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Lady of Dorne

The Last Night

Black hair falling all over the pillow.

Rhaegar's hand reached out, touched the lustrous waterfall of dark curls. The promise of them had already been evident when she was born, small and stunned, almost too stunned to cry in her first few days of life. A Martell babe through and through, Rhaenys had been. He remembered the faint echo of disappointment that the newborn did not resemble his own elevated lineage in the least… and how fast it had stopped mattering, from the first time he had held her when Elia was too exhausted to wake up even when the one month old was screaming her head off in the cradle and their attendants were in the other room. I had no choice but take her, I was so scared that she'd choke and die from all that screaming before I could summon someone, he remembered, smiling. How little did I know. He had considered the fact that Rhaenys stopped crying in a minute or two in his awkward arms a huge personal success, the first experience that bonded him to her. When the pale blue in her eyes deepened into rich indigo, there was already nothing that could make him adore her more.

"Are you sleeping?" he asked softly.

She turned to him immediately. "I thought you weren't coming," she said, not looking at him.

"I would never let you leave without seeing you first."

In the light of the notched candle on the coffer at her bedside, he could see only half of her face, the other half buried against the pillow. He thought he detected a flicker of fear in her eye. It was so cruel that a child should be pulled out of their ordinary life and sent into the unknown. "Why did everything change, Father?"

How could he even begin to answer this question? He chose the simplest answer of all. "Your uncle died and your mother had to shoulder his responsibilities."

She thought about it. When she spoke again, her voice was low and uncertain. "If Mother was happier here, would she have agreed to return to Dorne?"

This damned woman, Rhaegar railed inwardly. It isn't enough that she's taking Rhaenys away from me. No, she has to fill her head with her own grudges. But his anger passed as fast as it had come. It hadn't been Elia's fault, not truly. Rhaenys was old and smart enough to feel her mother's unhappiness and know what Lyanna's presence and the rumours that were still abounding meant.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I hope your mother is happier in Dorne that she was here," he added, surprised by just how much he meant it. Elia was a woman who was not made for marital life. Even when their relationship was at its best, she had never been truly happy, not the way Lyanna had been in that faraway tower. Maybe now she'd feel calmer. And with a consort who would be lesser in rank than she was, she'd be the one to define the rules.

"And you'll be happier now as well, without us here to throw a shadow," Rhaenys finished for him. "While waiting Lady Lyanna to give you more children."

He was stricken numb. How could she say such a thing? She was the purest, most precious thing in his life. She couldn't believe that…? Once again, the ugly doubt crawled uninvited in his mind and once again, he chased it away. Elia would never do anything to hurt their daughter.

"Why are you saying this?" he asked and immediately knew what the answer was. He also knew that she would never tell him.

She shrugged a small shoulder. As smart and amazing as she was, she was quite tiny for her age. Elia was quite average in height but he had heard his mother say that Arianne Martell had been a small woman indeed and Rhaenys had clearly taken after her. "People talk… You chose Lady Lyanna, didn't you? It makes sense that we're intruding. You never chose us, right? You wed Mother and had us but you never chose either her or us."

If he knew who it was who had been filling Rhaenys' head with such malice, he would have them short of a head. His mind immediately went to Alric Gargalen but rationality won out. While he didn't trust his former goodfather one bit, it made much more sense for Rhaenys to have simply heard the rumours, long before the Dornish party's arrival. Tongues had been wagging since Harrenhall. And Rhaenys had never called Lyanna queen, indicating that she had had some idea of what was going on.

"Well," Rhaegar finally said. "I can promise you something now. No matter how many children Lyanna might give me, I'll love each of them just a tiny bit less than I love you."

She didn't say a word but the brief relief in her eyes made the unfairness of his promise absolutely worth it.

Once again, Aegon's attendants offered their curtseys without looking at her. The white knight at the door gave her a dark look that he tried to conceal but she noticed even in the interplay of torchlight and shadows. He's heard all the rumours about Dornish women, Elia thought absent-mindedly. And a repudiated queen is hardly someone inspiring much respect. Yes, morbid curiosity was only to be expected.

