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Lady of Dorne
At the Crossroad of No More
The throne room was slowly filling with people. The High Septon, the King's Hand. The Master of Laws and the Master of Coin. Lord Jordayne who had advised Arianne and Doran Martell on legal matters for many years. A few holders of lesser offices.
Arthur Dayne stood at the door while the Lord Commander had taken his place near the dais. The younger man's impassive face did manage to hide his tension but it was tearing him apart as he waited for the gathering to be complete and then proceed to announce Elia and Rhaegar's marriage null and void. The documents were ready. They only needed to be signed.
Yet there was something else that was bothering him, too. A small thing, for sure, but it gnawed at him nonetheless. It would not be considered breaking the word of his oath. The spirit, though… He was well aware that one of the officials present would serve a very specific purpose. Make Elia feel uncomfortable. Enrage her father. That, especially, since Arthur was only too aware of how many people considered Elia a mere instrument in Lord Alric's hands, so disrupting his peace of mind would be useful. Arthur, though, knew better. The Princess was her own woman. The last few years had only cemented her resolve. Merely placing her in an awkward situation would achieve nothing.
Alric, though… He dislikes me now, Arthur reminded himself. I should not care that he's be taken aback. A little humiliation might do him some good. Yet he remembered how Alric had come to practice with him in the courtyard, breaking the ice between Arthur and his own retinue because he had recognized that Arthur was at his lowest. He had let him know about Arel's twins, he had told him that he understood the most selfish and mistaken decision Arthur had ever made in his life. He wanted to give him the chance to return if Arthur would take it. Many people had done much more for him, yet Arthur did not feel like he owed them. Each one of them, Rhaegar included, had wanted something in return. No one had given him anything just because. Alric Gargalen hadn't and wouldn't demand anything of him – loyalty, a word in the convenient ear, something. He couldn't let him walk in and meet them unprepared.
Elia and Alric were the last ones to appear, a little while after the last officials took their seats. Someone must have kept them informed about the comings and goings, Arthur thought as Elia approached in her navy blue gown, leaning on her father's hand ever so slightly. Arthur could say that last night, she hadn't slept at all. Well, neither had Rhaegar.
As he moved aside to let them through, he looked at Alric and spoke, lowly and urgently. "Be prepared. The Steward of Customs is here…"
By the sudden whitening of Alric's face he immediately knew that the older man knew who he was talking about. Elia's breath hissed between her teeth and she gave her father a troubled look.
He shook his head to alleviate their concern. "I am fine," he said. "Thank you, Arthur."
He looked at Elia. "Are you ready?" he asked and she smiled tartly.
"I've never been more ready for something in the last five years," she assured him.
In the great hall, the assembled lords, septons, and officials rose as one and bowed deeply to their Queen, for that was what Elia still was, although she had chosen not to wear a crown. Alric led her to the dais and descended the steps to take the chair meant for him. His eyes slowly went from face to face, not settling at a single person for more than a fleeting moment. Had he not been warned in advance whom he would encounter, he might have not recognized him at all. He had seen him only once when he had been at his lowest, weary to the bones, older than his years, sick and almost feverish with a wound that would not heal… All that he had seen was a man much younger than him, one who had not just suffered the hardships of a prolonged battle campaign, a man in his prime. He hadn't needed to memorize the face, it simply hadn't mattered.
No. He would not think about it right now. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction to see him disconcerted. And damn it, he wouldn't let bloody Rhaegar Targaryen gloss over his own part in destroying his marriage to Elia by reminding everyone of how Alric and Arianne had been. Arianne might have taken this insipid, one-time pretty knight as her plaything but she had managed to do it without provoking war with the Reach where the fool was from.
On the dais, Elia folded her hands in her lap and raised her chin. The High Septon's droning filled the hall and Alric saw that many than one person fought to stay awake. He found the task increasingly harder, himself, as the man kept talking about the new concept that had just been introduced to him, that after the dragons died, the dragon kings could not possibly keep two wives, so the first queen had graciously agreed to step aside…
The arguments of law managed to wake him up. He would not entrust the Master of Law with his least favourite sand steed, let alone Elia's fate. Roose Bolton's fame had spread even to Dorne… and the Northerner who had proclaimed himself Naeryn's guard insisted that the rumours could not hold a candle to the truth. Fortunately, Lord Jordayne had long experience in dealing with practicalities, although it had never before involved the dissolving of a royal marriage. Elia and Alric listened intently as it was confirmed that the rights of Aegon as Prince of Dragonstone would be untouched and Rhaenys would become the heir of Dorne, taking her mother's name. To Rhaegar's credit, he insisted that he'd take part in supporting his daughter. The Master of Coin had his men present the official documents. His expression showed that he thought the King was being too generous. "I'd like to know what Lord Ambrose thinks on this," he ended, looking not at Elia but Alric instead.
The tension in the hall intensified and curdled.
"Lord Ambrose?" Alric repeated. "Why, I don't remember ever having heard this name."
His icy smile was so like Rhaegar's own that everyone was suddenly reminded that he, too, was of the blood of the dragon, a descendant of a long line of kings.
