Elia I

Rheagor found her, delegating the maids to bring in a large copper tub to grace the girl from the fire. Looked at her, and she knew without a doubt. All their plans, the ones they thought utterly wrecked by the King's actions, had fallen into place nonetheless. She smiled. Finally.

"You are to be crowned King, then," she told him, carefully, and her husband gave a huff of a laugh.

"So it seems. Today has shown the world that my father has gone utterly mad. Less peacefully than I had imagined."

She walked closer. Touched at his wrists. Caressed the length of his arms. Soothed at the place she knew she had pressed her nails harshly into at the tourney grounds. Drifted closer. He drifted with her. Drifted and lifted his hands to the nape of her neck. Warm and calloused. His indigo eyes searched hers as he knead the skin just as she liked it.

"We knew this was a gamble. His paranoia was so great he did not allow your Mother nor brother to come. Uncle has the Queen Mother ready to ride here at our raven, and the city will be in the hands of our new Hand. Your father played his hand dangerously with his sycophants brought to be at his feet. All is in hand. We have won, my love."

"And gained Kingship and a miracle under our care. Tell me, what do you think of this Maiden of Fire?" his voice was careful.

But Elia knew the act of what could only be magic had fascinated him more then he could say. She knew her husband well enough.

"She is a difficult lady to understand. She is very poised. Most graceful and quiet."

Honestly, Elia thought her one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. But there was a fragility to the lady that brought4 her more tender side to the surface. She knew it would be difficult to speak to her. She was cold for all her coming through the fire meant. Fire maid, with eyes like the flames that had formed her. As beautiful to look at as it hurts to touch. For there is something painful in her face that I can just see when I reach out. She smiled quietly at her husband's face, careful as it was, with lovely eyes that kept darting to the door of their shared chambers.

"Her name is Sansa."

"Sansa," he breathed.

Something warmed in Elia at the way he spoke the lady's name. And for an inappropriate moment, she imagined that name spoken in a more intimate manner. In her own voice. She pushed the thought away. Now is not the time, fire maid or not, we must gain her trust, not anything else. She is frightened, and in a strange set of circumstances.

"I believe she is a Lady of utmost peerage. Her hands are soft and unblemished, her face was kept perfectly cared for, smooth as the porcelain it looks like."

"She must be," he agreed, "She knew the correct way to address us. All the right movements, and I have yet to see a mere servant hold ceremony for royalty so well."

"Her voice is Northern. And she mentioned being of a Keep where the bells were rung for her birth and namedays."

He raised a brow.

"Not many Keeps in the North. Someone must know of her… She has riverland-blood. She is so much like the Tully girls."

Elia felt her lips curl in a slight smile.

"I believe her much fairer than the Tully girls."

A roguish smile appeared on Rheagar's face, tempered by the faint pink hue that appeared on his high cheekbones. It was still funny, after so many years of marriage, he still was bashful when it came to certain discussions. But still very much appreciated them nonetheless.

"Yes, very much so."

"Dear King," she said, coyly, "Did the Maid of Fire catch your eye?"

Rheagar smiled, kissed her temple.

"Not as much as yours, I think. You kept all away from her whilst the Lords gathered and tried to take a piece of her, and do not think I did not notice your eye wandering to her backside through my cloak. I wish to speak to her."

That adorable blush was made darker despite the nature of his words, and she snorted. She nipped delicately at the underside of his chin.

"Not yet, my love. She is to bathe, she was covered in ash and soot and whatever mess was on the tourney grounds. And she shall rest, I think. She is in need of it. She is afraid. And I have had my fill of frightened women in the presence of a King."

Rhaegar flinched. His face tightened. She smoothed it away with a gentle hand. Pressed her fingertips to his brow and lips in comfort.

"You are not that King, but she seems to know of us and she will draw conclusions. Rest for her, and rest for you will do you well, and then you will speak to each other. Peace, that is what Lady Sansa needs first as do you. I will invite her to stay with me before the Welcoming Feast. I think she cannot be alone. It's not every day a woman appears by magic."

"Keep her well, my love."

"As safe as any, I promise, Rheagar. Go with our princess. I think Rheaneys will appreciate the time to climb atop her father."

"As would I. I shall relieve Sir Oswell from his time as a plaything."

