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Lady of Dorne

Tame the Storm

They approached the great castle in the aftermath of a fierce storm that had finally exhausted its wrath. The sky was so clear and vibrantly blue that it looked like the Seven had decided to show them their might… and the caprices of all their whims. As they rode forward, Elia saw many peasants hurrying to make sure that their harvest lay safely under the cover of ice. Still, there was no panic evident in their motions. The storm had not even been a particularly vicious one, it seemed. A small smile crept on her lips at the thought of just how used one was to their own way of living. She had thought the rage of the sky easily the most horrifying one she had ever witnessed. Her eyes went wide as they entered the path between the walls that were so thick that she felt like a prisoner while passing between them in a mud that reached quite high up the legs of her sand mare. She barely resisted the urge to look up to make sure that the sun still shone.

She immediately assessed the young man coming to greet her with examining eyes even as she was letting her father assist her into dismounting. Lord Stannis Baratheon came near her, she had already made her mind: an honest man he was but the hardest kind of honesty, for in his dealings with people he would accept nothing more than the absolute truth. His blue eyes studied her openly, so unlike the covert stares various lords and ladies had thrown her way as her journey progressed. She smiled politely, aware that she was the attraction in the courtyard, a repudiated queen traveling to become a ruler of her own.

"My lady," Stannis Baratheon said, bowing over the hand she extended to him. "Welcome to Storm's End."

A smile curved her lips once again. "I was very touched by your gesture of hospitality, my lord. We have started feel tired on our way."

"I hope Storm's End's hospitality will rectify this," Stannis replied. "We have lodgings and a feast prepared for you and your people."

She was barely listening to him, though, despite her best efforts. Her eyes constantly went to the slender figure that now appeared from a door. Despite the years and the wrinkles, the woman's finely chiseled facial lines and deep indigo eyes still spoke of beauty that once must have been unsurpassed. Elia had seen portraits of her in her youth but only now, as she stared at her, she realized that for all her dark complexion, Rhaenys had taken after this woman.

As soon as pleasantries were observed, she walked to the woman and opened her arms to embrace her, struggling not to cling to her as she had done with her father at their first meeting. "Grandmother," she whispered, fighting her tears off.

"My dear girl," Daella Gargalen murmured. "I knew we'd see each other again. I just knew it."

Elia drew back and looked at the beloved face. Her grandmother was almost the same as she had left her eight years ago. She never seemed to age as fast as other people did and Elia wondered why it was. Her perfume wasn't anything that Elia remembered but well, Daella was not a woman to prefer only one or two scents that she liked best. She made constant changes, yet each one of those aromas had the ability to make Elia feel safe and cocooned.

For a moment, Daella's eyes stayed on the man in grey among Elia's party. Arthur had been no less of an attraction than Elia. A former Kingsguard. They brought novelty with them, indeed!

The old woman continued her survey with Rhaenys – and stopped here. The little girl raised her chin defiantly, meeting Daella's intense look with just an intense one of her own. And then, she changed her behavior and crossed the courtyard without hesitating. "Are you going to give me a kiss?" she asked.

"Not until we're properly presented to each other," Daella said sternly, hiding a smile. The girl was so much like Oberyn, so fond of doing the unexpected.

Rhaenys considered this. "Very well, if you think so," she replied. "I am Rhaenys Nymeros Martell." Her voice shook at the still new name but she got it under control in less than a minute. "You are Daella Targaryen Gargalen. Now I know who you are and you know who I am. What about my kiss?" And she offered her cheek, huge indigo eyes staring into huge indigo eyes.

This time, Daella laughed for real, delighted by the swiftness with which the girl had connected the dots as she leaned over to touch the soft skin with her lips. No matter what she looked like, she could feel her age in the creaking of her bones , the dryness of her lips.

Once she got what she wanted, Rhaenys stood next to her mother and didn't say a word more as they were escorted inside.

"I've been planning to ask him to meet me anyway," Elia said. "You beat me to it. For how long have you been here?"

"Two days," Prince Aemon said, smiling. "We couldn't wait to see you, so we came to meet you."

Elia gave him a skeptical look from her place in front of the hearth. During the last years, Aemon Targaryen had seldom left Dorne. The fires of Summerhal had done him damages that took their toll slowly, insidiously, year by year, especially when he had started aging. Without counting the obvious ones, of course. It was a miracle indeed that his face had been spared, marred only by a single rugged white scar on his cheekbone. "And how did you manage to convince this one to offer you hospitality?" she asked. "He doesn't have the reputation of being overly sensitive to random passangers' plight."

