Lady of Dorne

New Things and Old Hurts

It was barely her second day at Dorne, and Rhaenys was already overwhelmed. It was too much, everything was too much. The sun was too hot, the meals too spicy, the speech too slow. The bed too soft. Everything was so different, so new. She had hoped that at least she'd get to spend the morning with her mother but she was told that Elia had been immersed in other duties since before dawn. Her grandfather had left the palace for the day and while Naeryn and her sisters were welcomed her and she was as happy in their company as ever, the time came when they had to part ways and she was left once again in the newness of everything.

Plans had been set in motion about her household but in the aftermath of the plague and bandit infestation, the arrival of her new attendants was still being delayed. And there were few girls for her to play with… well, in fact there weren't any. Right now, this wasn't such a bad thing. Rhaenys really didn't want to see anyone and make an effort to be polite. Instead, she went out in the gardens, made a point that even most of the flowers were unknown to her, and threw herself on the ground, shaking with sobs, not even trying to hold her voice in. Everything had changed. Why had it changed?

She was not sure how much time had passed, with just her and the insects buzzing around when she felt a little nudge. She looked up.

The boy from the great hall last night, the one her grandfather looked so fond of. He loomed over her, looking at her curiously. Rhaenys wondered just how taller than her he'd turn out to be. He couldn't be that much older, though. He was as olive-skin as her and just as black-haired but his eyes were dark – and curious. The faint breeze stirred his hair a little.

She stared at him without saying anything; with a disturbing lack of manners, he crouched to look her into the eye. "You're Lady Rhaenys," he said. "Princess Rhaenys, I mean."

She nodded. Something in his voice told her that he valued the title Lady more than he did Princess. She had noticed it with other people, too, when addressing her mother. My lady, they said with such respect as if it was my Queen that they meant… and more. When aimed at other ladies, the address sounded like nothing special.

"And you?" she asked, still wary of him. She didn't like the fact that Alric showed fondness to him. Alric was her grandfather. Slightly annoyed, she realized that her eyes were swollen and her cheeks wet. He, on the other hand, looked like someone with not a care in the world.

"I live here," he said. "I was supposed to become squire to… but it doesn't matter now, does it?" For a moment, he looked sad. Rhaenys wondered whether his future foster father had perished in the plague. "They'll arrange something for me, I am sure," he added, looking certain that they would. Who they were was yet to be seen… "My name is Laval Gargalen."

She blinked. "You're related to my grandfather?" she asked.

"Our grandfather," he corrected and while Rhaenys was trying to reconcile that with the fact that her uncle Doran's son was dead and Oberyn only had daughters, Laval provided the explanation. "He had my mother with a woman other than his lady wife. Later, she married her trueborn cousin."

Her first reaction was hurt. She wanted to be special for Alric, not share him with a horde of cousins. Sure, she knew he had other grandchildren that he loved dearly but she had hoped to be his favourite. Remembering the obvious affection Alric had shown his grandson, though, it was clear that it wouldn't be the case.

But this new cousin appealed to her. Childhood had a way to do things to people – for a moment, Rhaenys forgot the rift with her old life that she had been sure would kill her, forgot her hopelessness. She simply basked in Laval's tawny skin, a little darker than her own – the sun would fix that, she was sure – and broad smile.

"What do you do all day?" she asked. "I suppose you have your lessons?"

He scrunched his face. "Unfortunately, I do. Maester Caleotte is a tyrant and Uncle Doran should really appoint him lord commander of all…"

Rhaenys was looking at him and saw the moment the playful glow in his eyes flickered and died at the realization that his uncle would never appoint anyone anything.

"Maybe my lady mother can appoint him lord commander of…?" she said and he gave her a weak smile.

"Yes, maybe," he agreed.

