Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Lady of Dorne

Mortal Hearts

"What are you going to do?"

Naeryn turned back, got entangled into the lace curtain, and muttered a curse as she was trying to get herself free. Ivorr came to her. Between them, they had two functional hands and one partly functional, so it didn't take them long to remove the lace. As always, Naeryn wondered how her cousin managed not to get entangled in the hawsers of his ship but it looked like he didn't.

"Nothing," she said angrily. "Since I came here, I can see nothing. The Seven only knows what incantations have been woven in the foundation of this castle but Ivorr, I can see nothing, let alone do something." Her lips curved in a grim smile. "The first Daynes were very intent on not letting any magic find its way to their castle of white and stars. Probably didn't think that one day, some might be needed for a good purpose." She started pacing the room. "What am I to do? Run around the grounds and stop here and there, trying to find the boundary? Go up the mountain and light a fire there? Does any of this sound remotely useful to you?"

He sighed, kneading his withered arm. While his concern was no less than hers, he wasn't the one who felt that he could help if not so encumbered, so he was more capable of thinking rationally.

"This chamber is overlooking the south," he said. "The entire castle is built facing the west. Maybe if you try a different room…"

"Oh," Naeryn breathed. Now she realized just how far away she had drifted from her days in Essos, the days of her youth. Seek the east, that was the first rule imparted to them in their training. Always seek the east. For a while, she had followed it faithfully before realizing that she didn't need it. She was the blood of the dragon, with the magic of Old Valyria, the determination of the Rhoynar, and the scorching of the sun in her veins. Unlike most of the others, there were things that she didn't need to use.

Or so she had thought.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, of course."

Arel didn't bat an eyelid when he heard her strange plea. Arthur looked uncomfortable but just mildly. Naeryn couldn't truly blame him, with what she had heard about Aerys' pyromancers and Rhaegar's obsession with prophecies. He didn't try to dissuade his brother and this was enough.

Roderic, though, her self-appointed guard… His disapproval was obvious, although he wouldn't say a thing.

"Look," Ivorr offered. "Maybe it's better if you stay in Lady Naeryn's chamber. I'll take good care of her."

The man from the North gave him a look as if he wondered whether Ivorr was mad or going mad now. Thankfully, his eyes didn't go all the way down to the deformed palm and two fingers that were too short. Not that Ivorr – or Naeryn, for that matter – took such things to heart, not anymore, but it was still nice.

The man's eyes now moved to Arthur, bright and suspicious, and at seeing them in the same room for the very first time, Naeryn could not help but wonder whether it had been Arthur who gave Roderic this scar. Lyanna Stark's abduction was still very much a precipice dividing people, all those years after.

Arel gave his orders and once again leaned over a map of the Red Mountains, his castellan, Arthur, Oberyn, Ivorr, and a few others crowding around him. "Darkstar knows the region as well as any of us," Ser Huon said. "He might have made his camp in any of the tops that no one beside the goats ever visits."

"And the Young Dragon," Arthur reminded them. "Whoever this Vulture King is, he must have some support from another place. High Hermitage alone isn't capable of supporting any army for attacks like the ones the creature has undertaken for now. This rift between the two sides of the Dornish Marches is a part of a bigger scheme and I want to know what it is!"

The look that Arel gave him made him shudder. "Right now, I don't care about the bigger schemes," his brother said. "I want the children back."

Arthur felt chilled at the realization that their purposes might turn out to be different. Elia wanted the Vulture King dealt with, Arel placed top priority on finding the children. They had already started changing their plans to encompass this second purpose, taking men and resources away from the first. But it Allyria and the boys weren't where the Vulture King was? And if they were, he probably wouldn't go down without taking them with him. Especially if he turned out to be Gerold.

"So do I," he said. "Do we have the Nameless Precipice covered? As Ser Huon said, if the man we're looking for is Gerold Dayne, we shouldn't overlook anything and he'd use even the smallest holes."

Naeryn lit the fire the moment the sun sunk behind the far east of the desert. The sight filled her with dark premonition: she had rarely seen such pure crimson, veiling the sands in shimmer of warm blood. She reached up for her obsidian and her hand shook before placing it on her forehead. She was frightened that she would not see. She was frightened that she would see.