Her cousins Alaenys and Vaela giggled from the bed they had seated themselves on – Elia's bed, if she was not mistaken. "It was Grandmother's doing, of course," Vaela said easily, tucking a wisp of hair back behind her ear. "He could not refuse shelter to such an old and frail lady."

Daella's lips twitched. "Being old does have its perks," she admitted and her eyes sparkled. "Not that young people ever think so. Once, Egg said that he'd like for someone to finish him off once he had celebrated his thirtieth nameday, for he did not want to live once he grew old."

Everyone had a good laugh at the late King's expense. The mood in the vast bedchamber was festive, everyone was happy to be reunited with everyone else, and Elia did her best to hide the bitter streak that was the only dark stain upon her joy: the girls had volunteered for the task to amuse Rhaenys and she responded eagerly, quite pleased to be the centre of so much attention. They would have adored Aegon, Elia knew. Her son had a mischievous streak that would correspond nicely to the one quite evident in her cousins. Alaenys and Vaela were both much younger than her and she had enjoyed playing with them the same way she played with her dolls. It was sheer luck that the girls had survived her, Alynna's, and Lanore's attentions almost unscathed. And Ashara's, of course – that one's most of all! With all her experiments with dyes and face paints, it was a miracle that the girls' skin was still smooth and unblemished and their hair thick and silvery-gold.

Alric gave his mother a skeptical look. "How long did it take him to realize the depth of his mistake?" he inquired politely. "An hour? Or was it two?"

She shook her head. "Just because you cannot bring yourself to be considerate to sweet old ladies, Alric, doesn't mean no one else can."

"Sweet!" Aemon murmured under his breath. For all her nicety, his aunt and goodmother was the only living soul that could scare him out of his wits, for she somehow managed to use her charm and peaceable nature to bring most people just where she wanted them to be. She was all talk about peaceful solutions and being considerate but somehow, she usually ended up the one whose solutions were accepted.

"I do think she's sweet," Rhaenys chimed in, clearly getting over her initial stunned silence caused by the cheerful noise in the chamber, and moved to sit beside Naeryn who had unceremoniously pushed her half-sisters a little aside, so she could sprawl comfortably on Elia's bed – and keep dreaming for Lord Yronwood, Elia supposed, still unable to bring herself to believe it. Naeryn never dreamed of men. And she did not fell in love. She simply did not.

Daella laughed. "I am honoured you think so," she said

"Soon, you won't," Alaenys predicted.

Elia looked at both her grandmother and uncle. "So, how do you find him?" she asked.

"Stannis Baratheon? Just as expected," Aemon said. "Not as I hoped," he added under his breath, quite miserably. He had always gotten along with his nephew Steffon and his sister Rhaelle had always claimed how good it was for her son to have a friend his own mental age. The younger one was quite charming, though. Aemon had met Cassana Baratheon and it was a mystery to him how two people as captivating as his nephew and his wife could be parents to someone as utterly lacking in charm as Stannis. Not that the boy was stupid or bad-looking. Aemon was left with a similar faint feeling of something wasted each time he met a woman who was incredibly beautiful, yet lacking any sexual appeal.

"He was what I expected," Daella said. "A younger copy of my father." She smiled. "It won't be that hard to find a common language with him, you can trust me about this. We'll just have to appeal to his sense of right and wrong – of that, he has plenty. We merely have to put up with the way he goes about it."

"Nothing this big at all," Alaenys muttered with a marked lack of enthusiasm. It's so easy for Grandmother to say it, she thought. She'll put up with him for a few days and then she'll leave. I'm the one supposed to put up with him for the rest of my life.

Her mother and father both gave her a sharp look that she pretended not to see.

"Would you stop behaving like a child?" Daella snapped. "Just so you know, there are far worse thing in a husband than a grim temper!"

Aelinor looked down. Alaenys and Vaela looked at each other, quite surprised, before remembering the rumours they had heard about the treatment their grandmother had suffered from the hands of her first husband, coincidentally also a Baratheon lord and master of Storm's End.

That holds true for me, too, Elia thought. Rhaegar might have been far worse than he was. The thought of leading a life in any way similar to Rhaella's in Aerys' last years made her shiver. Still, she was so happy that she no longer had to tolerate his presence. Lyanna Stark can have her trophy and keep it, too. This thought brought a smile to her mouth because she knew Lyanna no longer wanted any part of the trophy. You wanted him badly enough to not give me even a fleeting thought when you followed him like an obedient puppy as I lay helpless and fought death after doing my duty to him. You will keep him now, want him or not.

