while Kevan could be called many things - warm wasn't one of them, and he didn't have the inner strength to make up for it.

"Well, what is that babe to us? Shouldn't he be with some relatives? His mother was a Westerling if I recall correctly."

"And leave him with that idiot? You are the stupidest Lannister." Tywin awkwardly moved his finger to the boy's cheek, in which Podrick grabbed at it with giggles. "I suppose Podrick is to be fostered here at Casterly Rock as our ward… and you will not treat him any different." Setting him back in the crib, a carved lion made for Robb soon was dropped in after him, attracting Pod's attention. "Go find your aunt, see if there's something regarding the household you can help her on. I'll put Robb to bed."

Sighing, Cersei rose and gently handed her sleeping son to his grandfather. "I hope you're a better grandfather than you were a father."

Watching her walk off, Tywin glowered but said nothing. Looking down at his grandson… his bastard grandson. "You look like your uncle, Robb." Try as he might, he couldn't see Robb as a bastard - Tyrion… sometimes, but not him. In the privacy of the nursery, he could afford to be wistful. "You're my second chance, understood. You're going to be a great Lord." Twin green eyes looked up at him, perfectly Lannister.

But he was a wolf too.

One whose fate was decided by his own grandfather. "I will make you Lord of Winterfell. This I promise." Robb, distracted by the lion embroidered on Tywin's doublet, knew not the great game of thrones being played around him.

"Oh kind Mother, protect us...

"Oh great Father, have mercy...

"Oh high Stranger, guide us...

"For this painful journey."

Hoods of homespun cloth draped over their unshaven faces, the Holy Brothers chanted pronouncements to the Seven who were One. They walked slowly through the halls of Maegor's Holdfast, decanters of incense swung rhythmically from chains held in their hands. To ward off the unholy vapors of the plague as Septon Meribald had put it. The illness had already taken the life of the High Septon, discovered dead in a puddle of his own vomit as his lungs gave out. With the Most Devout having fled to their estates along the Honeywine it was left to the wandering septon to manage the holy men in the capitol, and he did it with the same vigilance as Qyburn.

Trying not to sneeze or cough on the acrid vapors, Rhaegar nodded at the humble brothers and ducked into his solar. Oberyn followed, while Ser Barristan took his perch guarding the outside. "Given your unfriendliness to the Faith, I did not expect for you to let them in."

Plopping down upon his chair, Rhaegar just let his head fall on the desk. Exhaustion pulled him towards sleep, but he fought it. "Meribald asked me to, and to tell the truth if this entire fucking mess can be alliviated with a little spirituality then I don't care what it is.'

"Lady Melisandre is alright with this?"

"She's more of a recluse than Elia is at this point. Melisandre has locked herself in her chambers and asked for nothing but bread and charcoal for her brazier," Rhaegar responded, finally getting the energy to look up at his goodbrother. The normally lively Oberyn was almost unrecognizable - skin pale, eyes sunken, and a limp frown where the normal cocky smirk would be. "We both look like death warmed over, don't we?"

Oberyn snorted. "If it please your Grace, I tender my resignation as Hand effective when this plague passes."

"Accepted." The Prince wasn't cut out for this, the kind of bird that needed to fly free rather than live in the gilded cage of court. He was needed to placate Dorne, and now the matters have settled. "I'm still glad you're here, goodbrother." Rhaegar's lip quivered, the stress of it all closing in on the breaking point. "Any…" He desperately flailed for any other subject. "Any dispatches from the lordships?"

"Aye, Tywin Lannister essentially shut down the Golden Tooth while Lord Garlan has strung archers astride every road through his kingdom. Kill all travelers on sight."

A sigh. "Tough, but fair given the circumstances. Stormlands and Riverlands still affected?"

"Lord Tully took the advice of his brother and shut down all fords and bridges, while an unseasonable rain has blanketed Shipbreaker Bay." None of them knew how the vapors were transmitted except by close proximity to those infected, and the worse the weather the less infected smallfolk would travel. "With luck, we could see this entire plague localized."

"Gods willing." Rhaegar leaned back. "Varys tells me that most believe this was brought here by Gerion Lannister from Valyria."

Oberyn shook his head. "Unlikely. Elia suffered from an outbreak in Dorne many years ago… I believe that Volentine traders carried the plague from Essos to here." At least that was what their maesters suspected.

Rhaegar nodded. "If Elia hadn't caught it, then our son wouldn't even have anyone to love him through this…" Like a mudslide, the emotions overwhelmed him. "It's all falling apart, goodbrother."

