Thanks to all my reviewers, you're all precious! Consider this chapter my birthday present for you. My present for MY birthday, I mean, and no, this ancient lady is not telling you how many years she's turning today.

Lady of Dorne

Clash of Worlds

The training yard was one of the places Arthur loved best. There was something soothing in the familiar ritual: check your weapon, step forward, start the motions, meet the opponent's blade. But it was also… tedious. Very few knights were willing to spar with him and he knew his sworn brothers' tactic by hand, from Jaime's sudden attacks that sucked one like vortex to Gerold's way of turning it all about strength when one least expected it. The King had little new to show by now, too. Predictability was starting to weigh upon Arthur and he caught himself looking more than once, with longing eyes, at another corner of the yard where his fellow Dornishmen were exercising. He would have given anything for a practice with one of them, the boys he had grown up competing against, the men he had observed when very young, learning by their example. But of course, none of them would have anything to do with him. His being complicit in the insult against their princess aside, many of them had relatives who had found themselves Elia's fellow hostages while Arthur had been killing time in the Tower of Joy, completely unaware of what was going on in King's Landing. Seven hells, I was completely unaware even when it came to the events in Starfall. His own brother had been going through one of the most haunting periods in his life with Arthur just

"So?" Alric Gargalen asked all of a sudden, visibly appearing out of thin air at the end of Arthur's combat with Oswell. "You both look bored."

Ser Oswell kept wisely silent. Alric's smile grew. "Do you care for a round with me?" he asked and Arthur thought he had heard wrong. He couldn't be this lucky, could he? And Alric was not this charitable. Despite his understanding of Arthur's torment, he would never forgive him, never accept him as one of their own again.

Smiling, Alric drew his sword out to show that he meant it. For a moment, Arthur toyed with the idea of leaving Dawn aside and try a normal blade, for that would make the fight more fair – and challenging. But he discarded it pretty swiftly. Alric Gargalen would take an offense, for certain, so Arthur only followed his example, unsheathing the starry blade.

Alric didn't wait for Arthur to make the first move; with something like admiration, the young man remembered the late Princess' consort's famous ability to alter tacks to match each opponent. In this instance, it would be truly unwise of Alric to let himself be placed in the defense from the start: Arthur had the advantages of wielding a better sword, as well as being some decades younger. Should Alric let himself lose the initiative even once, he would be probably unable to take it back.

Soon, Arthur was dripping sweat, his eyes were darting to catch the unexpected, his body followed as a well-oiled instrument without him giving much thought to his movements, Dawn was getting heavier in his hands, and he was feeling happier than he had in months.

Until Rhaegar appeared, that was it.

The two combatants looked at each other and lowered their swords. The King who had been reaching to unsheathe his own blade, reconsidered and instead, looked at them. "I had no idea you were this good, my lord," he said and it was no empty praise. The fact that someone Alric's age was able to hold their own against Arthur was damned impressive.

Alric shrugged. "I am better with a spear," he said, indifferently. "So of course, I have to practice more with the weapons I love less. That was part of my duty as Arianne's swordhand."

He gave Rhaegar a level look. "I take it you'll make the arrangements with the High Septon?" he asked; with a jolt, Arthur realized that the decision had been made… and he hadn't been told. Once again, he felt rejected and dejected; with ever rising anger, he wished Rhaegar would stop talking and just start practicing already, so he could get the satisfaction of trouncing him thoroughly. So what? Arthur was good enough to chase off Rhaegar's vagabonds because Rhaegar couldn't be bothered to chase those who attacked his own wife in person; good enough to have him break his promise and turn his back to the very one he had come to King's Landing to defend; good enough to keep in the damned prison that the thrice forsaken tower had become and guard what was an insult against all Dorne, Arthur included; but not good enough to be told that the termination of the marriage would take place very soon.

Elia would truly leave and he'd stay.

It was my doing, he thought. In the very beginning of Elia's marriage, when she and Rhaegar started getting fond of each other, he had been so consumed by jealousy and envy that he could not help but beseech the gods to spoil their happiness. He hadn't realized then that he was praying for Elia's unhappiness. And his prayers had been heard and surpassed – the unhappiness was so profound that Elia had not even bothered to find a way to stay. Instead, she had jumped on the first chance to escape she got.

"He wants a hefty renumeration," Rhaegar said grimly. "It isn't a time-honoured practice, for a king to have his marriage dissolved without the queen becoming a septa and the children born in the marriage staying legitimate."