Once again, her thoughts went to the little boy she had left behind. No, she did not resent Lyanna Stark for her appalling selfishness of not giving her a fleeting thought in the horrific time after Aegon's birth when she couldn't leave her bed even to go to the privy. But the fact that the girl had placed Aegon's succession and his very life in danger was something she would never forgive, no more than she would forgive her fickle husband. Former husband, she corrected, feeling like she'd been unchained.

She had to win Stannis Baratheon over and come hell or high water, she would win him over.

The rumours in the great hall started as soon as Elia entered, freshly bathed and immaculately clean. She had even had the time for an elaborate hairstyle. The necklace of pearls and sapphires was more magnificent than anything she had ever worn at King's Landing, anything that could be seen in the velvet boxes where the Queens of the Seven Kingdoms kept their jewels. Alaenys and Vaela wore similarly stunning gems that got the entire hall whispering, overcoming the music. Daella Gargalen smiled, reminded of the reactions she had gotten whenever she had been the one to display the jewels that only a king could buy his queen – or his daughter, in her case. She had chosen to refrain from such accessories for tonight. Let the young ones shine. Still, as she gave Lord Baratheon a covert look, she was suddenly reminded of all those times her father had presented her with those gems, trying in vain to compensate for having made her to endure something no woman should be forced to go through.

Elia did give the watchers their spectacle: smiling and charming, talking animatedly to Lord Stannis who had seated her at his right, acting as if his dour countenance and short replies to her polite questions were the most courteous manners ever. Finally, even he couldn't quite resist her attempts at ignoring his attitude and besides, he could hardly keep scowling at the nice old lady seated at his left. The generous amounts of wine also helped, no doubt, so after a while, Stannis was quite eloquent while explaining why the mere whiff of wind they had encountered on their way here was nothing to worry about.

"Yes," Aemon said doubtfully from his place at Elia's other side. "That was what Steffon once tried to explain to me. I might have even believed him if he hadn't later tried to blame the mud inside my boots to the horrible tempest I had arrived in."

"It might have been the tempest," Aelinor objected. "You never know."

"It might," he agreed. "Or it might have been… Aelinor." And he gave her a look of curiosity that she had never indulged before. A woman was entitled to her secrets.

She shook her head and laughed. "It was Steffon," she said. "He drew the short stick. But the idea was mine. Except for the gum added to the mud. That was Rhaella's stroke of genius." Her smile grew wider. "Regretting your choice of wife already, my lord husband?"

He sighed. "Out of the four of you, you were the only one who truly hated me," he said. "I've always known it."

Stannis' eyes had gone slightly wide, showing that he had listened to their conversation over Elia's silence. "The four of you?" he asked. "I didn't know that my father and you were this close."

Aelinor's smile grew a little sad. "Your father and I were born only two years apart and Rhaella and Aerys arrived shortly after. We were a great company, both here and at King's Landing."

Knowing that his relationship with his late brother had not been great, she decided against adding that she had quite enjoyed lording it over the three younger ones. They had grumbled, occasionally, but they had never truly minded, not like Stannis had probably had.

We'll never see eye to eye, Elia realized. We'll have to avoid the subject of Aerys in our conversations. Her feelings for the Mad King were still those of fear and helpless hatred but Aelinor had never seen this man – only the boy she had grown up with. Oh, she would not doubt Elia's words and she would not try to find excuses for Aerys but there would always be this part of her that wouldn't let go of the memory of her childhood companion. Elia was suddenly grateful that her own father had not grown up at court, that he had been just a visitor there, unable to build the bonds the rest of his siblings had with King Aegon's family.

"What would you have of me, my lady?"

The Lord of Storm's End's eyes were clear, his face set up. Couldn't he have gotten drunk last night like many a man would, Elia thought, but no, not Stannis Baratheon. Many of the Stormlords were still sleeping the last night hangover off but the fact that they had all left the hall quite late into the small hours did not show on his face. She was impressed that the members of his household – his castellan, his captain of guards, his maester, and a few others, among them the famous former pirate with shortened fingers – were not hungover either. He had managed to impose his code on his environment and that was something to be admired. The study itself was a testament to the man's style – simple and functionate. Elia wished there was more light to it, for she always craved light but she could see that there was no way for the sun to reach it – it was dwarfed in the huge shadow of the seaward wall.

