Rheagar II
"I ask, my lady, how you came here by magic?"
Lady Sansa Stark of the Highlands shivered. Looked away from his expectant gaze. Her gaze went to the food in front of her, in the guise of lining her plate. The fair provided by Lord Whent was exotic from trade, and the prevalent bounty of the Riverlands. She made a show of lining her plate then, even as he gazed at her expectantly. He allowed her the time to gather her thoughts. She touched neither wine nor anything substantial as far as he could see. She chose some fruit, vegetables, and the smallest portion of a delicate fish stew. Dared not touch the meat or bread, he noticed. Strayed away from heavy things that would turn her stomach.
Her hands trembled for a second before they stilled. They did look almost too thin, not skeletal, but for their elegance, he guessed she had been bereft of substantial food for some time. Or perhaps rationing it. Or was she frightened by her experience to be so careful and wane in appetite, and he thought her natural thinness insidious? To cross a vast distance in the manner of moments, to find herself in a foreign land, naked and in the midst of a power struggle was no doubt frightening. He could not even image what was crossing through this woman's mind.
"I-"
"You were captured, my Lady?" said Elia, and he saw the worry in her eyes. Her eyes flickered to the young woman's back. Lingered there with a wideness.
And not in interest. In connection. In horror. What is on her back? Lady Sansa nodded sharply. Her jaw clenched, for a moment, before it relaxed. She looked at her too thin hands and sighed.
"A conqueror from afar came claiming the Highlands as her own. She broke guest rights, it was supposed to be a treaty of peace to settle our differences as she had conquered some portion of the Kingdom that was found to not truly belong. She hid a cache of wildfire on the side that hosted the lords and ladies of the Highlands and meant to unleash it on all the lords and ladies gathered. I was unlucky enough to be sitting right above the cache she meant to use to kill my people."
"A fantastic, horrible story," he told her, "Here, my father sought to burn my people with fire for his paranoia of being ousted from his Kinghood. You came to us instead."
She looked at him. Her blue eyes shone with something. Something dark and scared. And it made him, unconsciously, lean forward. It was only when she gasped nearly inaudibly that he realized what he was doing. He cleared his throat and leaned back.
"Do you think it did not harm my people as it didn't yours?"
He placed a hand on her's. Squeezed gently. She was a dutiful woman, looking to think of the people she had left behind.
"I believe so. I see no reason why you're people were harmed and mine spared."
"Magic has a price," she said, sadly, knowingly, "And how much was paid for a woman to travel so far?"
A lady of winter...Ice that lived through fire. Her hair and eyes… Fire and Ice.
Rheagar shivered. Tried not to think of it, but already his mind was racing in the direction of the promised prophecy that seemed to haunt his footsteps. Brought in fire, smoke- Elia glared him over Lady Sansa's shoulder. 'Do not think of it,' she mouthed. And he recalled her many arguments and debates of his clinging to the prophecy of a promised prince. The realm needs a King. Not some fabled promised prince. Elia has told me time and time again. And now it has a king. A true king.
"We can be sure that the magic price was not the lives of your fellow lords. No price was paid here, and there is nothing to be said that magic had to be paid on your Highlands."
"We will do all we can to send you home," said Elia gently, "A crew will be hired. A ship given-"
"It is not on any map that you would have. The seas to my North are perilous to cross, near impossible by any of your ships as far as I know. I would not know how to reach the Highlands again… No, I am lost to it. Please do not waste crew nor time in the hope to reach it. I was sent here for a reason, Queen Elia. I will see it through."
Rheagar blinked and found the responsibility that lined her expression was much too fetching by half.
"You need not worry, then," said Elia, fiercely, "You are with us, Lady Sansa. You will not find yourself wanting of roof nor food or harmed. You have come to us for a reason, as you said."
The Lady swallowed and gave a gentle nod. His wife placed a gentle hand on her's. Squeezed it.
"You are safe."
The young lady did not respond, only stared at her plate and carefully picked at her food with those thin fingers. She than gave a nod of careful agreement, after a moment, and stayed quiet. Rhaegar lifted the hand he had seemed to have forgotten on her's and attended his own meal. Elia did not move her hand, and Rheagar knew that his wife's kind heart had been affected by her time with the Maiden of Fire. Whatever is on her back has frightened Elia.