Then, he rose to his full height and extended his hand. Rhaenys could only blink at the casual way he did it. No deference. No winded words about whether she'd allow him… Why not, she thought, looking around at the small stream she saw for the very first time, the palace she had only heard about, the flowers that she still didn't know the names of, the small puffs of white on a sky bluer than any blue that she had seen in her life. Nothing in Dorne is as it should be, so why not this either? She took his hand and let him get her to her feet. To her surprise, he seemed to know the exact amount of power his tug needed, so they didn't end up chest to chest.

"Do you do this often?" she asked. "Helping girls rise like this, I mean."

He chuckled and led her to the nearest tree, so they could stand under its shadows. "Do you know how many cousins we have?"

She considered this. "I know mainly about Uncle Oberyn's daughters," she said.

"They are quite… remarkable," he said tactfully. She gave him her best haughty look but it was lost on him. His long acquaintance with the Prince of Dorne and his family had clearly made him invulnerable to such expressions. "And there is quite a big gape in age between us and them. Ellaria's girls, on the other hand, are too young. But they will like you, all of them. Arianne would have, too," he added after a while, in whisper.

Rhaenys didn't know what to say.

"Are you still sad?" he asked after a while. "That's right, you still don't know what a wonderful place you've found yourself in."

He stepped out of the shadow. "Do you want me to show you around the palace?" he asked.

"Yes."

The answer burst out spontaneously. Rhaenys fell in step behind him and when it became clear what he intended to show her first – the hidden corners – kicked her slippers off since they only hampered her in the grass of the park Laval was leading her through, the one that was so heavily shaded by old trees that sunrays never penetrated the canopy overhead and the grass was constantly wet and muddy.

While Rhaenys was making her first entrance into the world she would come to rule one day, Elia was getting acquainted with it as well – getting acquainted with its darker side, more precisely. In front of her, a mountain of letter apprised her of just how many robberies, abductions, kidnappings, and murders had taken place in the few months between Doran's death and her arrival. "More than Mother ever had to deal in a two year time," she concluded and looked at her father.

"I'm afraid so," Alric confirmed, keeping his own anger in check. Twenty years ago, he would have been just as fuming as his daughter.

The seneschal shook his head. "This is beyond all belief," he said. "I couldn't believe it even as I read it."

And why didn't you do something to stop it, Elia wanted to snap but she knew the answer: he had done something, as well as Oberyn. In the nerve-wrecking tension, they simply hadn't had enough men to cover the entire area of Dorne. Nothing spread as far as lawlessness.

The more she read and listened, the less she could fathom what she saw and heard. It turned out that no less of twenty three women had been abducted and forced into a marriage because of their wealth… that the Old Palace knew of. Two bands of brigands had been formed on the main road… or maybe three. Thirty seven small estates in the area around Sunspear had been attacked and burned to the ground after they had been pillaged.

Elia's anger grew into true rage with such remarkable speed that Alric and Oberyn looked at each other, uncomfortably and painfully reminded of Arianne's fire and sparks. Sometimes, she had looked as if she truly had brought the sun that was the sigil of her House down to the earth, just so she could use it to burn those who displeased her.

"These people will stop their villainy right now," she spat. "Right now!"

"Have no worry, Elia, they'll get what they deserved," her father said. "What were they thinking, that it'd just go on like this indefinitely? Once again, Dorne has a ruler and by the gods, it won't be them."

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I said right now and I meant right now. I won't wait until I am invested and received the oath. The punitive expedition will take place as soon as we can gather the men."

Once again, Alric looked at Oberyn. Who looked at Ciar. Who looked at Alric. And then, all of a sudden, a wide grin spread across the Red Viper's face. "Have no worry, sister," he said. "I shall love to head such an expedition. I think I can gather the men in no time at all… and leave as soon as I have sworn my oath at the ceremony."

Elia immediately realized that besides wanting to punish the brigands, he wanted to find a reason not to attend a celebration that no doubt would have reminded him painfully of the day the lords and ladies of Dorne had paid homage to Doran. She could not begrudge him that.