"But of course," he went on, with magnanimous air, "let's hear what Lord Ambrose has to say."
It turned out that the lord didn't have anything this important to say but then, it had not been the purpose he had been taken here. Elia and Alric exchanged a look, waiting for the next strike to fall and indeed, it did. In fact, it was more direct than either of them expected.
"I wonder," the High Septon said silkily, looking around at the gathering, "if I might raise the matter of Lady Rhaenys' upbringing."
"You mean Princess Rhaenys," Alric corrected sharply.
The man sighed patiently. "Of course I mean the Princess. And now, my lord…"
Had it been anyone else, Elia would have interrupted, saying that her daughter's upbringing was a matter that concerned her alone. But the words had emerged from the High Septon's mouth. She had to sit and hear him out, at least. She already knew what he would say and expected it with her stomach sinking.
"There has been considerable doubt expressed that House Martell is capable of providing the best upbringing for a royal princess," the High Septon proclaimed. "There has been a confession…"
What had Ambrose confessed? That he had been her mother's lover? A great confession, no doubt! It was only known all around Dorne and the Reach! She tried to control her expression and didn't quite manage it. If the High Septon managed to pin amorality on her and her House, she might find herself forced to accept other people – spies – into Rhaenys' household.
Alric rose to his feet, not quite bothering to hide his anger. "The case that has brought us here is dissolving the marriage between the King and Queen. You have been summoned to give your opinion on that issue alone, High Septon, not anyone's upbringing."
The High Septon looked at him steadily. "I am always summoned to voice the truth as the Seven see it."
"Truths?" Alric asked coldly. Elia immediately adopted her part, looking down at her lap, hoping that she looked suitably heartbroken by being so maligned. Her hair fell on her face, hiding the mouth that she could not quite stop from twisting in disgust. "My daughter is nothing if not truthful. She has no reason to fear the truth, like, say, some others who knew that the King could not have two queens at the same time and kept silent. So let's keep to the truths that have been proven, shall we?" His voice rose like thunder. "My daughter is not on trial!"
For a moment, he toyed with the idea of throwing his purse at Ambrose, claiming that he had just remembered who he was and that he had once been clearly so destitute that he couldn't afford a bed of his own, so he had been forced to beg to use Alric's. But practicality won out. There was too much on the stake for him to pursue petty revenges. His second chance to deal with Arianne's little trifle, and he'd have to let it go. Again. That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth and it did not go away even when Rhaegar raised his hand.
"You are right, my lord," he said. "Let's deal with the matter at hand."
He looked at Elia who nodded gratefully, although inside her head, she was screaming. He had managed to have the last word once again, making it look like he was being generous while the truth was, he had many more reasons than her to fear the truths. Elia might be inconvenienced to be held accountable for her parents' sins but Rhaegar should have been more than inconvenienced to answer for the ones he had committed in person!
Standing by the window in his bedchamber, the King stared at the magnificent sunset, thinking that this was the end of almost ten years of his life. He had wed Elia with so many hopes and for a while, it had looked like those hopes might come true. Before he encountered love. Before his drive to achieve the prophecy led him to see what he wanted to see, believe what he wanted to believe. That was why he'd lose them – his companion in those first years, the one he had felt good around. His precious Rhaenys. He had expected that he'd love Lyanna's child much more than he did Elia's, yet it had not happened. To him, Jon was no more special than Aegon – and his feelings for both of them were not even love, not compared with what he felt for Rhaenys. All those hopes, all this amazement, all those small wonders of seeing confused eyes focus, aimlessly flailing hands forming a fist, a voice that had only wailed pronouncing a word – all that was felt much more intensely with one's first child, even if the partner was not beloved. He had found himself just as unable to share Lyanna's excitement over their first child as he had been to share Elia's with their second and maybe even more, because Jon was not the Visenya he had expected.
"You think I was unjust," he said, turning back to the room and pouring two goblets of Dornish red himself.
Arthur, now in simple red cloak, looked aside. "It isn't my job to think," he said, accepting the goblet.
"But you disapproved. You think I was causing Elia another hurt with no need at all."
"Since when are you so concerned with my disapproval?" Arthur snapped and immediately regretted it.
Rhaegar, though, seemingly didn't notice his outburst. "Oh, I've been concerned with it for a very long time," he said. "But after the war, you never showed any inclination to revive our friendship."
Arthur set his goblet on the table. "Our friendship," he said darkly, "has been sealed with my desertion of my initial duty, my princess' humiliation and the blood of my people – here, in the Red Keep, as well as the battlefields. You'll forgive me if I don't think it was worth the price."
Rhaegar only sighed. The last day had aged and wearied him as much as it had Elia, leaving him to energy for confrontations. He looked at his goblet that he had yet to drink from but abstained because if he drank, he'd fall asleep right away and he still had something to do.
"I know," he said. "There's no need to tell you that I didn't plan for any of it to happen. It happened and I can't take it back. We won. I am the King now. Everyone thinks you'll succeed Ser Gerold as Lord Commander – as you probably will. And no one knows that here, you feel bad."
