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Lady of Dorne

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Five days.

Her mother and Ser Arthur hadn't left her – their chambers for five days. For now. Each time Rhaenys insisted that she wanted to see her mother, she was refused – softly but squarely. "Newlyweds need some time for themselves," her grandfather, Naeryn, Alynna explained and then found something new for her to do – something nice that would indeed please her but not for long. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Would her mother forget about her, focusing on Ser Arthur and the new babe? Oh, everyone thought that they were so smart, that Rhaenys didn't know. But she had ears – two of them – and what was more important, she knew when and how to listen. Her mother had gotten with child. That was the reason she had wed Ser Arthur. And if she had let him got her with child, that meant that she loved him, didn't it? No matter that she had tried to lie.

"Why so sad?"

The voice startled her. She turned round and found herself face to face with an older girl, not quite a woman but no longer a child. A braid of lustrous black hair fell on her back. She was slim and graceful in her red tunic, her skin smooth and swarthy, a shade lighter than Rhaenys' own. She was everything Rhaenys hoped to be at her age.

"I am not sad, Lady Nym."

The second oldest Sand Snake huffed, irritated. "I appreciate the effort to lie but you're terrible at it. What on earth is your septa teaching you? You have many lessons to catch up on."

Even in the hot afternoon, there was no sweat on her forehead and Rhaenys envied her for that.

"I'd say this is something between my mother and me," she snapped.

To her irritation and embarrassment, the older girl only laughed. "Ah, so there is something of Dorne in you. Good to see." She paused. "And I suppose Grandfather was right. He said you were sulking because of Aunt Elia's wedding."

Rhaenys' cheeks burned. "I am not sulking!"

Lady Nym's lips curled in a knowing smile that Rhaenys found even more disturbing because the two girls barely knew each other – the six years between them were a huge gap.

"Aren't you?" Lady Nym sighed. "Don't be silly. Ser Arthur is Ser Arthur. You are you. He won't take anything from you. Think a little. If this was true, my father should have abandoned the four of us as soon as he met Ellaria."

Now, Rhaenys' embarrassment turned to sheer humiliation. Did everyone know? Did they think her a stupid child like this older, worldly girl did?

In the far end of the flagged yard, maids started opening the shudders of the large building meant to house noble guests. Rhaenys stared at the windows, waiting to see whether there would be clouds of dust erupting from the inside – a sign that the maids had been neglecting their duties and not sweeping the floors and dusted the rooms as often as they should have. She wondered why they had chosen this hot time of the day to work but they probably knew better. What did she know about the way maids organized their work anyway?

"Do you want me to teach you how to throw knives?" Lady Nym asked.

Under every other set of circumstances, Rhaenys would have accepted the offer gladly. Blades entranced her almost as much as this older, refined cousin. But she was old enough to know pity – and that, she could never accept. "Go over there and cheer the poor child up, she's been sulking for days," she could almost hear her grandfather saying.

"No, thanks," she said coolly. "I have some other things to occupy my time with."

Lady Nym arched a thin black eyebrow. "Yes, of course," she said. "Being a crybaby is so much more interesting."

That was it. Rhaenys had finally had too much. "I am not a crybaby!" Her indigo eyes shone belligerently.

"Aren't you?" Lady Nym asked. "Why, then, are you sitting here, being all miserable that your mother has finally found someone to love her? Why do you begrudge her that and blame her when it's your father who the fault lies with? You know, if you need to be angry with someone, be angry with him and no one else."

Only the thought of how inappropriate such a behavior would be for a princess stopped Rhaenys from lunging at her cousin. Deep inside, a ball of fear started forming. She had heard similar whispers among her mother's attendants even at King's Landing. It looked to her that there was no Dornishman or woman who didn't hate her father. Even the Master of Ships were always polite but reserved. But no one had spoken so brazenly in her presence. Usually, when they saw she was near, they fell silent or changed the subject, as if they thought they could deceive her.

"This isn't true!" she cried out, trying to chase away those memories, her father's constant attempts at seeking closeness again and her mother's icy, polite dismissal. Rhaegar had never tried to retaliate, though. He might have been feeling… guilty.

Lady Nym laughed. "Isn't it? Funny how everyone thinks so. Grandfather. My father. Your mother. And I am tired of everyone dancing around the matter, letting you blame the wrong person. I don't think a little dose of truth is going to kill you. The truth, my little sulky cousin, is that your father placed Lyanna Stark highly above you, your mother and brother. He left you in the hands of a mad king while Aunt Elia could not yet rise from her birthing bed and then had the audacity to bring his bauble here, in Dorne, where they idled the war they caused away. Meanwhile, our kin was dying. While you were in mortal danger, they were swiving without giving the three of you a thought. Actually, he meant to chase you away to Dragonstone so his precious Lyanna wouldn't be bothered by facing you."