She kissed him. He kissed back. Pleasant and dear as a familiar song on her lips. A taste of sweet comfort and triumph. And Elia returned to their shared chambers with a fond smile. The woman was pressed against the window seat that Elia had occupied just that morning, reading poetry to her prince. King now. The lady was watching the maids as they set to right the appropriate bathing things, pushing back furniture, leaving the steaming tub ready. Ashara looked pleased as she commanded them about. She comes well into her own, she is a good lady to me. As ordered, they were bringing out Elia's own soaps and oils. Elia suspected nothing but the finest would suit that pale skin.

And something about the thought of lemon on the woman's skin was pleasing.

Long has it been since another but my husband has attracted me so. I have glanced and appreciated, but never wanted.

Elia took a breath, and something in her heart broke at how quickly Lady Sansa noticed her. For it was the movement of fright, of alertness that came from being wary of people. Elia knew the behavior too well.

Queen Rhaella acted much the same.

But Lady Sansa held her expression much better than her good-mother. An d she curtsied once again. Stood on legs she knew trembled, but looked perfect and pretty at this distance. Not a sliver of her skin showed, she had clasped the cloak tightly to herself. She looked right in black and red, which was the real reason Elia had chosen the black dress for her appearance during tonight's feast. But after her bath, and after some rest.

"Queen Elia," she murmured.

Elia felt her breath catch.

I am to be the Queen now.

"Not yet, my Lady," she said softly, "The Queen rides for Harrnenhal now, and it is upon her arrival that she shall turn to the Queen Mother. I am a Princess yet."

A furrowed brow but for a movement that is smoothed away with gentle politeness in its wake. The girl was good at that. Frightfully good for someone who looked as young as she did. If Elia could hazard a guess of her age, she thought her relatively young, a few years after her flowering, perhaps. She was thin, tall, yet had the full form of a young woman. Her face was sculpted carefully, and any remains of childhood plumpness had gone away. Young, yes, but a woman nonetheless.

Elia could not be sure, and she made note to ask it of the girl.

"The bath is ready, your grace," said the one of the serving girls, head down.

"Thank you, Jeyne, I will call for you when we are done, you may take your leave now."

Elia suspected that Lady Sansa was uncomfortable with people. The fragile woman had yet to show more signs of magic. Despite herself, Elia believed her when she said she had none. It seemed more likely that magic had been done to her, instead of her invoking it. She moved forward with a smile as the door was shut. The sound made the Maiden of Fire jump, just a touch. So slight if Elia had not been waiting for it she would have not seen it.

"Princess Elia, I must warn you. My back is heavily scarred."

Elia blinked, as the young woman stepped forward to the tub on shaking legs. Shied away when Ashara moved to help her. Ashara frowned, and stepped back, fingertips twisting together.

"Most find it frightening," continued the young woman with an apologetic smile, "If you wish to step out, I am more than capable of bathing by myself."

Elia stared.

"I have seen such a sight on someone else, Lady Sansa," she told her, gently.

The young woman nodded, and carefully pulled away her cloak. Gave it gently to Ashara, mindful of what her husband had given her. That pleases me more then it should. Without another word, the young woman climbed into the bronze tub with those still trembling legs. She sighed as she hit the water, close to a hiss. Elia walked forward, and chose a rose and lemon soap. One she rarely touched, but she thought would suit the woman. Lady Sansa jumped as she approached with soap and cloth in hand.

"Princess I can-"

"You are tired and weak. Let me help."

Carefully, Elia parted her lush, silk hair to the side. And as the Lady said, her back was covered in scars. She is like Queen Rhealle. Dear Maiden, how cruel. There was nothing pretty about the marks on her back, all of its expanse, reaching the tops of her thighs, thin, parallel, and numerous. A color a touch different from the porcelain of the skin, faint pink outlined on that raised skin. Strangely and almost- Orderly. She was beaten with the flat of a blade. Again and again. This is not the work of one beating.Elia placed a gentle hand against the lines. The texture was soft, cool, and broke her heart.

"I know it is ugly," said the girl, and her eyes looked over her shoulder to Elia without a flinch.

Blue, firm, and in them Elia saw steel. Again, her breath caught.

"I see no ugliness."

Something worked in the girl's pale throat, twisted and shifted, as if she had trouble swallowing.

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me for the truth, Sansa."