"And what about this new way of finding a bride?" she went on. "Twenty three women and girls forced to enter such a monstrosity of marriage! A woman of Larra Blackmont's rank narrowly avoided it! Who do they think they are, those men? What did they supposed that I would do – smile and congratulate them on their bravery?"

"They were simply using the chance they felt had fallen straight into their laps," Alric replied. "No matter how despicable it was," he finished and there was undisguised disgust in his voice. For all the scandals he had caused, Alric had never had a bedmate who hadn't been entirely willing. In his opinion, it would be just as demeaning to him as it would be painful to the woman.

"A good chance, it was," Elia huffed. "Doran knew better."

Indeed, Doran Martell had ruffled many feathers when he had proclaimed rape a crime worthy of a death sentence. A few instances of such a punishment being actually carried out had reduced the frequency of the deed. But abducting a bride was something entirely different. Even under duress, if she said the words and the marriage was consummated, it was real. And violence in marriage was no violence at all, as their grandmother Daella had said bitterly once. No woman could be protected against it, from the lowest fish seller to the King's own daughter or niece.

"I am thinking of making an attempted rape a crime," she said thoughtfully.

"A very bad idea," Oberyn and Ciar said simultaneously, intensifying the headache that had been plaguing her from last night. "An attempted rape is harder to prove," her brother went on. "Doran was met with lots of criticism when he did so with actual rape."

Elia could well imagine what this criticism had been! Her anger only grew at the stark realization that her idea was really one that could never be implemented in the world they lived in. But that also strengthened her resolve to do whatever she could with one who had been proven to have attempted an abduction, rape, and forced marriage.

"Send a summon to Gerold Dayne," she said curtly. "I want to see him here immediately. As well as Symon Santagar, as soon as he arrives."

The men looked at each other again. That was Elia in full battle mode. It was a good thing that the master of High Hermitage deserved it – and the fact that he was too low-ranked to be able to launch a great defense and counter strike, as House Vaith had done a few years ago made it even better.

Elia went to the bug windows and opened them one by one. Sunrays burst in the moderate-sized chamber, exposing everything to the light. Heat came off immediately as well, but Elia didn't mind so much – she wanted to have her doings exposed to the sun, not drowned in half-whispers and concealed in shadows.

Gerold Dayne entered, just as handsome as she remembered and even more cocky. He had grown into a handsome young man but all Elia could feel was revulsion. If she gazed at him with narrowed eyelids, she could imagine that she was staring at the young Arthur… who, a few short years later, would help Rhaegar do exactly what Gerold had tried to do, with the only difference being that at least she had been the only one Arthur hurt. Lyanna Stark had been more than willing. Arthur hadn't actually tried to physically kidnap a reluctant woman. He had just betrayed Elia's trust and everything that had once existed between them… but he hadn't bodily grasped…

Would he have done it? If Lyanna had put up a fight, if Rhaegar had told him to? Elia felt sick at the realization that she didn't know the answer.

Gerold Dayne bowed deeply but there was nothing humble about his expression or voice. "My lady," he said smoothly. "I am happy to see you home."

Elia immediately bristled. She might have spent the last six years neglected by her husband but she could still tell a flirt when she saw one. So, this boy thought he could charm her? Ensnare her into taking him to husband, maybe?

"I am happy to be home, Ser Gerold," she said. She did not sit down, thus keeping him standing as well. The three men had retired unobtrusively to the background. "And I intend to start fulfilling my duties immediately. In fact, I have already started, by summoning you."

He raised an eyebrow, showing surprise. "You mean you have summoned me on business?"

"That's right," Elia confirmed. What else could you think I summoned you for?

"How can I serve you?"

"By compensating the treasury of Sunspear for the offense you've committed by attacking one of House Martell's bannermen with no provocation," Elia said curtly.

He stared at her, so utterly amazed that she thought to stick a finger into his chest, just to check whether he'd fall down.

"What?"