"This young swaggerer," Arthur murmured, falling in step beside her as soon as she turned the corner. She pressed her hand against her heart, so stunned she had been by his sudden appearance, for he had emerged from the shadows like a black ghost, a shadow in the shadows, no longer in his Kingsguard white but not in the purple with the sword and falling star either. She had seen the way people at court withdrew from him, just like they did from her. A former Kingsguard was just as awkward to be around as a former queen. "I'd love to challenge him to a single combat. Maybe I will, tomorrow morning."

Elia smiled a little, wondering whether the offense against her, or the dislike of the one who had replaced him was the prime incentive for his anger. "I'd rather have you not do it, Ser Arthur! I'd hate for the beginning of my time as Lady of Dorne to be rescuing a fellow Dornishman from a scandal."

We're both scandals ourselves, they thought at the same time. We cannot return to Dorne as we were before we left.

She gave him a curious look. "What were you doing behind the corner?" she asked.

Once, the sudden flush of his cheeks would have amused her but now her heart was too heavy for anything to lift the burden. "I… I was only…"

"You were watching Aegon's door, weren't you?" she asked, suddenly realizing the truth.

His blush deepened. "He still has much to learn," he said, defensively. "If I wanted to, I could have run him over from behind the corner before he had the time to react."

Elia stopped near the staircase and looked at him, troubled. "I'll talk to Ser Gerold," she said.

"No, Princess, it'll be better if I do it," Arthur immediately suggested, scared that the White Bull might make it clear that according to him, she had no right to meddle in the way the Kingsguard carried out their duty anymore.

Not that he might not say the same to Arthur… Since his release from his oaths had been made public knowledge, none of his former brothers had much to say to him, save Jaime Lannister. Even the boy's loyalty couldn't soothe the bitterness of the men he had been sharing his life with for so many years turning their backs on him.

Did I do the same to her, he wondered, staring at the olive face so very near him. How can I keep living if I did the same to her?

Would his brother, his real brother, treat him like the ones he chose did? Arthur had… well, he had quarreled with him and then betrayed him when he had betrayed Dorne and the woman standing next to him.

She looked aside, tears brimming in her eyes. "I am being unreasonable," she said. "He's going to learn, the boy. And Aegon is in no real danger within these walls. I suppose… I suppose I am just overconcerned now that…"

"I am sorry," Arthur whispered. "If I could give him to you, Princess, I would. But Dawn is not strong enough to win him from the Seven Kingdoms."

"Would you?" Elia asked sharply, regretting this brief moment of weakness. "I cannot imagine the King would order you to!"

He recoiled, as if he had been slapped. I deserve it, he reminded himself, yet despite the pain, for a fleeting moment there was something gleeful making his way into his soul. For the last four years, he had only seen the smoothly serene face Arianne Martell had shown to the world and it was so very encouraging to glimpse a bit of Alric Gargalen's poison.

Elia headed downstairs and he followed. In the torchlight of the lower floors of Maegor's Holdfast, they walked side by side, lost and lonely, as apart as ever before.

The rooms the Master of Ships had been lodged in were of the finer ones the Red Keep had to offer – with heavy curtains, Myrish carpets and lots of windows looking at the sea – a very fitting sight, indeed. There was enough room for all his attendants, yet the small antechamber his manservants were supposed to sleep in had been unoccupied since he first came – he didn't require his attendants being close at night and he had been quite happy to leave them in their own small chambers.

He had brought lots of books and charts with him but nothing personal – no tapestries, no portraits. His bedchamber could belong to any wealthy lord in the Seven Kingdoms, so uniform it was. Or it had been before Naeryn Sand started spending the night here more often than not. Now, it was all Myrish bedcovers and bright curtains, blood orange peels burned in the hearth to fill the chamber with the smell of home, and goblets enameled with scenes from the history of Dorne. He had no idea how she had managed to bring all of this in but it looked like every night, he was greeted with a new piece of furniture that he barely noticed, too focused on the waiting arms that wrapped around his neck so sweetly. Light and dark. Passion and politics. Sharp wit and sexual appeal. He no longer knew what Naeryn was or rather, he knew she was all that and many other things he would never get to reveal, for she would leave the next day. The thought of this aggrieved him more than he had expected, for she was more than a desirable bedmate. She was also a good company, someone who made him laugh – a combination that was not so easy to find.

