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Lady of Dorne

The Weight of a Lie

Maester Caleotte confirmed that Elia was indeed with child, at which the three women looked at each other with horror. Deep inside, they had all hoped it was just an unfounded fear of Elia's.

"Take care to keep yourself rested, my Princess," the old man warned. "And if you have some ideas about… remedying the situation, think twice. Childbirth is always dangerous and with the toll your previous childbeds took from you, I wouldn't advise anything rash. There is a reason why we recommend moon tea and not doing something after the fact."

"There are some herbs," Naeryn interjected.

"There are," the maester agreed, giving her his usual look. Even now, he could not help but suppress the burning desire to examine her, try and determine what made her the way she was. He knew that sometimes, the same herbs she was talking about failed in expelling the babe but left it with injuries before birth. Still, Lady Aelinor had claimed that she had done nothing to rid herself of the plant that Maelys Blackfyre might have sown in her. And anyway, the very look of Lady Naeryn's deformed limb made it clear that she had been supposed to be this way, that the deformity had been there since before her mother knew about her. It was too clean-looking, too lacking the look of a real injury. How had the damage occurred? What had happened under this perfect skin while it has been still forming? In his life, Maester Caleotte had seen only one other person with a similar defect. And he had cut the dead body of a peasant child whose family had been too scared at the sight of what had been birthed to let him live. Nothing about this babe had given him answers but gods be good, even his smallest knife had almost proved too big for this tender tiny being! "But they hold some danger even for a woman who has carried and delivered easily. The Princess is not one of them. Once we let the blood flow, it'll be hard to stop it. She might become truly unable to have more children. Or… it could be even worse."

The three women understood him perfectly.

"And if I don't do anything, I'll probably have an ordinary time and could make it to term?" There was a glint in Elia's eyes. For all the problems this unexpected news would bring her, she felt recovered, renewed, taken by relief coming from her heart… and the depth of her womb. She was still capable of having children. She wasn't the damaged goods she had felt like in years. The thought of having Arthur's child brought colour to her cheeks and joy in her heart, as well as realization of the grim irony of the situation: once, she had wished for this to happen but not really expected it; now, she had not been expected it either but it was coming true, in a grim distortion of a young girl's dream.

"I don't see why not," the old man who had once delivered her said gently.

In the silence that followed, terrible and deadly, Alynna's laughter rang out, giving way to something that was half a hysteric and half a howl. "Oh Mother!" she screamed. "That means that Errol, my father, and Maurel died in vain!"

Her cousins stared at her in mute horror, unable to calm her down, unable to refute her claim. How could they… when it was true? She started laughing again, her face contorted in anguish, her body shaking. Naeryn went to her and without hesitation, slapped her on the cheek, hard. Alynna let out a sob and then took a deep breath. "Thank you," she murmured. On her cheek, a red five-fingered flower blossomed.

"Is that all, Maester Caleotte?" Naeryn asked calmly and when he nodded, she said, "You may go."

He looked at the Princess. Elia gave a terse nod and he went out.

"He looks quite relieved," Alynna said, too controlled for Elia's taste. "He doesn't appreciate the entertainment I provided."

"It isn't funny, Alynna," Elia snapped.

"Not in the least," Alynna snapped back. "Well, we cannot risk your life… and honestly, I wouldn't put your childbearing ability at risk either. Not now. I'll happily help you with the wedding preparations."

She was thinking a few steps ahead of everyone else. Of course, if Elia was to keep the babe, she had to take a husband – and shoulder this scandal to avoid the greater one. But they all knew that a good deal of Alynna's acceptance of the situation was not only due to concern about her cousin. She became very bitter, Oberyn had told his sister early after their reunion. Thankfully, the happiness she found once again alleviated a great deal of it. But not all. That's yet another thing I blame on your former husband and his Northerner. She's not the same person, Elia. She's changed. Elia hadn't believed him and now she wondered why she hadn't. Alynna had not only lost a husband, father and brother to the war, she had actually seen them die. How could I ever think that happiness would be enough to erase it?

"Alynna, do you hear yourself?" Naeryn asked angrily, taking one of Elia's hairbrushes from the dressing table and starting to brush her hair out with more force than necessary. "You're ready to plunge Elia into a new marriage…"

"I am plunging her?" Alynna sounded amazed. "She was the one who plunged herself into a bed she didn't belong in…"

"Doesn't matter! We don't have the right to tell her…"

"It matters! And I do have the right – my husband is dead because of this lie!"