He understood. "Lya and my sister still haven't reconciled, have they?"

"Elia won't leave Egg's bedside, Lya blames herself for Egg, and they still won't talk to each other." All of it was spiralling out of control and Rhaegar didn't know what to do… he didn't even know what started this. "The threat of impending death is upon us and I can't even see my family surviving the week." Gods forbid if Egg didn't make it - losing his siblings destroyed his muna's family life.

Pursing his lips in a mournful frown, Oberyn let a silence hang before answering. "I may have a suggestion that could solve multiple problems for you and your House."

"Enlighten me please." At this point, Rhaegar would try anything short of human sacrifice.

"Send the royal family to Dragonstone. Everyone but yourself and my nephew as Qyburn treats him." Oberyn would also take the advantage to send Ellaria and the girls with them if Rhaegar acceded.

Slumping, Rhaegar's first thought was that he would lose the only comfort he had during this trying time… but that disappeared as the idea of a safe harbor where no more of his loved ones could fall ill appealed more and more to him. At a gentle chirp, he looked down to see Aegarax hobble towards him from his sleeping perch in the corner of the solar. The dragon extended his neck, nuzzling Rhaegar's arm. It was sorely needed. "Elia will not be easily torn from Egg's side."

Such was well warranted. "I'll speak to her. Who knows, perhaps being alone with Lyanna will finally force them to confront whatever demons are between them."

Nodding, at that moment Rhaegar felt a shiver course through him. One that also caused Aegarax to whine in discomfort. Why did it feel that things would get a lot worse before they got better… if at all.

The candles had long since snuffed out, only the low firelight illuminating the bedchamber. Elia didn't notice. Seven hells, she couldn't feel nor hear anything around her. Only the still form of her son - her dearly beloved boy she almost died bringing into the world - resting without nary a sound but the soft wheezing of his battered lungs.

She would need to leave soon - forced from her vigil at her son's bedside so that Qyburn could begin his longshot treatment. The mere thought of abandoning him tore Elia up inside, but she was too weak to even light a fresh candle.

Weakness was something Elia was used to.

Her eyes, sunken yet puffy and red from all her tears, continued to stare blankly at the sight of her little boy. Aegon looked so peaceful, like nothing in the world could wake him... which sadly was true. Not for the first nor final time did Elia bow her head. She repeated the learned prayers of her youth. To the Seven, to Mother Rhoyne, to all the gods she had familiarity with to have mercy on Egg - to save her son.

But they didn't listen. None of them listened, and despite the best efforts of the maesters and her own love, Aegon remained in his deep sleep. All but dead, while the Stranger stood quite close by for the time where he would finally take him from the land of the living. Take me instead… it should be me…

"It should be her!"

Elia blinked, just hearing the voice as the dark god wafted into the room - unseen. The stench of death was strong from the boy, and it energized him. He smelled the anguish and torment within the Queen, knowing how easy it would be to turn it into anger. Into rage. Into hate.

All it would take was a little… push.

"She wanted this…"

"Aegon is in her way…"

"Usurper."

"Usurper."

"Usurper!"

"Your Grace." Elia turned and saw Qyburn and his acolytes enter - while the Citadel opposed his appointment, he was still the Grand Maester and obtained Oldtown's support. They all wore the inhuman leather hoods and overalls, the acolytes carrying assortments of tools and bottles. "It is time."

She nodded. "I understand." Rising, Elia walked to the bucket of Dornish red and dunked them into the cleansing liquid. "Please save him."

"We'll do our best, your Grace." Not an assurance. Nowhere close to it.

Walking aimlessly, Elia had turned a corner into a darker part of the hallway when voices hit her ears. "The King will send us to Dragonstone."

"Just you, Ser Lynn, Oswell, and Jaime. The rest will stay." Arthur… he spoke to Benjen with a sorrow in his voice. There was no joy left in the Red Keep. "Of the royals, only Rhaegar and the little one will stay."

She heard a sigh leave Benjen's voice. "I am not optimistic… we will need to protect Jon as the Crown Prince from this."

It was as if a punch had slammed into her gut. Ellia staggered, the words the dark god placed in her head finally crashing through the walls of her mind. They were already planning for Egg's death… for Jon to usurp his birthright. Lip quivering, she fled.

Only to fail to hear the wolf knight's next statement. Knees weak, Benjen leaned against the wall. "Why must he die, Arthur? He's my nephew too…"

Balerion chuckled. What fools.