Rhaenys paled. "You are lying!"

"I am not." Now, the other girl's laughter had turned into a cold smile. All of a sudden, Rhaenys was reminded of the snakes Nym derived her name from. "I heard your mother saying this to Aunt Alynna. She was furious. He was planning to get rid of you. And then word came that the war had erupted. I don't blame your mother for wanting nothing to do with him anymore. So, my dear little Rhaenys, if you have to blame someone, blame the right people. And if you harbour any hopes of things being as they used to be, forget it. Your mother has started anew. There's no way that she's returning to your father. It's up to you whether…"

"Nym," a voice interrupted. "Let her be."

Through a sheen of tears, Rhaenys saw Laval only a few steps away. He was dripping sweat, his hair was tousled, his bow slung across his back. He was glaring at Lady Nym, although he would have looked more intimidating if he hadn't needed to tilt his head back to the end to achieve it. Their cousin towered two full heads over him.

Lady Nym pursed her lips. "Oh. I must have missed the moment where you proclaimed yourself Rhaenys' defender. But there is no need of that, Laval. The little one can hold her own, I think. She does have claws. She just chooses not to utilize them."

"Let her be," he repeated. "She isn't to blame for anything. What are you doing here, anyway?"

She sighed and swiped at a mosquito on her arm. Since her arrival here, Rhaenys had encountered more mosquitos than in her entire life before. She was inclined to start smearing vinegar all over herself just to chase them away. They were the only creatures that didn't get exhausted by the heat, it seemed.

"Trying to offer some entertainment to our cousin," Lady Nym snapped. "Looks like I could have saved myself the effort. She prefers moping and drowning in her misery."

She turned around and left without much hurry. Laval sighed and seeing that Rhaenys had taken the only stone seat around, plopped himself on the flagstones without thinking twice.

"Don't mind her," he said. "Lady Nym is quite impatient and prone to outbursts but she rarely means bad."

"She did mean bad to me," Rhaenys sniffed. Without much hesitation, Laval tore a stripe of the lower front of his shirt and offered it. She blew her nose in the sweaty fabric.

Laval shook his head. "I think she just misses Arianne," he said. "They were inseparable – Nym, her sisters, and Arianne."

Rhaenys didn't ask him whether he would also prefer that Arianne were here instead of her. Sure, he mostly spoke of Quentyn and Arianne had been a good few years older, so it wasn't very likely. But still, she didn't dare.

"She said some… terrible things about my father," she murmured.

"And also truthful," Laval said after a brief hesitation.

Rhaenys bit back a sob. From Laval's mouth, it did not sound as angrily as it had from Nymeria's. "Were they?" she asked.

He nodded without hesitation. "He did everything she said he did. Hey, don't start crying again," he added and there was a slight panic in his voice.

Despite herself, Rhaenys grinned. She had heard her mother's ladies often say that men could abide anything but a woman's tears. Suddenly, she felt very grown up.

"It isn't this bad, you know," he said after a pause. "In fact, I envy you for that."

She blinked. "What do you envy me for? If my father did those things…"

"He did, Rhaenys," he said. "And now you know what it was that he did. I am not so lucky," he added in an undertone.

Rhaenys' confusion grew. Until now, she had never given Laval's parents much thought. She had accepted that they lived somewhere away from Sunspear and in truth, he had never said anything to the contrary. But now she realized that they hadn't come even for her mother's ceremony of ascension, let alone her wedding.

"My father committed a horrible crime," Laval said. "And I don't know what it is. No one would tell me. When I ask, they pretend they can't hear a thing."

Rhaenys' curiosity was now stirred. She gave him a look of confusion. "But if you don't know what he did," she said, "then how do you know it was so horrible?"

"Because of the punishment," the boy explained simply. "He was ostracized from Dorne and the family."

Rhaenys shuddered, the sunlight suddenly not enough to warm her up. She had never known someone who had been ostracized but she knew what it meant. No one ever said Laval's father's name. All portraits of him had been destroyed. To Dorne, he was in effect dead. If he dared to return, every Dornishman and woman was free to kill him without punishment. Ostracizing was the hardest punishment save for death warrant. Her father even thought that it might be harder. The thought that Laval's father had done something truly terrible was frightening… and thrilling.

"I want to know," the boy went on. "But no one would tell me. And you know, Lady Nym is right about the other thing, too. Try as I might, I cannot understand why you're so miserable. A new husband or not, at least your mother is here and she's taking care of you. Mine preferred killing herself to taking care of me. Not that they want me to know that either. I think they still believe I have no idea."

