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Lady of Dorne

Negotiations

"What in the name of the Seven is happening here?"

The question was quite rhetorical since the sight was more than revealing: Aegon had made his way to the kitchens, stolen a still warm cake, placed in on a table in his mother's chambers, climbed on a chair and was now licking at the still liquid frosting…

Aelinor was laughing. Elia shook her head and thought that she could not part with her son. She felt that she would die if she did, literally – her heart would just stop beating.

"What are you doing?" she asked sternly. "Did you ask the cooks whether you уеиe allowed to take this cake out?"

He looked down, clearly not having an excuse at the ready. "You should go there and apologize," Elia ordered. "You cannot just steal the fruit of other people's labour, Aegon."

"But it tastes so good!" he argued, his purple eyes shining. "Come on," he invited. "Do you want some?"

He had addressed the last words to Naeryn. Elia was not surprised – children usually took up to her cousin immediately after meeting her and Aegon had been no exception. Naeryn raised an eyebrow. "Will I have to lick?" she asked.

The boy shook his head eagerly. "Come on," he said. "We'll find you a spoon."

He took her by the wrist to lead her somewhere. Elia noticed that it was the malformed arm that he had gripped; her son didn't pull away from touching Naeryn's deformity and once again, she thought that leaving him would be the death of her. But she had to do it for his future's sake.

She stood in front of her looking-glass, scowling at the pale apparition staring back at her. She now knew why her aunt had prohibited her from looking at her reflection but for the life of her, she could not understand why Aelinor had decided to make her look frailer than she already was. As if it was not enough that she was exhausted and ashen with grief, Aelinor had decided to apply face paint that made her waxy and added a touch of additional pain to her face. And she would not even start on the gown.

Naeryn who had just entered collected her jaw from the floor and looked at her mother in silent astonishment.

"Trust me," Aelinor told both of them. "I know what will work."

"Thinking that Elia might faint in his manly feet?" Naeryn guessed.

Aelinor smiled briefly, arranging her headdress. "You aren't too far from the truth," she said. "I've known Anders Yronwood since our youth. That's the image that will work on him." She paused. "My sister Myara's face," she finished, barely audibly.

Elia sighed, suddenly reluctant to proceed. "Is my father going to attend?" she asked.

Aelinor shook her head. "You have to do it on your own. If he's with you now, Yronwood will never accept you as your own woman. I'd rather not attend either but it cannot be avoided."

Elia rose and walked out of the bedchamber, proceeding to her presence chamber. There, she sat on her upholstered chair. Aelinor drew unobtrusively in the background where a soft-cushioned chair awaited her. Naeryn went to part the curtains, let the sunshine in.

The Master of Ships entered shortly after. As he bent the knee in front of her, Elia's eyes went over his graying hair, his strong, clean-shaved jaw and muscular arms. Big and burly, sharp and quick-witted, the head of the second most powerful House of Dorne had always been the kind of man she liked. He would have made a good Prince, she thought, a descendant of a long line of kings.

"My lord," she said, "I am grateful for your answering at such a short notice."

He inclined his head. "My lady," he said and a jolt went through her. "It's my duty to serve you."

Of course. Now she was, theory at least, his princess.

"Please accept my deepest condolences," he added.

Elia pointed him at a chair in front of a small table set with Dornish wine and blood oranges. "Thank you, my lord," she said. "As saddened I am by my recent loss, I have my duty to think about." She paused. "As do you, I have no doubt, for no true Dornishman or woman could fail but be moved by the threat looming over us."

His eyes widened slightly, he was clearly shocked by her candour. She went on, calmly. "You've known me for years, my lord, as a queen as loyal to her king as you are in your capacity as Master of Ships. But my king is ill prepared to let a woman rule in her own right what he perceives as his right by the virtue of his marriage to me."

"The Targaryen inheritance customs are indeed unfortunate," he agreed cautiously, "where women are concerned."