Suddenly, she fell silent, realizing what she had just said. Elia gasped. Naeryn started to say something and closed her mouth. She had gotten their meaning as well.

"Do you think it was a lie?" Elia finally asked.

Alynna and Naeryn looked at each other, reconciled, and shrugged at the same moment. "You are the one who should know," Naeryn said. "We weren't there. But I have to say that the impression I got from the Grand Maester wasn't one of a fool or incompetent. He's very wily and… Well, clearly you can have other babies. And I don't think he was certain that you couldn't. Even if he thought it, he couldn't have known. Generally, maesters avoid attributing bad news such a level of certainty when they aren't sure. As far as I know, he presented it to Rhaegar as a fact?"

Elia nodded and wondered whether the truth would have changed something. Rhaegar had been obsessed with Lyanna Stark long before Aegon's birth. As much as it stung her pride, she had to admit that probably, he would have found another pretext to go after the foolish child.

But his disappointment with the fact that he hadn't gotten a girl from Lyanna was evident. Rumours had started trailing the second queen – the only queen, now. And they might have some basis. After all, there had never been any indication of another child, despite Lyanna's thriving health and the fact that Rhaegar visited her bedchamber almost every night. Elia felt a drop of gloating mixing with her excitement. She would have another babe, by the man she loved, while Rhaegar would still chase his dream of a second girl. Lately, he has started giving Lyanna the same look of silent disappointment that he had addressed at Elia after the maesters' news, as if she had done it on purpose. She smiled. Alynna isn't the only one who's changed, she thought. Five years ago, she would have been terrified of feeling anything but the purest of emotions toward any child of hers, born or unborn; now, she welcomed the malicious joy, as if this babe was a war prize she had snatched in a silent, unacknowledged war with Rhaegar, as if the realization of just how wrong he had been would erase a small bit of the pain he had caused her and hers.

"I wish I could be there when they get the news," Alynna said spitefully. "Just to see their faces." She laughed. "I'll bet he won't be happy to know that you are going to give Arthur the child he so craves."

For a second time in the last few minutes, she paused, realizing what she had just said. A shared look with Naeryn showed her that she wasn't alone in her assumptions. But that was all they were – assumptions. "It's Arthur's, isn't it?" she asked carefully. "I cannot imagine your condition has anything to do with another man."

"Of course it's Arthur's!" Elia sounded offended. "Who else's could it be?"

And in saying it, she realized that she had made her decision.

When he came to her, the sun was already past its highest point. Small rectangular forms of light made their way through the grating meant to keep the full power of the sun away from Elia's exhausted form. Tiny petals of dust were swimming in the air each time Arthur looked in the direction of the window.

"Please, take a seat." Elia's voice was neutral, revealing nothing. He frowned at noticing how pale she was, clad for comfort into a robe of dark silk, her hair tumbling about her shoulders. Clearly, she has decided to take a rest from her duties. That's a first since her arrival.

"You have called for me, Princess."

"You weren't too quick to answer."

There was an edge to her voice that Arthur hadn't expected. He wasn't sure what he had expected, anyway. His foolish hopes of a reconciliation died away as soon as he saw the look in her eyes, a mixture of fear, resentment, something like joy, as strange as it was… but no love.

"I wasn't in the palace. I made it here as soon as I returned and heard that you have summoned me."

Elia was about to ask where he had been but she came to realize that she did not really care. It would be only a way to prolong the inevitable. But now, when he was here, all of a sudden she found out that she was not certain in her decision at all. She knew that he loved her, that he regretted what he had helped Rhaegar do to her. But she had no guarantees that his loyalty to her was now greater than the pull of the vow he had been released from for mere months. He had been no mere Kingsguard – he had been Rhaegar's friend. Could she really take the risk to join her fate with his?

Of course, it wasn't as if she had a choice. Every day, every hour postponing a wedding was wasted, non-recoverable time. Even if she could expel the babe, she wouldn't do it. She couldn't, it was against everything she stood for, everything she was. She could not start her ruling with her own babe's murder, especially now that Aegon was lost to her. And she could not give birth to a bastard. Even in Dorne, that would be her downfall.