Rheagar made deliberate, if light conversation with Lord Whent as his wife grabbed at the Maid of Fire's attention again, asking of her customs and other such things. Rhaegar was ashamed to say he hardly paid mind to Lord Whent, and instead found him listening intently to his wife and the lady. She was an excellent conversationalist and had a talent for turning the questions to his wife instead. Her manner, to him, seemed to be fascinated by the foreign customs of Westeros. But was that just to deflect questions of her own homeland?
"The painted design of your dresses are unlike anything I've ever seen," said Lady Sansa Stark, and she touched delicately at the painted three-headed dragon on the hem of her dress.
She caressed it and seemed to trace the intricate detail of the scales in what looked like appreciation.
So she is fond of pretty things. Rheagar felt that important information to know.
"A Rhyonish custom," said Elia, proudly, she touched at the painted spears on her bodice.
Lady Sansa reached out, and gently examined the spears on his wife's bodice. Her fingertips touched at the sheen of them, were the bronze paint shimmered fetchingly, with the barest of passes. Elia still shivered at the touch, and the Maiden of Fire drew her hand away.
"It is a beautiful skill. I wished I had such talent."
"I do not myself! No, this is Lady Ashara's work, she has a habit of spending hours on a single panel of fabric with the smallest of brushes. She is a rare talent, one of the reasons I felt myself compelled to invite her to be my lady. I myself favor instead the process of making samite-"
"Samite?"
The young woman tilted her head to the side. Her hair glittered prettily in the firelight of the many braziers and the candles that adorned the hall, the jeweled pins within her hair glimmering and catching in a red haze nearly as fetchingly as the light reflected from her hair. Rheagar could only think, even if she had not been brought magically among them, the lady would have had half the hall looking to her for her beauty alone. It was a timeless and overwhelming sort of beauty that came rarely. Many had called Lady Cersei, Lady Ashara, Lady Catelyn, and his wife to be the beauties of their generation. Until he had seen her, he would not have added anyone else to the list.
"You weave metal strings into fabric to make patterns. I rarely have the time, but I tend to weave when I have it to spare. It is a relaxing hobby."
Rhaegar himself had insisted a room be given to Elia in Dragonstone, built a loom as large as it as a wedding gift. Some of his favored memories were watching her work. It had been like a dance, for her to work on such a large loom, and his wife had long perfected the steps to it. He made a mental note to have one such room installed in the Red Keep, now that they would be residing there. He knew he would be sending his mother to Dragonstone to recover from her treatment by his father. He had left instructions for some staff to strip the entirety of Maegor's Holdfast as soon as he was to be crowned. He had not expected it be so soon, but he knew without a doubt it was beginning to be redone, gutted. He knew at the very least he would burn the furniture to ash. Too many depravities of his father would haunt the halls, and it would disgust him to have his wife and daughter in such a place. It would be scrubbed top to bottom, and he was tempted to have it renovated to the extreme. A few walls knocked down. Later, perhaps, he would do so...
"The cloak of your husband?" deduced Lady Sansa, her voice turning lighter, and dare he thinks it, delighted.
"All my humble work," Elia said, modestly.
"It was beautiful, your grace. I was in awe of it. The weaving was gorgeous."
"And you Lady Sansa, do you have any talent at women's craft?"
The Lady, he saw, gave a smile out of the corner of his eye. Her blue eyes shone with it, and for a woman who seldom smiled truly, such a thing was made all the more precious.
"Before the war, embroidery. I fear I have lost my talent, so rarely have I done it since. Fabric and string were more well used in necessities than on my dress."
I will find her some things to renew her practice.
The hall was merrier now, and Rhaegar watched as his people, who had been so close to death just that morning, reval in relative peace. Dancing was done. Loose freedom of the Riverlands, in pairs of quick steps. Nothing too structured, and easy to pick up. He thought, perhaps, he would entertain his strange guest.
"Do your people dance?" he asked, turning to the Maid of Fire.
She turned, surprised to him. Her face was quizzical, and he was disappointed to see, guarded.
