Author's Note: I took a small (or rather long) break to try and work on some original fiction. With very mixed results. However, this little fanfiction has inspired me to create something original, a story set in Ancient Mythological India, in the state that my parents were born in, focusing on a protagonist similar to Elia Martell, trying to protect the matriarchal way of life when it comes under threat, and the civil war that erupts surrounding this. I've already got the ancestry sorted out for the main character. Out of curiosity, is this a story that others would be interested in reading? It's just that I sometimes find that there i a paucity of female characters leading in fantasy novels.

Thank you: A huge thank you to everyone who followed or liked this story initially, or still does so. The list has grown too long to include everyone (and truthfully, I am too excited to post this story).

I would welcome constructive feedback. If you feel the language used is too dull, too many adjectives, very similar characters, not enough action or dialogue, please feel free to post it in the review or in a message to me. Constructive criticism is the only way I will grow as an author.

Otherwise, please enjoy.

III

As had been her wont, Elia woke up with the sun, just as dawn broke across the skies. It provided her with enough stealth to work her way into the kitchen and gather food that she would eat with her children and her few, remaining, trusted ladies-in-waiting. It was the only way to ensure no poison found its way to her or her children.

Despite the death of the king and her new accord with Tywin Lannister, Elia saw no reason to feel any safer and, therefore, no reason to change her behaviour whatsoever. She left her chambers and entered her Solar next door. She roused Reagan Phoros, the youngest daughter of a house sworn to the Martells, and Salome Dalt, a childhood friend and from the lesser Dalt line. They stepped outside tentatively, the hesitation in their steps fading as the Lannister guards, stationed outside, did little other than follow from a respectful distance behind them.

The kitchens, once bustling, now boasted of a handful that were either brave or foolish or both. Or perhaps just greedy. These people, none who were skilled or strived to be, deemed them unworthy of attention.

2 loaves of bread, honey, some lemon and several jugs of water, and the ladies returned to the chambers. During their absence, the other ladies had removed any signs of having slept in the solar, plates were ready for use and a large iron kettle, in the Dornish style, stood ready to prepare their lemon tea.

When Elia had been forced to return to King's Landing, Elia had also brought over the handful of ladies who were either unwilling to allow her to face Aerys alone, or who were sure of a lack of welcome back home. These ladies, victims aside of her, had first taken turns to stay in her Solar when she had remained so unwell. Then, they realised that Elia would be the first hear any news of note, or if her life was forfeit… Well, it made sense for all of them to huddle together, less for protection and more for comfort and for news to reach them the fastest. Or mayhaps it had afforded some protection to the ladies from the guards who clearly lacked any honour?

With care, Elia fed her children first, always, lest food was ever scarce. Even Aegon – the babe pretending to be Aegon – was now old enough to start eating. Her milk had run dry earlier than usual with the stress she had been under, and his wet-nurse had been one of the first of her retinue to face Aerys' wrath. It hadn't been Wild-Fire back then, but ordinary fire had been enough to make the poor woman's last moments absolute Hel, the Seven have mercy on her. Since then, Elia had begun to feed Aegon solids, whatever she could lay her hands on that didn't require cooking or that she could cook herself. Honey wasn't ordinarily given to children this young but there were so few options, and Elia had always been pragmatic.

'Is it true, Princess? Is the King dead?' Salome whispered, using Elia's Dornish title, although Rhaegar had never realised it on the rare occasion he had chosen to pay attention.

Out of habit, all of the women, Elia included, looked around for lurking serving-girls but the only one that remained to serve the Keep would only arrive when the sun was well and truly high, in a misguided belief that the light would somehow protect where the darkness couldn't. Elia nodded curtly. 'Yes, the king is dead. Aegon is the heir presumptive.'

Silence followed. Nobody wanted to utter what had already occurred to Elia. She sighed. 'Viserys could be a challenger.' Should be the heir, if the ordinary rules were followed, but one thing Elia was certain of was that everybody would hate Viserys more than Aegon as the king. 'And, of course, there is Stannis Baratheon.'