"You have eight days' time," Elia specified.

"You cannot… Has someone issued a complaint against me? Without a formal complaint it's against law…"

He was white now. Elia would like to think that it was out of fear but she suspected that in fact, it was more like rage. In the farthest part of the room, Oberyn make a movement to come to her but their father placed a hand over his arm and shook his head.

"You've broken House Martell's peace," Elia explained in a voice that suddenly rang as hard as Valyrian steel. "This is as much of a crime against me as it is against the bannerman involved. Lady Blackmont, of course, will make her decision on whether to pursue justice for the harm you've tried to inflict upon her. I am certain, though, that the two of you could reach a private agreement…"

"The three of us, rather," he snarled. The thought that the disfigured Sand had effortlessly gained what he had been striving for still burned him like a wildfire. "That bastard brother of yours…"

"Yes?" Elia asked. "You want to fight him? That's a combat I'd like to see."

Indeed, it wasn't. She knew that Elvar was one of the finest swords in Dorne but the same was true for Gerold Dayne – and he was considerably younger than her brother. But she relied on Dayne's natural reluctance to gain more enemies. His House had been on bad terms with Starfall ever since they had tried to take over the government of the castle and estates using the old lord's ailment and his heir's minority. Ashara, now Lady Wyl, had no reasons to wish them good; with Lord Yronwood at King's Landing, his heir ruled in his stead and he'd soon be married to Vaela. Gerold Dayne would be wise not to antagonize almost everyone in the Red Mountains as well as House Martell. If he challenged Lady Blackmont's new husband… if Elvar challenged him… if Larra Blackmont appealed for justice right after paying homage, through the very ceremony… matters could get even more complicated.

"Winning one's bride in fight have always been a way to find one," he said.

"Not here," Elia said coldly. "Not any more."

"I can see why you'd wish so, my lady."

To her dismay, Elia felt herself going pale. That was the first time a Dornishman reminded her of the humiliation Rhaegar had put her through; all of a sudden, she realized how stupid she had been in believing that she had left her past behind. No matter where she went, no matter how many domains she ruled, she'd forever stay the silver prince's unwanted bride, the one he had replaced with a younger and more beautiful one, a bride he had been willing to fight for. Home was not a sanctuary that could protect her; if anything, her enemies here would be better in drawing blood, for they knew her weaknesses.

There was no escape. Once again, she felt like this woman, the woman she had fought so hard to push down and become the invincible, self-confident queen.

Even when he agreed, fuming, to pay the fine required and make amendments to Lady Blackmont, should she seek them, even when he bowed, shaking with rage, even when he glared at her with hatred that only being beaten could bring out, she could not help but think that he had won.

"Where are you going?"

Elia stared at Arthur, stunned, still in the middle of the stairs she had been descending. In almost ten years, he had never dared to ask such a question. To demand… an answer.

He seemed to have taken her shocked silence as admission of a terrible sin because his face fell. In a soft voice, he said, "Please. Can we talk?"

Elia hated herself for being unable to say no. That was the defect she resented most in herself – her affection for him, despite everything. She had had no problem turning her back to Rhaegar after the war – she didn't care whether he was happy or desperate. Arthur, though, who had been a willing participant in this same scheme… What a weak creature she was!

"Come with me," she said. To her comfort, her voice sounded just as harsh as she wanted it to and maybe even more.

The candles in her solar were still burning. Ellaria Sand whom she still didn't know had made some changes here as well and Elia made herself comfortable on the new settee with fluffed pillows. Arthur stayed on his feet, looking decidedly uncomfortable but determined. Determined to do what, Elia wondered. She had no idea what was going on.

"Speak," she ordered. "Explain. What has gotten into you?"

"Where are you going?" he asked. "What are you planning to do, Princess?"