He paused. "In fact, I would like for you to feel good," he went on in the same even voice. "But it won't happen here, will it? Not anymore."
In the falling dusk, Arthur's eyes glinted, just a shade darker than Rhaegar's own. "Why is this concern all of a sudden, Your Grace?"
Rhaegar drew a breath. "You can go back to Dorne if that's your wish. Elia agreed to take you on… and let you guard Rhaenys. I don't trust the Dornish court. I didn't think I would find a man I trust less than Oberyn but his father proved me wrong. He isn't interested in my daughter nearly as much as he is in his own. If he decides, for whatever reason, that Rhaenys should be removed from their succession…"
He felt silent. Arthur wanted to protest but really, it would fall on deaf ears. Alric had done more than enough to merit Rhaegar's dislike… but such level of distrust? Was it shades of Aerys, or just the sharpened feeling that he had done something to make Alric hate him so?
"A Kingsguard in Sunspear," he said instead and laughed because, well, the image was amusing. "Guarding the heir of House Martell. Under Oberyn Martell and Alric Gargalen's benevolent eye, let alone Elia's." The more details he added, the more ridiculous the idea became. "Might just happen. When unicorns start flying over the streets of Sunspear."
"You won't go as a Kingsguard," Rhaegar said, with a sour smile. "The High Septon is getting used to doing things that have not been done before. If you agree to go there, you'll do it as someone freed from your vows. I trust your word… as well as Elia's. After all, she only wants the best for Rhaenys."
Dorne. Staying at Elia's side. Free to live. To start again. The heat of the desert, the salty scent of the sea, the sweet aroma of blood oranges, the scent of jasmine overcame him all of a sudden. Even before the King had finished, Arthur already knew what his answer would be.
Late after midnight, the hallways were almost unlit but Elia could walk them blindfolded. Here and there, she encountered servants who bowed hastily, avoiding her eye. They don't know how to treat me anymore, she thought absent-mindedly as she stole in her son's rooms. She had explained to him that she's leave in a few days but she could say that in his mind, the thought of being separated for years, forever maybe, was just unfathomable. He was too young. But she felt as old as the earth itself, yet the idea was unfathomable to her, as well. She stood in front of Aegon's bed and stared at him in the light of the candle she lit with precise, sure motions. She would never get tired of watching him. Adjusting the cover around him, she drew a chair near and sat down, looking at her son. Just watching. Until the candle burned out, and then the second one, and the third one, and then the dawn came, and Aegon's attendants with it.
The candles in Alric's bedchamber had long burned out but neither he nor Aelinor had bothered to light them again. They didn't need to see each other. They had been sitting in front of the fireplace for hours, until the fire died out, she with her back against the settee and he leaning against her. She had folded her hands across his chest from behind, resting her head over his shoulder. It was over. So many hopes. Such ambitions. All the things they had been envisioning for Elia. All gone. And in such ugly manner, with veiled insults and threats on both sides.
"And here I was, thinking that a fond marriage would be far preferable to a passionate one," Alric said bitterly. "Comes to show that one is never too old to be proven a fool."
Without lifting her arms, Aelinor touched his shoulder. "You aren't being serious."
"Oh yes, I am," he snapped. "What? Even I can be serious, you know."
"I didn't say you couldn't," she murmured. "You're too touchy today."
"I am." He paused. "Elia's situation was hard enough as it was. But the fact that they had brought him there…"
She sighed. "So I thought. I spotted him today. Even when I knew him at the Water Gardens, he was nothing this special – and time had done him no favours either."
Alric couldn't decide whether he was touched or annoyed. He chuckled. "Don't mind me. If it hadn't happened in a day like today, I doubt I would have noticed him at all. It was only my pride that was wounded, not my heart."
"What is the difference?" his sister asked.
He started to answer and then stopped. There was no use lying to her. "There is no difference," he said. "None."
He felt Aelinor nod behind him. "So I thought," she murmured.
Once again, Alric remembered the day he returned after almost a year of fighting off attackers from the Dornish coastine, emaciated, a stranger in a body that refused to heal, so tired that he could fall into the first bed he saw and sleep a good decade away, only to come face to face with Arianne's latest bauble, the one she had had the audacity to install openly in the Water Gardens, in Alric's bed, for all he knew. To this day, he was grateful that she had not been around, for he would have strangled her with his bare hands, arrangements, politics and every other considerations be damned. The shadows from this cursed day stirred to life: the terrified castellan of the Water Gardens. Little Oberyn who stared open-mouthed, not understanding why his father wouldn't grab him and throw him up in the air. Carral, two steps behind Alric and just as stunned as him. With them, others, too woke up, beloved ghosts, now gone from his life, torn from his heart. Some had been dead for years, others for mere months. This time, the flood of memories that he had suppressed for so long with the sheer strength of his will overcame that wall. Doran was truly dead. Arianne and Quentyn would never grow up.
"Here, here," Aelinor murmured in his hair. "It's all right, dear heart. It was about time. I was so worried about you…"
He turned his head against her neck and wept until he didn't have more tears left, until he fell asleep with exhaustion and she drew the cover from the settee to shield them both from the cold.