Alric huffed. "Then, you'll have to pay him," he said in a voice showing that, in his opinion, there was nothing to discuss.

"It won't be so easy," the King warned. "He's quite determined to wrestle some concessions that I am not prepared to make."

By now, the yard was almost empty. It occurred to Arthur that he should leave, too, but well, he didn't want to. He wanted to know what was going on and since he clearly wouldn't be told by either party, he's rather stay and listen unless they explicitly dismissed him. Eavesdropping on other people's conversations, he thought resentfully and wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve. That's what being a Kingsguard brought me.

"That is no concern of mine," Alric said. "And it won't be our lords and ladies' concern either, in case you get any ideas," he added. "Maybe I should inform you that I am well aware of your attempts to establish a relationship with the Red Mountains."

Rhaegar didn't even blink. With something close to grief, Arthur thought that the prince he had once known would have never engaged in double-dealing. How experiences changed people…

"Lady Blackmont, my gooddaughter, wrote to me," Alric explained helpfully. "It was a clever maneuver, I'll give you this. But you might be interested to know that two days ago, she wed my son Elvar Sand. I suppose you may try your luck with Starfall, next time, under the delusion that Ser Arthur here holds any sway over his brother's decisions. He doesn't. In fact, Arel Dayne was fostered with me and given the fact his father became incapacitated when he was still a child, let's say that most often than not, I am the one he turns to when he needs the advice of someone older. And if you can't remember the name of the new Lady Dayne, let me remind you: Alynna Gargalen, my niece!"

Why was Rhaegar not retaliating? Arthur just couldn't fathom it. Alric was crossing boundaries that stretched far beyond words that had made other men dash for cover. The King was a smart and quick-witted man; why was he allowing his goodfather to be so rude?

"Don't forget to clear the matter about Rhaenys' name," Alric went on, all business once again. "We won't have a Targaryen Lady of Dorne."

"No matter how you twist it, she is a Targaryen," the King replied sharply. "Unless you can find a way to drain all my blood from her veins. I suppose you're already looking for the cure that might achieve that."

"If I find it, I'll be sure to pass it to you to use on Aegon," Alric shot back and they glared at each other, equally displeased that they would always be related to each other no matter what.

Rhaegar started to say something and Arthur almost slapped his hand over the King's mouth, already knowing what Rhaegar would say: that if he couldn't draw the Dornish blood from Aegon's veins, he could easily draw him out of succession. He also knew that it would be all talk in the heat of the moment… but one that could bring on some very dangerous consequences.

Rhaegar closed his mouth and his jaw worked. He's learned something, after all, Arthur realized, relieved. He's come to know that words are powerful – not only those of a prophecy but those of everyday life. And then he at once saw why Rhaegar was letting Alric have his say: he couldn't fight back because nothing in his life had prepared him for being addressed this way… and because he felt guilty. There was still hope for him. Once again, Arthur was filled with relief at the realization that his trust in Rhaegar hadn't been as misplaced as he had come to think. Rhaegar could recognize right from wrong. It was simply painful for him, so he was fighting it. But he was not Aerys who had lost his judgment entirely.

Clearly, Alric was in no mood for trading barbs either. He pushed his sword into the scabbard. "Maybe we'll get this fight done another time," he said, looking at Arthur. "And now, I have some other things to do and then I am going to see my granddaughter."

"Tell her that I'll come to her chambers in the afternoon," Rhaegar said.

Of course, Arthur thought, angry with himself for not figuring it out. Rhaegar had started to spend more time with Rhaenys than usual. He was preparing himself for letting her go.

"Oh she isn't there," Alric said, nonchalantly. "One of our people have her."

The King's face went white; with something like surprise, Arthur realized that Rhaegar was scared. He might be reconciled with letting Rhaenys go but in his heart, he still distrusted Alric and this irrational fear was stronger than his judgment. It was pure instinct that made him freeze on the spot.

The Dornishman peered at Rhaegar's face and smiled contentedly. "Horrible, isn't it?"

"What is horrible?"

"Not knowing what someone you distrust is going to do to your daughter on a whim."

He turned around and disappeared into the building.

"I thought she'd like to come to us." There was a touch of melancholy in Rhaella's voice.

Aelinor laughed and looked down through the Dowager Queen's window. Rhaenys waved at her cheerfully and kept chatting to Naeryn animatedly as they walked through the courtyard. "I thought so, too, but then I realized that two old ladies cannot compare to a young and glamorous woman in a young girl's eyes."