The men were leaving at midnight and she had to give them something, yet the fire refused to burn.

"Roderic," she called out and he entered. "Help me."

Wordlessly, he did so despite his obvious reluctance. In their years together, he had seen her lighting similar fires many times, yet it looked like it was never easier to bear. But she had no time to lose tending to his sensitivities.

Her thoughts focused on the children, she let a part of her mind to turn to the east, to the Red Temple in Lys, to the water houses of Braavos. She could not quite conjure the black streets of Ashai, though, and the voices of her teachers came into a shapeless whisper, with no words discernible and no voice recognizable. The shadows did not dance in the flames but instead, clustered together, revealing her nothing.

That's the castle's defenses, she thought. Alynna should have told me. If she knew about it at all. But it was entirely possible that she didn't. Maybe even Arel had no idea.

When the shadows finally parted, she briefly glimpsed a mountain top but she had no time to look at it more closely before the dragons came roaring, breathing flames into the flames. Lately, they had been meddling in whatever she tried to do and she chased them away almost absent-mindedly, only to see not the mountain top coming back but a woman she had once known, red of hair and robes, her eyes full of determination. Naeryn did not believe in Melisandre's red god but she believed in Melisandre's power and courage and seeing her now scared her. What was she up to? How was it important to Naeryn?

Now, Asshai came, as ugly and enticing as she remembered it. But it was not like any other time she had summoned it to enhance her visions. This time, it spread as wide in her mind's eye as it was spread on the shores of Ash, pushing everything else away, revealing her things of unspeakable cruelty and dark futures but nothing of what she wanted to see. The flames rose higher, reaching the chimney pipe, rising high into it, spinning out of her control, and then visions of pasts that were hers and not hers, of futures that would be and would never come into fruition danced, clashed, pulled each other in front of her to see and pushed each other away. The obsidian burned her forehead to the bones, searing her flesh harsher than ever before, and she screamed, reaching for it desperately. For a brief moment, everything that she had been taught, everything that she had learned so painstakingly, everything that she had done hundreds of times, all that she knew about the consequences of disturbing magic dissolved under the physical demands of her body.

Only a moment but it was enough.

She had tried to toss the pendant in the far end of the room but her hand – a single one, a hand shaking in pain – betrayed her. With wide, helpless eyes Naeryn saw the jewel enhancing her magic fall into the flames and when she tried to reach in and take it out, the heat licked her palm and fingers so fiercely that she howled and drew back.

The shadows crowded once again, tormenting her with flickering visions. The flames rose higher yet, the fire taking all shades of all colours. Naeryn had no way to influence any of it and she could only watch what she had unleashed, as helpless as any peasant woman.

She did not see the flames bursting out of the chimney into the night and the panic spreading among those who could see the unnatural colours of the fire dancing behind the windows. She did not hear the door being thrown open and the shouts of those who burst in. But she did hear the silence that descended all of a sudden. She saw how the fire lowered back, once again taking the golden and crimson shades of the flames in any hearth.

Behind her, someone gasped. She spun around and then made an involuntary step aside, as if not to intrude. Oberyn drew her close, his face slackened in shock. She clung to him, wrapping an arm about his waist, trembling from head to toe.

Errol Gargalen rose in the flames and stepped out, staring ahead, straight into Alynna's eyes. He held out a hand and she stepped forward, as if answering a call that only she could hear.

That was not supposed to happen, Naeryn thought despairingly. It can't be happening. Now, she realized that she should have stopped as soon as it had become clear that she could not bind the shadows to her will. By the Seven, she should have never started anything in the first place!

Alynna reached the fireplace and stood there, unsure of what to do, her eyes glazed with shock and the residual effects of the milk of the poppy they had given her earlier. Errol brought his hand down, cupping her cheek. She gasped with pain but pressed her face further into his palm, then drew back sharply. "No," she moaned. "Don't…"

He touched her face again and she went silent, leaning against him. His other hand slid down, against her heart.