His bluntness was disturbing, though. She was used of words wrapped within words, layers of hints around a truth that was to be finally only hinted at and not spoken directly. Even Rhaegar, for all his inability to lie – a very serious flaw in a ruler – was not one to speak plainly. Indeed, whenever his prophecies were concerned, she sometimes had had the feeling that she needed an interpreter! She was most certainly not prepared for someone like Stannis Baratheon.

But she had never been the one to run away from a challenge, so she lifted her chin and replied equally candidly, "Your allegiance."

A wave of astonished whisper went through the right side of the study where Stannis' people had gathered. Elia, her father and grandmother, Aemon and Aelinor, as well as Lord Jordayne, were seated in the left. She had noticed the forlorn look in Arthur's eye when she hadn't included him and she hadn't felt an ounce of pity. If you wanted to be included and privy to your ruler's plans and politics, you truly should have stayed with Rhaegar, she had thought fleetingly. You thought you could just dance back into our lives and have things be the same? You have my father's acceptance, kind of, but not mine. Never mine.

Lord Baratheon raised his dark eyebrows, waiting for her to explain.

"I am not asking it of you as sovereign which I never was. Neither am I doing it as your Queen, which I no longer am," Elia elaborated. "And I am not asking it for myself. I am asking your heartfelt allegiance for my son who is going to be your king unless other people intervene with evil intentions."

"Do you think she'll do it?" Stannis asked. "I thought all she was after was your husband, not your throne. At least that was the story she tried to sell us after the truth emerged."

He spoke bluntly, without any care for the wound he was supposedly carving into her heart. But Elia had had enough of polite dancing around this very same subject.

Her grandmother looked at her, as if she knew what she was thinking. My lord father could only find common language with those who were brave and sincere, Daella had once said as she related stories of her own childhood and youth to her grandchildren; reluctantly, Elia abandoned the idea of saying that she was absolutely convinced that the she-wolf's ambition knew no boundaries.

"I don't know," she said instead, leaning back more comfortably. "I don't think so. I think she really has too much honour to do this," she went on, acutely aware of the irony that she was speaking of the honour of the one who had not thought twice before performing the most dishonourable act the realm had seen in the last decades or so. "But Alicent Hightower was known as a sweet girl who read to the ailing King Jaehaerys and we know how that turned on. Maybe she's just been playing me all along."

He nodded slowly, his expression that of a man who knew the others wore masks but he was fixed in a permanent honesty himself. Elia focused on the small golden tassel at the edge of the tablecloth, wondering whether the material was a remnant from his father's time, or his brother's. This Lord Baratheon didn't look like someone who'd even think of bringing luxury into his life. She had heard enough about Robar and Steffon Baratheon to know that they had been different.

"Go on," he finally said.

"I am not willing to risk and find out whether my trust in her has been misplaced," Elia said. "And I think you also know just how vulnerable a boy could be to those who wished to rule through him… even if they aren't closely related. I'd like to win your friendship for my son… and myself."

This declaration was so bold that the men in the right side of the room stared at her, mouths agape. Very satisfying. Friendship between Storm's End and Dorne? What was next, suggesting that she'd deal with the Stranger and returning Stannis' dead to him? Yet it was well known that Lord Robar Baratheon had respected few men as he had Alor Gargalen, a Dornishman and Hand of the King. There had been time when the relations between Storm's End and Sunspear had been entirely cordial as well. And Elia Martell had been just as much of victim in the entire base affair that the King had tried to pass for love as Robert and each of the fallen rebels had been. Lyanna Stark, on the other hand…

Stannis Baratheon felt a smile stealing to his lips and didn't try to stop it. After the horror that had been the siege of Storm's End he knew he'd never start a war unless he was absolutely forced to. And if he was going to coexist peacefully with his Dornish neighbours, a cordial relationship would be more than welcome. Besides, the thought of disrupting the King's peace of mind without actually going against his honour as his vassal quite appealed to him. Stannis was well aware that the reason he had suffered lesser repercussions than the rest of the highest ranking ones among the rebels and he hadn't lost Renly the way Ned Stark had lost his firstborn by giving him to be brought at King's Landing was that Rhaegar's opinion of his ability to stir up new trouble for his reign was insultingly low. It was true that half of the Stormslords had supported Aerys against Robert, something that still ate at Stannis, for he didn't want or need such traitors but he was powerless to get rid of them – but it had been Robert's own fault and not Stannis' at all. Robert's disinterest in the wellbeing of his lands had steered many of those who otherwise would have followed their liege lord straight into Aerys' hands. But Stannis was the one who was considered not a worthy enough foe. Yes, he'd enjoy giving Rhaegar Targaryen some trouble of mind wondering what his former wife and his former foe were up to. And if the wolf girl had plans of her own, if Lyanna Stark had managed to outwit Elia Martell, well, then Stannis Baratheon wouldn't just sit down and watch how the bastard born in the unholy union she and the King pretended was marriage, sealing it with Robert's blood, tried to usurp the place of the lawful heir.