"I am with child," she said, suddenly desperate for it to be over.

His head jerked up and he gave her a look of utter astonishment. "Is this a jape?" he asked sharply. "Another way to punish me? I did not think you were so cruel, my lady."

"I cannot possibly match you in cruelty," Elia shot back. "But no, I am not jesting. Maester Caleotte confirmed it today. You can ask your brother if you don't trust me. Alynna was with me and I believe Arel is already informed of the situation."

But he couldn't, really. Arel was keeping his distance; seething and resentful, Arthur had watched him interact with his old friends, the ones who had occupied Arthur's own place in his heart. He could not go over to him and ask such a question.

And he didn't need to, actually. Elia would not make such a thing up just to spite him. For a moment, the political uproar flashed to his mind, swiftly replaced by horror. What have I done? And for no reason at all!

He had betrayed Elia, blinded by his desire to have her… but his actions had also been guided by duty. Duty to Rhaegar. Who had been guided by a lie.

He had turned his back on Elia and sat the war away while his friends, his countrymen had been dying. All for a lie. He had built his life over a lie… a lie that had affected thousands, killed thousands.

She was staring at him, her entire being focused on catching his reaction. The flash of horror and mortification was immediate – she could feel it because she had spent the last ten years becoming more aware of his body language and all emotions he strove to hide. She could smell his remorse, his guilt as if they were her own. Her anger melted away.

"We'll have a child, Arthur," she said softly. "Can't you rejoice?"

"No," he replied in a hollow voice.

Elia rose and crossed the solar to him. "Neither can I," she admitted. "But I cannot miscarry, Arthur. And I wouldn't have, even if I could."

He looked up. From this close, his expression broke her heart, his pallor, his haunted eyes. He looked crushed and defenceless, as if she had just broken a major foundation in his life. She clasped her hands together, fearing that she would reach out and press a hand against his cheek.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "That was the last thing I ever wanted to do to you."

She smiled bitterly. "You're so good at doing things to me that you never wanted to, Arthur, but this is no fault of yours. It was I who came to you… and I who failed to take the moon tea properly. However, I suppose it doesn't matter… I need a husband now, as you can see. Will you be this husband?"

"Yes," he answered immediately, without much excitement and even less joy. The Princess of Dorne could not have a bastard… and he was scared of his own reaction should she step between the statues of the Father and the Mother with someone else. Ten years was long enough time.

But two months was too short. His countrymen had just started becoming used to him again. Not trusting him but accepting his presence with less of outright hostility. Wedding Elia now would make all bad feelings come back.

Still looking at him, Elia decided to postpone the most important points of the arrangement she intended to offer him. She might wed him, she loved him even – but trust was another matter altogether. Just because she would wed him didn't mean that she intended to give him more privileges than he merited… which, at this point, was not this many at all. She certainly wouldn't make him his partner and almost equal, not the way her father had been to her mother. Alric had been worthy. Arthur, as much as it pained her, was not.

But he was in no state to discuss such things now. And that delighted her in a grim way that made disgust at herself squeeze at her heart. He was having pangs of conscience and that was a good thing. He didn't think that his oath exonerated him for what he had done, that his obedience cleared him of all wrongdoing when his orders had been founded on an untruth. He could still be saved. Still be transformed into a worthy consort. It would just take time. Aerys and Rhaegar hadn't taken Arthur Dayne away from their most glorious Kingsguard. He had just been asleep.

"I'll let you know how the preparations are advancing," Elia said. "And of course, we'll have to talk about what to expect of this marriage. But not now."

He recognized the dismissal and rose. Upon entering, he had been a still young man with a spring in his step and hope in his heart. Now he moved like an old man bearing the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Elia looked away, scared that should she lay her eyes on him again, she would reach out and offer him the comfort and forgiveness he did not deserve at all. It was bad enough that she had to deal with this new crisis so soon after all other changes in her life. She could not let him know just how great a flaw her fondness of him was. Not yet.

In the courtyard, the sun hit him like a thousand of tiny arrows that attacked his eyes like a desert sun through a sandstorm. Arthur was surprised that it was still noon – he had thought that his conversation with Elia had lasted hours, if not days. He started walking along the wall without any idea where he was going.