Rhaenys' breath caught in her throat. She could only stare at him terrified. He stared back, his usually serene, lively face nothing but. "Did she?" she finally whispered.

He nodded curtly. "That's the chamber she died in," he said, pointing.

Rhaenys didn't quite see which chamber he meant. One of the many windows lining the red wall. The thought that she might have entered it without knowing made her shudder.

"Listen," she suddenly said. "Does your offer to accompany you for your lesson with Uncle Oberyn still stand?"

He didn't understand at once. There had been four days since he had offered to take her along while Oberyn taught him to tell poisonous snakes from non-poisonous. But then, he smiled, if only a little. "It is," he said. "In fact, we're leaving in less than an hour. Do you think you'll be ready?"

She gave him a look of indignation and rubbed her eyes to chase the last tears from her eyes. He was right, the situation could have been far worse. No matter what, she knew her father loved her. And she still had a mother, even if she had to share her with Ser Arthur.

"Of course I will be."

"That makes two out of three," Elia murmured, sipping tentatively from her cup of tea. Arthur knew not what the red liquid was, only that it was one of the things she had taken regularly in her past pregnancies, when she had been hard pressed to keep her food down. It was one of the few things that agreed with her.

Arthur wanted to ask her what she meant but thought better of it. He'd better let her have that tea before retching overcame her once again. She was so sick most of the time that they didn't have the chance to have half the intimate celebration he would like. Of course, my state might have something to do with it as well, he thought and looked down at himself. The purple bruises that according to Elia complimented his eyes had darkened to black and yellow. I now know how flour feels when it's being grinded.

Over the edge of her yellow cup, Elia was looking at him with a peculiar expression. "What is it?" he asked, returning to bed with the extra pillow she had asked for.

"You look like you only needed two or three more of those to miss the wedding altogether," she said. "I am surprised that Oberyn could act so calculating – giving you pain enough but not too much, so you could say the words."

"Don't give him this much credit," he snorted. "That was all Elvar's doing."

She nodded, satisfied now that she had her answer, and focused on the tea again. "Do you want some?" she asked and he accepted, drinking from the very spot her lips had touched. She smiled.

"Tomorrow, we have to go out," she said, reluctantly. Despite all the inconveniences the child gave her, despite all the fears she held, she had enjoyed being apart from the world. With Arthur. There was even a certain charm to alternate being sick in the privy with being taken in her wedding bed. In truth, they should have faced the world a good deal earlier. But they hadn't wanted to.

Arthur returned the cup and she drank the rest of the liquid, then rose to make a few steps around. She hadn't moved from the bed for more than an hour.

"What are those three?" he asked.

"What?" Elia asked, quite forgotten about this.

"The two out of three."

"Oh, this," she remembered.

They had thrown the windows wide open to catch the twilight cooling of the air. Bathed in the violet shades of the sun headed for its rest, Elia looked utterly content.

"Ten years ago, my grandmother told me that a man has to pleasure me here, here and here," she said, pointing at her forehead, heart, and the place between her legs. "And then, I'd know happiness. You achieved two of those."

Had it been another woman, Arthur might have wondered how he should accept this backhanded compliment. Since it was Elia, he thought it was about time that she voiced some of the doubts he knew still gnawed at her. Knowing that her head was a part of her that didn't accept him wholeheartedly stung but not as much as it would have only a few days ago. And her distrust no longer made him feel devoid of hope. As it often happened, his mind went back to the memory Alric had showed him so pointedly. Now, he thought that should Mikkel start training him once again and a similar problem arose, Mikkel would have removed the element. But then, he had wanted to give Arthur piercing capacity and teaching someone to fight by the way of retreating was quite a precarious thing. Lord Gargalen had seen something in his young squire, something that had made him think that Arthur could take the pressure without breaking. Constantly failing at one move that Mikkel wouldn't remove from his practice, losing combats and tournaments because of it, thinking that today would be another day when he'd be unable to succeed, that all he would achieve was a dizzy head and rebellious stomach had been hard. But had he thought for a moment that he would fail at the end, no matter when the end came?

No. Over and over, he had just taken himself off the ground, waited for the world to spin back in focus and started again.

Rhaella had moved to the hearth, now empty, examining the little figurines in all colours. It might not be fair of her but she had always admired the artisans who made such fine things more than she did the architects construing the impressive buildings that left the smallfolk awed. She thought that had she not been Queen, she would have loved to be such an artisan, master the art of capturing beauty in such small objects. The winged horse she now held was no bigger than her palm, yet every hair of its mane gleamed on its own – some in red, others in gold, third ones in dark brown. Sunset, that was the name Aerys had given it more than twenty years ago. To her, the horse would always represent the flight towards freedom, with its wings widely spread and all the hues of the dying sun over its glossy hide.