She smiled a little and gestured for the table. He shook his head. "I am touched by your hospitality, Your Grace," he said, "but I am unwell."

Though not unexpected and indeed, quite logical, Oberyn's history with the old Lord Yronwood considered, his refusal stung her with the shoot of worry and tension. She raised her hand to her head before she could stop it and for a moment, she glimpsed a sad and bitter look in his eyes as if he had remembered something long gone, long forgotten.

She brought her hand down, looked at him, taking into consideration all she had heard about him, his behavior since he had come to court, his reaction when the Fat Flower had insulted her aunt.

Her hand slowly went to the pocket of her gown and came out with a chipped garnet ring all Dornish lords knew by description if not by a personal look at it. The symbols of Dorne shone at it in pale, worn imprint, the sun and spear that made the name of her city. She did not slip it onto her finger but showed it to him and held it on her palm. "Do you know what this ring means, my lord?" she asked.

He nodded. "He or she who wears it speaks with the voice of Dorne."

"I have it," she said. "Those fools in the Council think I'll let my husband take Dorne from me and my fellow Dornishmen. But they are wrong…"

"My lady," he interrupted. "Say no more. I cannot listen to you in good faith…"

Elia studied him in the sunlight. His inner fight was evident. He would hate to support a Martell at anything but he would also hate to see Dorne subdued. And the fact that he sat in Rhaegar's Small Council made it all harder, added another loyalty to be considered. A good and noble man, she thought again. A man who's striving to do the right thing. He would have made a great prince.

"I am not asking you to act against your conscience," she said. "I am not plotting against the Iron Throne. In fact, I am not asking you to act at all. All I want of you is your neutrality. Do not sway those in Dorne you have influence over either way. I can manage the rest of it."

His eyes did not leave her face. Elia returned his look evenly, serenely. She meant what she said. She leaned closer. "I'd like to see the past left behind, my lord," she said. "You'll never rule Dorne as kings again, any part of it. You know it and I know it. But we'll need your support if we want to hold Dorne strong. And I do realize that this support is not something you'd give lightly." She paused. "I will elevate you above all others, my lord. I'll never deprive your House of the respect it deserves. But I need your support. Dorne needs it if we're to keep it strong and Dornish."

He was silent, pondering over her words. Then, he reached for a blood orange and Elia heaved a sigh of relief. "I said I'd preserve the dignity of your House, my lord," she said. "And I truly mean it. Your heir is not married yet and sadly, the plague took away his betrothed. Would a bride of my own blood and the Targaryen line be enough to show my sincerity?"

His breath caught. His eyes went to the other woman in the room. Aelinor Targaryen nodded, a slight smile on her lips. "My daughter Vaella is not yet spoken for," she said. "And my husband and I could hardly dream of a better match."

Lord Yronwood swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He knew Elia Martell was right. They would never rule Dorne again. But their line was a long and noble one and the match would bring them even more prestige in Dorne and the rest of the realm, for Vaella was of Aegon V's line. She bore the Targaryen name. In fact, given her lineage and the fact that both her parents were King Maekar's grandchildren, the blood of the dragon ran in her veins more undiluted than it did in the King's. The fact that the match offered a family tie to the highly respected Lord Gargalen was another bonus. He would prefer the older girl, of course, but they probably had another match arranged for her – or were arranging one. This plague had wreaked havoc into the lives of so many…

"This is an offer worthy of a more careful consideration," he said, and she smiled.

"You'll have the time to consider it, my lord. Just don't wait for too long."

He reached for the wine and poured some for all three of them. They drank to Dorne and Elia noticed that he did so first.

"My lord," she said impetuously. "I am in your debt."

He bowed deeply; when he rose, his smile made her blink, for it was a smile of admiration and a little nostalgia. "My lady," he said. "The debt is mine, for you allow me to serve Dorne."

As he left with another bow to the two women, he thought his son would be probably very happy to receive the news, for all of Aelinor Gargalen's daughters were as blessed physically as she was.