A child. She was with child. He had betrayed all of them for nothing. For a lie. During the hellish years after the war, he had soothed his conscience with the idea that he had been acting in the Seven Kingdom's best interest, even if Rhaegar had turned out to be wrong. It had never quite worked. And now to find out that the King's decision had been founded on a false premise… It was too much to bear.

The sun still tormented his eyes but inside, he felt terribly cold. Going to his chamber to take another item of clothing, though, would require too much effort and actual thinking, so he just kept shivering as he walked along the wall, realizing that the wall protecting his heart and conscience had just been brought down. A lie. All those horrors could have been avoided.

"Come here."

The voice was so unexpected that Arthur blinked before turning left, very slowly. His brother gave him a calm look, as if he didn't see what a mess Arthur looked like, and spoke to him as if he were addressing someone in their right mind. "Come with me," he said.

Silently, Arthur followed. He could not find the strenght to muster the question of what he owed the change to. But when he saw they were approaching his brother's chambers, he warned, "If your wife sees me here, you might be in trouble."

"I am fully capable of dealing with Alynna's discontent," Arel said, quite unbothered. "And besides, she's already warned that I am bringing you in."

Still, Arthur felt a bit of relief when he didn't see Lady Dayne in the hallways or the solar with heavy oak and soft velvet coverings. On all tables, there were vases of flowers – sunflowers spreading the radiance of their names, bleeding roses, sparkling asters… Books and a sewing basket… A settee with a cushion still bearing the print of a body. Despite the magnificence of the marble floor and rich tapestries, the chamber felt like home. Arthur had heard that the apartment had been actually given to Arel and Alynna to keep even when they were not in Sunspear – something very unusual for a busy place like the Old Palace where every small space mattered. He tried to remember whether it had initially belonged to Alynna and her first husband and cousin – who had been Elia's cousin, as well – and failed. It had been so many years since he had last lived here!

He accepted the goblet his brother placed in his hands. A warm mix of milk, wine, and honey. He drank and realized how dry his mouth had been.

"Why?" he finally asked.

Arel shrugged. "You're my brother," he said, by the way of explanation.

"I was your brother yesterday as well," Arthur reminded him. He didn't know why he was pressing the matter when the answer was obvious. I must be a pitiful sight indeed if he decided that I need care.

Arel sighed. "No matter what you think, seeing you in pain was never something I could take delight in. And after Alynna told me, I knew you would be in pain."

Arthur sipped at the warm drink that seemed to restore the clarity of his mind somewhat… to his horror. "Pain is too kind a word for it," he said softly. "I feel so foul."

"So you should."

But there was no gloating in his brother's voice or expression, no hint of anger. Just a statement of a fact. "Do you remember, Arthur, out last meeting after it was over and what I told you then? I told you that one day, you'd truly understand what you helped being done on the realm, on us. As you see, that's what happened. But it brought you quite down. And I never wanted that. I think you'll need all the help you can get to rise once again… and keep going. Because this marriage of yours will be all but a smooth one right now."

"I realize that."

Arel gave him a long look. He looked so much like Ashara when she had been asking troubled questions that his vows forbade him from answering that Arthur startled.

"I wonder whether you do."

Arel was wrong, though. Arthur did realize the bleak future awaiting him in a marriage with a woman who distrusted him, and with good reason. He simply couldn't bring himself to care. He hadn't eaten since last night and the wine in his drink now went straight to his head, bringing back the faces of all those he had loved and betrayed, and let down. He vaguely realized that he was a man pressed beyond his endurance who saw no escape from the prison of his own mind.

Maybe Arel sensed this, somehow. Vaguely, Arthur felt the goblet being taken from him. A cool cloth was pressed to his forehead, his cheeks. "Come on," Arel said softly. "Go to sleep. Rest. Everything will be better in a few hours. I promise."

Much later, Arthur would shake his head at his own acceptance. Arel could not give such promise. He only gave promises that he could fulfill. But then, that was the very reason Arthur believed him now. He let himself turn over and lie down on the settee he had been occupying. Arel dragged a chair nearby and took a seat. Arthur reached out and touched his hand. "Stay," he murmured, half-asleep already or rather, half-unconscious under the weight of the discovery, the whole senselessness of his betrayal.

"I will," Arel replied.

He did not add anything and Arthur was grateful. Only when he was drifting off to sleep, he thought he heard his brother murmur, "Welcome back."

But after all, it might have been all a dream.