Guards were sparing these days, mostly clustered upon the walls to protect against infiltrators. Elia knew she was supposed to have a Kingsguard, but after what she had heard she avoided them. Needed to be alone, horrified by what they spoke of.

It was just her and the deserted, dark corridors. A warm bed and a restless night called to her - perhaps even in Rhaegar's arms if he wasn't buried in paper - but her legs carried her elsewhere. Down the stairs and out of Maegor's Holdfast. Elia didn't realize it from her surreal haze, but all of a sudden she found herself opening the door to the Godswood.

Honestly, it was as if her subconscious had wanted to find her wife. Lyanna was on her knees, head bowed in silent prayer. A thick dress of grey wool kept out the cold, while the strapped Valyrian steel blade explained the lack of a guard. Even among the bright colors of the smokeberry and Dragon's Breath vines, Lyanna was as sullen and dark as Elia was.

The sight of Lyanna once filled Elia's heart with warmth… the symbol of how her life had changed for the better. Of how love had finally blossomed in her relationship with Rhaegar while also bonding with a completely different person just as strongly. Now though, with what she knew… all Elia could feel was bitterness. Anger and bitterness, welling like bile in her soul.

'She plots against you…'

'Her son usurps yours…'

'She prays for his death…'

Her lips pressed together tightly. "I'm not shocked to find you here."

Lyanna's shoulders visibly tensed, but she did not turn from where she knelt before the heart tree. One hand rested in her lap, the other toyed with a vine of smokeberry growing at the base of the tree. "I've prayed within the godswood once in my life, to save one I loved."

"And who would that be?" Surprisingly for Elia, her tone was quite even.

"My mother… when I was young." There was a short silence as Lya hung her head. "My pleas for divine mercy were unheeded, and I fear that they'll ignore my prayers now." Elia didn't witness the tears that dribbled down her cheeks - thinking of Egg.

Elia's frown deepened. "Listen not to her fake words…"

"What do you pray for, dear wife," she said snidely. "For what you most desire?"

If he had been a mortal being, Balerion would have simpered with glee at this. Quickly, his hidden essence wafted from Elia's side to Lyanna's. The Dornish beauty was in the perfect mindset, and now it was the northern Queen's turn.

Lyanna felt herself stiffen… as if the godswood had chilled in an instant. "And what do you mean by that?"

"She hates you…"

"She corrupts all…"

"She cares not, merely desires…"

Before Elia could answer, Lyanna cut her off by standing - brushing the wrinkles in her dress. "For if you must know, I pray to the true gods that my betrayal doesn't cost the lives of my family."

Brows furrowing, Elia was confused. "I have no idea what you are talking about." Truly, she didn't.

A dry laugh, devoid of any joy, left Lyanna's lips. "This, Elia. All of this. The betrayal of my heritage… of my culture… of my beliefs." The images of her nightmares, of her father and mother and brother in their torment, all flashed in her mind. "It is my fault they died, and it is my fault that my family now suffers." Her eyes closed. "All I wanted truly was a husband, but instead I let my desires overwhelm me - and now we all pay the price."

Shock hit Elia for a moment before the rage returned. An indignant look crossing over her face. "You mean me, don't you?" At this point, the all-consuming darkness was taking hold of the both of them. Filling the dark god with power as the Queens descended into the most horrid of places. A dry laugh left Elia's lips now. "I find it ironic. You already took everything from me… why not my heart as well?"

Eyes opening, Lyanna narrowed them. "You speak impertinently, Elia."

"No!" she hissed. "I speak the truth. Do you know how I suffered? How I desired Rhaegar, wished for the love he so freely and easily gave to you to be given to me?" Every insecurity, every hurtful memory, the dark god fed on it. Drew it forth, poisoning the Dornish Queen with the bile. "But no, I was nothing but an obligation to him. You were the real marriage he so wanted. The real lovemaking… the real child."

"Take that back!" Now Lyanna leapt into the same darkness. "I loved you, but you were using me!" All the voices were true… with the shroud covering the both of them, they were all that could be true. "Sating your depravity, just like your brother."

"Leave him out of this!"

"No, at least he's honest… You pretended to care for me, when all that mattered was the manipulation of the person you were so worried about taking away your precious power!" Lyanna snarled like a wolf. "And look where it ended up. My father and brother dead, my family in tatters. I was weak to your malevolence and now I'm close to losing it all!"