"So," Alric Gargalen said all of a sudden and his black eyes glinted. "I think it's time we talk."

It was hardly the time for talking and the noise of the supper in the great hall made any serious conversation a true challenge but Rhaegar had expected something like this. In the brief week of their acquaintance, Alric had never spoken a word of politics and succession but it was clear that the subject should come up soon. The older man hadn't come to stay indefinitely – at least Rhaegar hoped he hadn't. Alric Gargalen was far from nice, although it had taken him no time at all to make the children love him. Looking at him with Rhaenys, one could almost believe that he was just a doting grandfather. Rhaegar, though, knew better. His goodfather was about as harmless as a snake – his entire life proved it. It was a miracle that Elia had turned out so kind, with parents like hers.

It was a good thing that he never drank heavily. He was entirely clear-headed and alert. "Very well," he said, and rose. "Shall we?" he added, looking at Elia.

She rose and accepted the hand he offered her. Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell followed. As silent as a shadow, Naeryn Sand crept behind them.

In his chambers, Rhaegar lit a few more candles. In the yellow beeswax light, Alric looked older, world-weary, his features grim and severe, locked in tight resolve.

He looked at his daughter. "A terrible event brought me there but I am glad to have seen you." He paused. "I cannot stay forever, though. I have to return. And I have to bring Dorne your answer."

All three of them had been expecting it, yet Elia's face went a little paler. Rhaegar looked at her, concerned. "Are you unwell?" he asked. "Maybe we should postpone this conversation for another time?"

The sudden sense of peril made her sit up straighter. The speculations about her health were bad enough as it was. "There's no need," she denied. "As hard as I am stricken by my brother's loss, I cannot let it stop me from fulfilling from my duty."

Her husband's eyes rested on her with expression that was inscrutable. She had no doubt what Rhaegar considered her duty: to be a gracious and kind queen, devoted to charities and providing good upbringing to their children. Just because she could now rise to the Lady of Dorne did not change things: he would never expect of her to become a ruling Lady of Dorne. He'd expect her to hand this responsibility over to him.

"Yes, of course," her father said. "If so…"

He reached into his doublet and took out the velvet box with the signet ring, the same one she had shown Lord Yronwood. He presented it to her. "If so, the Council of Dornish lords and ladies ask you to leave for Dorne as soon as possible. We've been without a ruler for too long."

Her hand slightly shaking, Elia took the ring she had so often seen on her mother's hand and then Doran's. Arianne had never taken it off, and neither had Doran. She paused, the ring in her finger. Slipping it on would make the change final. There would be no going back. She's turn her back to the life that had offered her some happiness once despite her reluctance to live it. She'd have to assume an enormous burden. And she'd lose her son, forever maybe.

She stared at the faded outlines of the spear and tears blurred her eyes. She choked them back and slipped the ring on her heart finger, lifted her eyes to her father.

"There is just one thing," Alric added. Looking straight at Rhaegar, he said it without preamble. "Dorne does not want you as our lady's consort. It'd rather deny Elia than accept you."

His words were so sudden and rude that even Elia startled. To his credit, Rhaegar didn't bat an eyelid. "Is that so? Who says it?"

"I do," Alric replied. "And Lord Gargalen my brother. Lord Manwoody. Lady Blackmont. Lord Qorgyle and Lord Jordayne. All those lords and ladies who signed this," he finished and handed Elia a piece of parchment. She perused it and then passed it to Rhaegar whose eyes widened.

"And you're ready to unleash a civil war in Dorne just because of your dislike of me?"

Alric snorted. "My feelings don't matter. Indeed, the thought of supporting my son against my daughter is just as repellent to me as the idea of supporting my daughter against my son. But if I have to choose, I'll have to back Oberyn up."

Rhaegar couldn't believe it. "He's a disaster!"

"Yes," Alric agreed. "But a Dornish disaster he is."

The fight of brains was ready to start.