"When there is music, you scarcely can prevent anyone from doing so," she said.
"Would you care for a dance? The steps are not hard to learn."
She blinked.
"I would not think it appropriate."
"For a dance? I am allowed to dance with someone other than my wife, is it not done in your homeland?"
She stared and her eyes gave a careful, measuring look.
"It is. However, I mean to say, your Grace, that many eyes look to us tonight," she said, and he was surprised by the gentleness of her voice, "They are already curious of me. If I dance with one man, many more will approach me. It does not help that you are the King. If yet crowned. I… Am fatigued, your grace."
"I see your wisdom. Perhaps, instead of a dance, you will give me a promise of one. When things are calmer, when you are more settled."
She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.
"Will that please you?"
"Immensely. But only if it will please you in turn."
Lady Sansa looked forward. Her face was still. Blue eyes faraway.
"...It has been a long time since I've danced, to be honest, your grace," her voice was careful, not quite tentative. But not a negative.
Rheagar smiled.
"I would be honored to be the first in some time, then, my Lady. Will you perhaps grant it to me?"
He needed to hear her choice for the positive. He did not know why, but he needed to.
"The honor would be mine. Tonight, however, I think a dance with your wife will be pleasing for your people to see. Lighten the mood?"
"An excellent suggestion," said his wife, joyfully.
She squeezed Lady Sansa's hand and stood as he did. Without a word, Ashara was taking Elia's seat, and he knew without a doubt the beautiful woman would act as a shield to anyone who wished to speak with Lady Sansa.
"A promise for another time, my Lady," he said carefully, inclining his head.
She looked at him from under her lashes, inclining her head.
"A promise," she agreed.
He blinked. Tried not to think of what promises meant for him. Of what the words of a woodswitch had done to his mother… Prophecies and magic… Pushed away the thought of promised princes and stepped confidently to the dancefloor with his wife. The mood did indeed improve further, as he and Elia joined the dance. He heard applause start from the side of the room with those that had been closest to him. It turned thunderous as he turned Elia smoothly.
"My King," she said, affectionately.
I am a prince no longer. I am a King.
"My Queen," he returned, gently.
They moved together, easy and smooth.
"You were all but vibrating in your seat. Poor Lady Sansa was flustered."
Rheagar blinked.
"Was she? I could not tell."
Elia huffed.
"Neither could I, truly. She is good. But I would think a girl would be nervous to be the focus of a King."
"Are you scolding me? Is the focus of a Queen not any more nerve-racking?"
"Perhaps. But she was more receptive to me, love."
"Perhaps. But you had a topic she liked. I did not."
Elia moved closer to him, violating the next steps of the dance to be closer. Rheagar did not mind.
"She claims herself a Stark."
He hummed.
"If she lied it would have been better to call herself a Tully. She has their look."
"Their coloring perhaps, and perhaps her cheekbones are like Lady Catelyn," corrected Elia, "But her skin, her tallness, and her the shape of her face is quite like young Lady Lyanna beyond that."
Rheagar spun her.
"So we have a miracle lady, our Maiden of Fire, who holds the features of House Stark, the coloring of House Tully, and is from an unknown realm far away that is called the Highlands. Perhaps she is just some mad girl who is of bastard origin. A dalliance of Lord Hoster with a Northerner," he said, pragmatically.
Even if the thought of calling the lady Sansa Rivers felt wrong even as a thought. Sansa Stark just sounded correct. Like a song that flowed as easily as song itself. Elia shook her head.
"I cannot see that. She is too well comported to be such a thing. Especially as Lord Hoster would have had to have her before or at the same time as Lady Catelyn. And he was devoted to Lady Minisa to the extreme."
"A fine mummer than. A trickster from afar that has decided to use the magic that brought her here and used her appearance to her advantage."
"My love, I believe her," she said simply.
Rheagar brought her closer yet again.
"You believe her?"
"She is very composed. Very good at misdirection. But I cannot disbelieve what she has said. Our Maiden of Fire might be not telling the entire truth, but she is telling us all she is willing to say."
He dipped her back. Elia followed his movements with the ease of near two years of marriage, they were in perfect step.
"Then I will trust you, my Queen."
She beamed.
"Thank you, My King."