"My lady," he said. His eyes were tender, bathing her in the radiance of love and devotion they had all delighted in for years. Silver to her black, purple to her dark, white to her swarthy – they still looked perfect next to each other. Pale shimmering light danced around him and it was coming from within him, from beneath his own unblemished skin.

They looked terrifying.

Arel came to Naeryn's side but he could not go farther. It was as if an invisible wall separated the pair at the fireplace from everyone else.

"Let her go, Errol," he said softly. "She isn't yours."

Finally, Oberyn moved, his hand sliding past Naeryn's back to his dagger. Did he think the blade could help against such a threat? Could he use it even if he did? He hesitated, his fingers going slack. "Let her go, Errol," he whispered. "Please."

Errol paid no attention to any of them, focused on Alynna alone. He did not touch her heart, though. Instead, he stared horrified at her face, at the cheek he was cupping. Black holes bubbled against the perfect skin, she moaned and he stroked her, trying to take the pain away. He didn't seem to realize that it was him who was doing this, that the wounds had come from his own touch, and where his fingers caressed her soothingly, a trail of blood woozed.

"Alynna," he said again. His entire being, on rather what was left of it was focused on her.

"No," she said.

She drew back and gave him a look that was aiming to be level, yet was just desperate and yearning. "This isn't your place," she said firmly. Tears were making glistening patterns down her cheeks. "This isn't your time. Go away. You never should have come."

He looked confused. "That's right," he said. "Why did I come?"

Everyone's eyes went to Naeryn who shook her head desperately. She certainly hadn't summoned him. She was no necromancer! She didn't know how!

Alynna was now swaying in front of the fireplace, moving towards the hand that was beckoning her, and then drawing back. The torment on her face would leave only the most heartless among men unmoved. The five imprints on her cheek were hissing and smoking where hot tears ran over them. Errol watched her with concern that was both appealing and appalling. He truly did not understand that he was the one hurting her. It was as unfathomable to him in death as it had been in life, or maybe even more.

"It's time for you to go away," Oberyn said softly. "Release her, Errol."

Errol gave him a look as if he had just noticed him. He really had been focused on Alynna alone. Maybe in death, he had been able to preserve only the one emotion truly woven into his heart's beating. "Do you really want me to go away, Cousin?" he asked. There was fondness and certainty in his voice, as if he knew what the answer would be.

Oberyn slowly shook his head, his cockiness, confidence, bragging gone, leaving his face an open map of his heart, showing his longing for what was impossible, lost, gone forever to return. "No," he whispered. "No…"

We're the ones keeping him here, Naeryn suddenly realized. Because we don't want him to go.

"Go away, Errol," she said, her voice shaking. "And don't come back."

"Alynna," Arel said sharply, having found his voice once again. "Come."

The sound of his voice seemed to shake her out of her trance. She made a step to him without hesitation, then another one, and then she was suspended by the invisible snare that was the turmoil of her own heart.

He extended a hand. "Come," he said again, tenderly this time. "I cannot come to you, so you must come to me. If you want to."

In this prolonged, petrifying moment, Naeryn thought that Alynna wouldn't want to. Sure, what she had with Arel was solid and real but… Errol had been part of her life for much longer. The man who had been everything to her. The one she had turned down a crown for. Her other half. The blood in her veins. Everything. And if she chose to stay with him… Naeryn didn't know what would happen. Death and life did not belong together. Something terrible would happen.

And then, Alynna made the final few steps.

Naeryn's relief faded almost instantly. Alynna was now weeping, clinging to Arel for dear life but her face was still twisted in agony. Her mind was starting to unravel under the weight of what was happening.

"We're losing her!" Ivorr said sharply. "Errol, it's you. Don't you understand? Let her go!"

"Errol," Arel whispered, numb with horror. "Release her."

Errol made a step backward, alarmed. Once again, his eyes went to his wife's cheek and then to his hand. The purple orbs widened with the shock of a sudden realization. "I- I did not mean…" he stammered out. "I did not want…"

He stared at her once again, cradled in Arel's arms, and the sadness of his understanding made Naeryn weep. Alynna was lost to him and he was lost to her.