"Good evening, my lady," he said as he removed his clothes. Sometimes, she helped him and he was always astounded at her fluid movements. He could only guess how much efforts she had put in this. Tonight, though, she was not so quick to turn to him and as he approached the bed, he realized why it was.

"It looks worse than it is," she assured him. The gaping wound on her jaw and cheek was still raw and oozing blood. He leaned over to inpect it.

"What happened?" he asked and she shrugged.

"I fell down," she said. "Nothing out of ordinary."

He touched the end of the wound, very gently, and saw the same rawness on the stump her slender forearm ended up with. She tried to stop herself from falling entirely but because she has no hand, there was nothing that could really take the blow, he realized. Uninvited, the question came to his mind: what had her childhood been, growing up like that? She must have been covered in wounds until she learned to walk steadily. His own children had tripped and fallen for years afterwards – had she hit her head every time? He brushed the wound with his lips, very tenderly, and then did the same with the stump.

Tears shone in her eyes as she dragged him to lie down beside her. "Anders," she suddenly asked, "how old are you?"

He looked at her, surprised. "Fourty eight. Why are you asking?"

Naeryn smiled. "Today, I am turning twenty eight," she said. "That means I am exactly twenty years younger than you."

He smiled back at her, kissing her on both cheeks and then those red lips. "I wish you had told me beforehand," he said. "Now, I don't have a present to give you."

She shrugged quite nonchalantly. "There was no need," she said. "I am not the one for presents."

"Still," Anders insisted. To his surprise, he felt stung by this small rejection, her reluctance to share this good moment with him. "Well," he said after a while. "I suppose you can tell me about the presents you got."

She lay down and tugged at him impatiently to join her. "I am not the one for presents," she said. "And I don't celebrate my nameday anyway."

He paused halfway through the motion, staring at her. "I never met anyone who doesn't like presents," he said. "Or their nameday."

Her eyes turned cold. All of a sudden, the candlelight no longer flattered her fair beauty. Instead, it lit the bristled features of a defensive cat. He realized his mistake a moment too late.

"I never asked to be born," Naeryn said coldly. "Never."

"I am sorry," he said softly, blowing the candles out and lying down next to her. "I didn't mean to offend."

The fight went out of her and she snuggled close, seeking his embrace. "I am sorry as well," she murmured. "I know you meant well. My nerves are quite raw tonight, that's all."

He stroked her back. "Are they raw each time you have a nameday?" he asked, carefully. Is this the way you grew up, he wanted to ask. He remembered his own namedays, as well as those of his children. The laughter. The cheerfulness. The delight in the presents. The thought that she might have never had those made him sad beyond reason.

She nodded against his chest. "It's always been like that," she replied to the question that he had not said aloud. "And they aren't to blame. They tried, they really did. They did everything a child could expect. But since I can remember, I could tell that it wasn't the same with Elia and Oberyn. Or the rest of them. For them, it was real, the joy. In the beginning, I thought it was different for me because they were ashamed that I could not open my presents on my own like the other children. Or even because everyone would be watching me and I couldn't feed myself entirely… it took me a while to grasp it, you see. But even when I learned how…" She paused. "At the end, I decided to spare everyone the torment. Myself, most of all. And we were all happier for that."

"All of you?" he murmured, feeling his anger rising. How could have anyone believed that she'd be happier if the world simply forgot about her nameday? A small voice in his head told him that he was the last person who had the right to judge Aelinor Gargalen's mothering of this particular child of hers but he refused to pay it any mind. Even now, he could not imagine not giving presents to his children for their namedays. He simply had to send them a lot earlier.

"All of us," she said so convincingly that he could have believed it, had it not been for the hand and stump holding onto him desperately, as if she was trying to soak his warmth in.

Not the way I wanted to spend our last night together, Anders Yronwood thought and tightened his arms around her, suddenly scared that in the morning, he could do the unthinkable – ask her to stay.