"I will not do anything against my king," he warned. Dornishmen were known for their treachery, after all.

"I am not asking you to," Elia replied immediately. "I will not do anything against my king either. I am simply trying to look for my son and the law."

And in this instance, they were one and the same.

He rose from his heavy oak chair and went to hers, briefly wondering whether she felt uncomfortable in the bare wood with no cushions.

"As long as my honour doesn't demand something else," he said, "I'll keep to our arrangement."

The Dornishwoman nodded and reached for his hand, like a lord would. He was surprised how strong the handshake of her delicate fingers was. His own rough palm pressed a ring deeply against her flesh but she didn't even change her breathing; when they parted hands, she didn't reach to twirl the ring and relieve the pain.

"I'd like to seal the agreement with more than mere words," she said, just when he thought they were done.

He scowled. His word had the weight of a written treaty; it was offending that she would even…

Maester Cressen shook his head slightly, as if warning him not to jump to conclusions yet; fuming, Stannis waited to see what she had to say.

"I'd like to have you not only as a friend and ally but a kinsman," Elia Martell elaborated.

His eyes hardened. She was not going to suggest that he married a bastard sister of hers even if she had one such who was unwed, right? She wouldn't dare.

Elia smiled once again without the slightest unease. "You've already met my cousin, Princess Alaenys, haven't you?"

It was a rarity that either girl was addressed as Princess, although they were such. Usually, they went by Lady Alaenys and Lady Vaela, just like their mother didn't use the style her marriage to Aemon Targaryen entitled her to.

Stannis was quite annoyed to realize that instead of thinking strategically, of alliances and advantages, his thoughts went straight to smooth creamy skin and huge lilac eyes. A bride should be considered first as a match, as an asset. Why should it matter whether she was beautiful or not?

He looked at the girl's parents. "I thought she was already spoken for," he said. "Your younger daughter is already betrothed to Lord Yronwood's heir, I believe? I presumed that…"

Aemon left his goblet on the table. "Let's say that our choice of name brought Alaenys some advantages we did not expect," he said. "Aerys and Rhaella felt that a girl named so should receive special treatment. In the moment, Alaenys is a far more desirable bride that we ever let on. Not meant for an Yronwood."

Meant for me, Stannis thought. That's why they betrothed the younger girl before the elder one. He had heard the tales of how charming and generous Aerys had been early on. A girl born to people he remembered fondly and named for his late mother could very well be a better match than any Lord Paramount's daughter. All the things he could do with a dowry like this one danced in his mind: repair the fortifications sooner than he had planned, add some new buildings, buy more produce to stock so his people would not starve even after the most torrential rains, accept new knights into his service, build some new ships… That was without even taking into account that the girl's blood was purer than Rhaegar's own, untouched by the Blackfyre corruption. That was a match that would bring him not only Dorne's friendship, for it was well known that Doran Martell had cared for his kin deeply and there was no reason to think that Elia Martell would do less, so they would hardly make intrigues against him. It would elevate his prestige that was quite shaken after the shameful defection of all those bannermen to Aerys.

"That's all very good," Maester Cressen said in his soft pleasant voice. "But an impeccable lineage and a rich dowry won't count for a thing if the lady cannot fulfill her main duty. I saw her in the hall and if I can be so bold…"

He gave his lord an expectant look and Stannis nodded at him to continue.

"She's quite slender," the Maester said. "I suppose she's quite narrow-hipped and that might make childbirth hard or even impossible for her."

"What nonsense," Daella cut in. "What, maybe I haven't been slender all my life? Maybe I didn't give birth to such healthy and handsome children?" She pointed at Alric and Aelinor with her chin. "Maybe Aelinor didn't give birth to the beauty we're discussing right now? You were the one who helped Maester Callar deliver Alaenys and her twin brother from the same narrow hips you're now proclaiming barren. Or have you forgotten already?"

Maester Cressen blushed and didn't say a word, and the matter was decided.