"Are you sure in your decision?"

She turned back and shook her head exasperatedly. "Yes, of course. I've already told you, Rhaegar, I'll be only too happy to leave court. I think a few years away will do Daenerys some good, as well."

"Is it really because you want to?" Rhaegar asked. "Or do you think Aegon could not deal without you there? I really don't want you to feed obliged into anything."

Rhaella's breath hissed between her teeth. "Of course I think Aegon could deal without me there," she said. "And of course I feel obliged to go there. I would have suggested it even if I didn't want to. But of course, obligations to Aegon are hardly something you understand," she added coldly.

Immediately, she saw that she had struck a nerve. For a moment, she panicked, reminded of all the times she had roused Aerys' anger. Then, common sense came back. Whatever her son's faults, cruel he was not.

"This isn't fair, Mother," he said. "I am doing this for Aegon."

She left the horse back in place. "And will he still be Aegon when he returns?" she asked.

Since that was a question Rhaegar had been asking himself helplessly, he couldn't force himself to snap an angry retort. He loved going to Dragonstone but he was incredibly grateful that he hadn't grown up there, in its desolation and gloom. For Aegon who was not melancholic and bookish but cheerful and lively, it would be even harder. The knowledge of the grave mistake he had made, the thought that he was tormenting his child for the sake of his kingdom and prophecy made his hands clench in fists. But there was nothing that could be done. In his quest for a daughter, he had never considered the chance that a future rival of Aegon's could be born. Now, he had the rival… and no daughter in near future. The maesters couldn't determine what the problem was. Theoretically, Lyanna should have conceived a few times by now. In fact, it wasn't happening. He had lost Rhaenys over nothing – he now only had this looming absence that no Lyanna, no prophecy and certainly no Jon could ever fill. And now he had to send Aegon away to secure his future, risking a change and unhappiness for his son.

"That's what I fear most," he admitted.

For a moment, Rhaella's features softened. She almost reached out for another figurine, a dragon holding a flower between its teeth. This was the one Rhaegar had been most fascinated with as he had been growing up. She wished to ask whether he remembered all the times the precious work had needed saving from his eager, but clumsy little hands. But common sense won over. There was no use building a bridge that would not hold. In the aftermath of his elopement, they had drifted apart. Rhaella simply couldn't believe his stupidity. She had taught him better – or so she had thought. At the end, she had found herself face to face with a stranger who had committed the greatest sin against her beliefs – he had twisted his duty to line it with his own selfish desires. And he had struck a blow at her heart, as well. She would never forget the day she had received the news of the fire in the Red Keep. The two weeks until she got word that her grandchildren and goodaughter were alive were something that she would not wish upon her worst foe. And all for the sake of a girl who did not know how to be Queen. Actually, she did not know how to be a lady either. But maybe she would have, one day, had Rhaegar not happened on her way. Still, Rhaella did not have much sympathy to spare for Lyanna Stark. She had been younger than the girl at the time of her absconding away with Rhaella's wedded son when she had done her duty.

"That's why I'll be happy to accompany him there," she said. "The castle would crush Aegon but with Daenerys around… Between the two of them, they might even make it a festive place."

Rhaegar laughed out loud, pleased as ever to see his mother's vivid imagination and sense of humour poking their head. There was no power in Westeros that could make Dragonstone a festive place.

Yes, she was right. In fact, he was secretly relieved that she did not want to leave Aegon on his own. But he would miss her, as distant as she had become. The fact that Lyanna was visibly relieved by her goodmother's decision was no help, either. He understood her feelings – it was hard to like someone who disapproved of you – but couldn't she save it for herself? She knew he would miss his mother. Of course, that might well be the reason she was doing it… After their quarrel over the unfortunate fate of her Northern guards, she had turned against him and their life together even more vehemently.

As if summoned by his thoughts, she appeared in the doorway. His brief hope that she might have come over for a reconciliation disappeared when he saw the stooped figure behind her. Maester Arnault. Behind him came Ser Jaime.

"I encountered the maester in the yard," she said. "He said there were urgent news…"

Rhaegar went over to the man while Lyanna entered fully and looked at Rhaella. Rhaegar heard them exchanging formalities but didn't paid them much attention, focused on the letter.

Rhaella frowned. "Rhaegar? What's going on?"