All it takes is a little… push… And with Elia, push he did.

"You know nothing of loss… the loss is mine." The true Elia would be horrified at what she was about to say, but the hate and grief overwhelmed her. "I hope that this plague takes from you what it has from me."

Standing there, the fire in her grey eyes holding firm before slowly ebbing away, Lyanna seemed to deflate before her. "I'm glad to know what you truly think of me." Turning back around, she knelt again before the tree. I knew it… I didn't wish to believe it…

Balerion hadn't found such pleasure since watching the crippled oaf feed his own sister to his dragon. "She cares not… all she wants is to take."

"To corrupt."

"To destroy."

His words drove her over. Lyanna's shoulders quivered, face buried into her palms as the quiet sobs began to release themselves.

Elia could see Lyanna crying, but all she could see was him - little Jon, likely sleeping peacefully in his crib. Completely oblivious to the sorrow around him, to how the mantle of rule that was his elder brother's would soon be bequeathed to him.

The love Elia felt for him… suddenly it was shrouded. The dark god descending upon her like an predator, removing all warmth from her. Leaving nothing but the worst of emotions.

And those emotions burned within her like the roaring sun of her House. Rage - unadulterated, white hot rage. He never changed… he never showed Rhae, Egg, and I the same affection and love Rhaegar showered Lyanna and Jon with. Elia's mind filled with the most malevolent of thoughts, memories manipulated by the darkness swirling around her

"Your son was first in line." The voice was soft, seductive yet firm. Rhaegar would never do such a thing and remove him from the line of succession… not until her. "She prayed for his death, all for her own son." Only now there was no need - with Egg on his deathbed, now Jon was the crown prince.

Now it was clear how she felt - cheated, used, manipulated. The same that Aerys had beaten her down with, only with this Elia would not weep and withdraw into the corner. I am a Queen. The fact that the firstborn of the woman her husband truly loved was to inherit all of Westeros was the final slap in the face, the last humiliating insult the gods could dish out.

"You are the Queen… do not let her usurp your son."

"He must die.

"He must die."

"He must die!"

The darkness broke in Elia's mind... led her to start praying once again to those uncaring gods that failed to heed her pleas for her son, only this time instead of praying for them to save a life... it was for them to take one away. Take him… rid the world of him so she knows the pain I feel. Holy Stranger, make her suffer as I do, knowing her precious son no longer breathes.

If there was justice in this world it would be served for Aegon.

Suddenly, a commotion drew the attention of both Queens. Door to the copse of trees swinging open, three guardsmen trailed Ser Lynn Corbray as he trotted towards them. "Your Graces, come quickly. Prince Baelon has fallen ill."

Lyanna shot up from her spot by the heart tree. "What?!" She was trembling.

"Lady Ashara discovered him with fever and sweats…" He winced. "Grand Maester Qyburn pronounced the Red Plague."

"Oh Gods!" Unable to say another word, Lyanna dashed off towards the holdfast, her worst nightmare come true.

Watching the fleeing Queen Lyanna, Ser Lynn turned to the Dornish Queen. "Ser Oswell will escort Queen Lyanna to Maegor's Holdfast. I shall be standing guard at the entrance until you are finished here." He briskly walked off, leaving Elia to her solitude.

She said nothing, she did nothing, instead standing shock still as her mind pondered just what had happened. The plague… it came for Jon. Not Rhaenys… not Daenerys… not Rhaegar or Rhaella or Lyanna, but Jon.

Her prayer worked, almost immediately in fact.

Gaze drifting to the heart tree, Elia stared at it. Time immemorial passing as her eyes locked at the carved face, haunted and tortured image of the old gods affixed by some long dead northman in the court of Aegon the Conqueror. The Dragon's Breath, the smokeberries, all shone red in the torchlight… A sharp gust of wind from Blackwater Bay shook the trees, as if in anger.

Elia could have sworn blood dripped from the eyes and gaping maw of the carved face.

The Old Gods heard everything. They saw everything, including her deepest, innermost thoughts.

"What have I done…?" she murmured to no one in particular.

For the first time in many moons, the malevolent voice that so haunted her was absent. Elia was alone, only the gentle breeze framing the heart tree breaking the silence of her world.

A/N: And so we now know who the specter is. Balerion, the Valyrian God of Death. And he's essentially sundered the Queens... or at least he thinks...

It wasn't fun to write this chapter, believe me. Just trust me enough to know I have a plan.

Let me know what you think, and until next time :)