Rhaella sighed and poured the tea. She knew that but she wanted to spend as much time with Rhaenys as possible before losing her. And… she was not pleased with the fact that her granddaughter seemed so enchanted with Naeryn Sand. The ways of a practiced seductress who had more than a few men courting her already was not what she wanted for Rhaenys and she was afraid that the girl would get exactly that in the Dornish court. Elia didn't seem to find anything troubling with her cousin's behavior and she wouldn't discourage Rhaenys from seeking her out.

"Rhaenys spends a lot of time in your daughter's company," she said, carefully – too carefully, maybe. Aelinor's eyes changed from friendly to wary.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Don't try to drop hints, you are terrible at it. Say what you have on your mind and be done with it."

Rhaella decided that she might well do it, get it off her chest, and then enjoy the rest of the afternoon with her old friend. Aelinor was a mother – and she had suffered from rumours about inappropriate behavior. She would understand.

"I cannot help but see that there is too much… freedom in Naeryn's behavior," she said. "I am not criticizing the upbringing you gave her," she added quickly. "But I am a bit concerned…"

Aelinor left her cup on the table. Her eyes were now ice and Rhaella realized that by trying so hard not to offend her she had ended up doing just that.

"Good," Aelinor said. "Because really, you have no leg to stand on when we're talking about upbringing."

"I didn't mean…"

The other woman went on, as if Rhaella hadn't spoken at all. "Let's get this clear: I have a daughter who visits as many beds as she wishes without anyone raising a fuss; you have a son who couldn't make one attempt at going to another bed without causing a war. What do you have to say about upbringing if we take the results you and I have achieved into account?"

Rhaella's own anger now rose to her throat. She had argued with Rhaegar, she had called him stupid and irresponsible, she was terribly disappointed in him but no one else had dared to blame him in front of her. Even Elia hadn't done so, although Rhaella suspected that her gooddaughter didn't want to place her in such an awkward position.

"This isn't about the war."

"Oh but it is," Aelinor objected. "Everything is about the war. It was the war that convinced us that your son isn't the king we'd want but there was nothing we could do about that. We can make sure that he never holds any sway in Dorne, though, so you can tell him that he might as well stop with his pathetic attempts to influence us. We've patched out differences with House Yronwood and no one will stay against us. Elia will rule Dorne as she sees fit – and she'll give her daughter the upbringing she sees fit."

"Yes, by having her socialize with all the bastards in the…"

She didn't even know how it had happened. Such words could have been – had been – spoken by the very worst among the court scandalmongers but how had it come to this, the saucy insult leaving Rhaella's own mouth? She held a hand to her face, terrified and filled with remorse.

Aelinor's head went back, as if she had been struck. But she recovered so fast that Rhaella didn't want to think just how often she had heard such insults. She had been shocked by the fact that Rhaella had sunken so low but the words themselves were clearly no surprise.

"Well, she's socializing with a bastard here, isn't she? Only, here it's the one that's being presented as a prince. Tell me, Rhaella, what makes your grandson different from my daughter? The fact that your Rhaegar went through this mockery of marriage with the Northern bauble? What makes their marriage more valid than mine? The fact that the Northern chit was perfectly willing to participate in this sham, unlike me? The three witnesses when I had hundreds of those?"

Rhaella's face had gone gray. "I… I don't even know what to say," she breathed. "I didn't… You know I didn't mean it. I just…"

"Do I know?" Aelinor spat. "I seem to have misplaced all the invitations you and Aerys sent me to visit your court. Yes, the gaps in my memory must be the only reason I cannot remember a time – a single time –when you asked in your letters what it was like to raise a child like Naeryn."

Rhaella looked down. "I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable," she admitted. "I never knew what to write to you. Rhaegar and Naeryn, they were born so close in time to each other that I was afraid I might cause you pain if I started asking questions… or boasting about my son's accomplishments."

"Very considerate of you." Aelinor's voice showed that she did not find it considerate at all. "Rest assured that your granddaughter won't become what my daughter is. It is a position that is reserved for unaccomplished bastards alone."

She rose. "I think we're done here," she said.

As Rhaella watched her leave, she felt a new wave of despair crushing over her. Maybe I do have a part in Rhaegar doing what he did, she thought. Maybe it was I who taught him by example that the way of dealing with uncomfortable situation is running away from them.

Maybe, just maybe, by being away from them, Rhaenys would get to know what true bravery meant.