Lyanna turned round and drew back, surprised by the sudden whitening of his jaw, the pallor of his face and the glazed eyes that kept going over the words but clearly no longer saw them. Ser Jaime made a step forward, then drew back, unsure of what to do.

Finally, Maester Arnault was the one who told them. Looking down, he mumbled, "Princess Elia and Ser Arthur Dayne were wed in Sunspear three weeks ago."

No wonder Pycelle didn't dare show his face here with the news, Rhaella thought as Lyanna exclaimed, "I don't believe it! Ser Arthur? I thought this white had sapped all that was manful about him."

Rhaella briefly wondered what by the Seven was she doing. Could she really leave this girl to be the principal lady at court without anyone to smooth things over? Sure, Lyanna's expression immediately showed that she had realized her mistake even before looking at Ser Jaime's clenched jaw. But that was not enough. At her age and after four years at court she should have been able to stop before saying it.

"Not all, it seems," Rhaegar said in a hollow voice. "They write that a rumour has spread that Elia is with child."

Rhaella glanced away from him, to Lyanna, and was quite taken aback at the joy written all over the girl's face. Until now, she hadn't realized how heavily Lyanna's unforgivable offense against Elia had haunted her. Something told her that the young woman hadn't known either.

Rhaegar, though, was all but joyful. "This is a mistake," he said in a faint voice. "I know it is. Arthur would not do this to me."

"You?" Lyanna exclaimed. "Why do you think it was about you? Can he not just love her and want to wed her without thinking of you – who are already wed? To me, remember?"

"No, he cannot! I trusted him… and all this time, he has been planning… No. It cannot be."

"I think it can," Lyanna murmured. A night from years ago came back to her, so alive that her breath caught. She had been standing on the top of the tower, staring at the Red Mountain, never more beautiful than when the sun gave them a final caress. Ser Arthur had been standing next to her, looking longingly over the treetops to where she knew Starfall lay. At the time, they had still been warm to each other – not friendly but warm nonetheless.

"Was there a girl when you were my age," she had asked, laughing.

"There was," he had replied. "Her name was Naeryn. She was one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. But life was very unfair to her."

"And after?" she had insisted. "Had there not been someone else before you took the white?"

"There was. Someone who was impossible for me to have."

Now, it all made sense – Ser Arthur's constant striving to be the first one to do Elia a small service, his constant readiness to accompany her even when he wasn't on shift. How he had watched her when she hadn't been looking at him. Lyanna saw no reason for Ser Arthur to think of Rhaegar now, when Elia was no longer the King's wife.

"It can't be," Rhaegar said again, loudly this time. "They could not have… She can't be…"

Without warning, he slammed his fist against the table. His knuckles started bleeding but he didn't notice. Elia was able to do this to him. She cared about Dorne more than she did about him. Taking a new husband in a hurry would save her from choosing between suitors whom she could not afford to anger. And she had never forgiven him about Lyanna. She must have known that taking Arthur to husband – Arthur, of all people! – would deal him the greatest wound.

And Arthur? Arthur, the liar? Arthur, the betrayer? Rhaegar remembered only too well how he had offered – offered! – to release him from his oaths. He had played straight into their hands. The letter also mentioned that Alric looked very happy with his new goodson – and he would not be happy with a decent man! No, Elia's father could only welcome a snake like himself with open arms…

He could imagine them ever so vividly, Elia's long dark hair that she wore loose in the privacy of her chamber falling over Arthur's bare chest, her eyes shining with emotion that Rhaegar had never seen, yet knew only too well. There it was… the first feast she had attended after Rhaenys' birth. Afterwards, she had danced with Rhaegar, the Master of Laws and Arthur – something that almost never happened, Rhaegar now realized. In fact, Arthur had used to only invite her when he absolutely had to, as to avoid rumours of some dislike between them. Remembering Elia's expression for a brief, unguarded moment, the half-closed eyes, the slight curve of her lips, Rhaegar finally realized that this reluctance had been hiding something entirely else altogether. Never, ever had he seen again this expression of a happiness that was so sharp that it almost hurt!

"You whore," he whispered with anger and hurt. She had been in love with Arthur all this time.

Were they laughing now, lying in bed and caressing each other, complimenting each other of how they had made a fool of him? Were they making plans about the future of the daughter they were sure they were going to have?

The daughter…

All of a sudden, Rhaegar crossed the solar and swept his mother's precious figurines with a single wave of his hand. The sound of breaking glass made him feel grim satisfaction.

"It looks like my former wife did not have such trouble conceiving as I believed," he said, his voice cold and controlled. His icy eyes turned to the scared maester. "Call the Grand Maester here. Immediately."