Elia had no idea how he knew. She couldn't see just how much like her mother she looked like, in her daring Dornish gown, with a peculiar smile on her lips. Arthur had seen the late Lady of Dorne in the evenings when she had gone to the great hall with a very distinct intention while her husband was away. Elia did not resemble her mother much, physically, but the manners and expression could not be mistaken. Not by Arthur's jealous eyes. He had put up with four years of looking at her with Prince Rhaegar when he hadn't been entitled to say a thing. Not that he was entitled now but at least he wasn't bound by his Kingsguard oath anymore. And they were in Dorne.

"Leaving your silver prince in the past," Elia said coldly. "I don't think I need to explain just how I am going to achieve it."

Arthur went a little paler and clung to the least important part of her words. "He isn't my silver prince."

"Isn't he?" Elia wondered, raising a dark eyebrow which made him blush.

He could already envision how this would go and he wouldn't allow it. That might be his only chance. "You don't need to go there to do this. You can come back here – with me."

Elia's lips tightened. Despite her vows to control herself, dark flush crept down her cheeks and neck. "Did you not understand my meaning?" Had his years in the Kingsguard made him so imperceptive of other people's meaning in such matters? The Arthur she had loved, the Arthur who had loved her and Naeryn before her would have gotten it immediately.

"I understood it perfectly."

The silence hung heavily. The candles gave a nice aroma of beeswax. They stared at each other, both pale and gaunt, and distrustful.

Arthur made an effort to smile. "I am the kind of man that appeals to you, aren't I? At least, I used to be."

To her own surprise, Elia let out a bitter laugh. "Not quite, Ser Arthur! The kind of man that appeals to me is the kind that doesn't betray me."

"I didn't know it was a betrayal!"

This time, her amazement was such that her jaw actually dropped, quite unflatteringly. With some effort, she managed to take it back. In the moment she needed to regain her gift of speech, he put in. "I didn't know he intended to wed her. I thought he was only going to make her his mistress. Not once did he tell me that he was going to take her to wife. When I found out, it was already too late."

He was going to keep talking, to say the entire wretched truth of the situation – that he had hoped for a rift that would chase Rhaegar from her bedchamber forever, that he had dreamed that with Lyanna Stark openly installed as Rhaegar's mistress he could become Elia's paramour. But something stopped him. She wouldn't believe him. Why should she? He wouldn't believe it that such a stupid man had ever walked under the sun if someone told him either. What did I expect, for the Warrior's sake? That she would overlook my part in that? That Rhaegar would give us his blessing? That Aerys would never get to know? What did I think was going to happen?

He hadn't been thinking at all. He had only seen his chance to drive Rhaegar away from Elia, save himself from a life that had looked so glorious when he had been nineteen and hadn't bothered to think that at thirty-nine, glamour might have worn off. Living so close to them – close in every meaning of the word – had stretched his patience quite thin where Elia was concerned. Had he seen her only from time to time, it would have been tolerable. Easier. But in their situation, sometimes he had feared that he'd barge in her bedchamber and throw Rhaegar out if he had to keep spending his nights in front of their door as they were busy creating the heads of the dragon. The Prince's infatuation with the Stark girl had looked like a blessing. And turned into a nightmare! How could he explain that?

Finally, Elia gathered her faculties back. "And you think that makes it better?" she asked scornfully, unwilling to admit that it did make it better. He hadn't been a willing accomplice in her humiliation – just her half-humiliation!

By the gods, what was she doing? She was scrambling to find excuses for him! She was not as pathetic as rumours had it – she was far worse. Here she was, home at last, a ruler in her own right, and her stupid heart was still trying to tell her that the key to a better fate was a man. A man who had taken part in humiliating her or half-humiliating her, or whatever the blasted truth was.

Furious at him and even more at herself, she rose and pushed past him without giving him a chance to answer. But in the great hall, his words kept echoing in her head. "I am the kind of man you like, aren't I? I am the kind of man you like, aren't I? I am the kind of man you like, aren't I?"

Yes, he was, yes, he was, yes, he was…