'We heard your door being broken into,' Reagan's voice trembled, showing her youth as much as her emotion. Elia was oddly touched. She knew Reagan had been grateful for the kindness Elia had always shown her, but she hadn't realised Reagan had actually cared for her too.

'Yes,' Elia blew over her double-handled cup of lemon tea, with honey to sweeten it, just a little. Her companions always crinkled their noses when they saw how much she would put into it. 'Tywin Lannister has arrived.'

The anxious murmur settled as suddenly as it rose when Elia spoke again. 'He is currently in favour of Aegon as king.'

'Currently?' Emma Ferdinand asked. Nobody else had needed to. Elia only kept her within this group for her good-nature and her eye for styles, not her wits. If Lady Olenna had sought a spy in her, it was wasted.

'Currently, unless a better offer comes along.' Elia licked her lips. She was superstitious by nature but… 'I don't think there will be a better offer.'

Before Emma could tactlessly ask what it was that Elia had offered, loud noises outside the Solar interrupted them. As one, all of the ladies from Dorne, and some of those who weren't from there, drew small, thin blades hidden on them as jewelled hair pieces or decorative pieces for their clothing.

'Elia?! Elia?! Are you in there?'

The moment the voice registered with Elia, relief coursed through her. She flung open the door, only to find him banging on the door of her chambers, not this Solar. She laughed as much as she cried and flung herself into the arms of her brother, her beloved younger brother. Even as Oberyn brought his left arm around her, returning her warm embrace, his right hand shifted his hold on the spear, pointed towards the Lannister guards. They, in turn, held tight grips on their swords, unable to act with the Princess Regent? Queen Regent? King's Mother? In the way. Regardless of her title, their Lord had bid them to protect her, and their lives would be forfeit if she was harmed in the process of protecting her.

'Come, come,' Elia let go of her brother and grabbed his hand, pulling him with surprising strength into her Solar and gesturing for her fellow Dornishmen to follow her inside. 'Sers, I see no need of protection from my people. Is that understood?' As overflowingly warm as her voice had been towards her brother, just as cold as a froze, merciless desert at night was her voice towards the Lannister guards.

'Phew,' Oberyn half-whistled, but only after the door had been firmly shut.

'Good to see you ladies so well-prepared,' Elia's and Oberyn's half-brother, Wickaninnish Sand, spoke in a soft voice, lips quirked into a half-smile that had had many ladies swooning in the past. Now was no different, with Emma failing to stifle her giggle. And she with no weapons in hand too, Elia prayed to the Mother for strength and tolerance… Even the ladies outside of Dorne that had chosen to brave King's Landing with Elia had seen the sense in keeping weapons in hand.

'We were expecting you many nights ago,' Salome spoke in a voice that, without trying, held all the sensuality of a warm night with a cool breeze. Her hooded eyes were on Elia's brother, glowing like warm caramel in the smooth skin that was darker than Elia's own, and he returned her gaze with a heated one of his own. Disgusting. Elia wrinkled her nose. These two had never been shy about their carnal interests in each other, although somehow they had managed to keep it hidden whether they had succumbed to it or not.

Oberyn's eyes then shifted to Elia and he looked openly critical. 'By the Seven, woman. You look like you need a bite of good food.' Salome blinked at him, surprised but not by how astute he was. Elia's skin, the sickliness and pallor that all these Northerners complained off, was little more than dull skin. Give her the Dornish sun and Elia's skin would, no doubt, have glistened like gold. And had the cooks offered anything that was to Elia's taste and not Rhaegar's, in Dragonstone, and Aerys' here, then maybe Elia would actually enjoy eating the food, rather than partaking of it out of necessity.

Ser Andrew Dalt, with a flourish, produced a lemon from within his tunic and armour. 'A lemon from Lemonwood, for my Princess,' he presented it to Elia, seeing no need to disguise the ardour he still appeared to feel for her. She couldn't stop a bright smile from appearing and grabbed it eagerly. Feeling it with eagerness, she sensed from its texture or essence that it was from Home.

'We have much to talk about,' she spoke to them, gesturing to find whatever seating they could, as her ladies started placing the cushions onto the floor. Salome's eyes didn't fail to notice that, with care, Elia sliced the lemon she had been gifted and added it to her tea immediately.