And then, he was gone. Just like this. One moment, he was here and the next moment, there wasn't even a shimmer of his pallid light. Love is a sorcery in itself, Naeryn thought, her teeth clattering. She had heard her teachers repeating it constantly, yet no one even tried to teach them the magic of love. Now, she realized why this was: because the workings of human heart could not be predicted, designed, deciphered. Forced.

The shadows started crowding once again: Asshai, the Titan of Braavos, the burning castle, the roaring of dragons dead and reborn, the blue mountain top, and the bloodied head at her mother's feet, Aelinor's wedding gown spattered with red …

"Give her to me," Oberyn said when the flames emptied and started flickering, once again harmless, meaningless. "Arel? I have to see her… and call the Maester…"

The five imprints on Alynna's cheek were still gaping, burned away, ugly. Slowly, Arel released her, Oberyn came near and the two of them placed her on the upholstered bench where she lay unmoving, still whimpering.

"Let's hope she keeps her wits about her after this," Oberyn muttered, wringing a cloth dry to clean the wounds. "And it was all for naught."

He didn't mean to reproach but Naeryn felt it like this. She was berating herself. How could she have miscalculated so? How could she have trusted in herself so much? And it had been all for naught, Oberyn was…

"It wasn't," Arthur cut in, and everyone looked up, surprised.

He gave them a grim look. "The mountain top," he said. "I know it. It's in the Red Mountains. For almost a year, I did nothing but stare at it. I could paint it, was I possessed of the merest touch of talent."

He drew a tortured breath. "They are in that damned tower," he said.

Shaking with cold, Allyria was eating her lunch after making sure that the boys had eaten as much of theirs as they could. The amount they had been able to swallow had been quite small – but the stinking bucket that served as privy and hadn't been emptied since their arrival killed their appetite quite efficiently. Allyria was fighting to stay awake but a good and long sleep looked so very enticing.

She was now as white as the boys, everything in her body going slower because of the cold and blood loss. Deep inside, she knew she was dying and that no one would do anything to help her. The screams of the poor fool who had believed her bluff still echoed in her mind, sinking her into incapacitating fear and even regret, as if she was somehow to blame for his fate. But now, no one would come to them out of the ordered times, let alone disturb Gerold on her plea, and tonight or the next morning they'd find her dead body – for which they would also be punished. Gerold was so obsessed with punishing the Dayne of Starfall he had finally laid his hands on that he hadn't realized just how far he had gone, almost killing his precious hostage. Once again, Allyria's hand went between her thighs. The spot was going numb but the pain would flare again at the slightest motion.

She knew that she would not stop the bleeding, no matter how hard she pressed, yet she tried. Just as she expected, when she removed her hand, the blood only came out gushing and the world swirled in front of her. Ilon gasped when he saw that her hand had come out wet and red.

"I am fine," Allyria tried to say before her head swam and the loss of blood finally rendered her unconscious.

"They are indeed there," Arthur said. "Our men returned with the confirmation."

His announcement was met with grim faces and troubled whispers. He went on, "For now, it looks like they're all concentrated in the tower and the grounds around it. Preparing for their next attack, by the looks of it."

He didn't need to say that last bit. What else could outlaws be doing in an abandoned tower and around? The bloody tower could not offer the comfort of High Hermitage, as Arthur knew better than anyone.

"We should attack them as they gather," the young Lord Manwoody said.

Yes, that was the most logical course of action, and one almost guaranteed to bring them victory. It was also the course of action that had Arthur's heart all but scream out in protest. No matter the swiftness of their attack, there would be plenty of time for the men to notice their arrival. The so called Tower of Joy was a bloody watchtower, for the Warrior's sake! And while there might not be enough time to deploy – if they organized their attack in a broad enough front, - the time would be more than enough for something to happen to Allyria and the boys. Arthur's memories of Gerold were not fond ones and what Arel had supplied recently pointed at three bodies thrown at them in parts if he felt cornered.

Elia wanted the Vulture King removed. Arel wanted the children safe. Arthur wanted both and couldn't have them, not at the same time.

"If Lady Allyria and the two children weren't there," Lord Fowler said, "I would suggest that we set the forest to the fire, and the tower with it. The gods see that we should have razed the place to the ground many years ago anyway."

Why didn't you, Arthur wanted to shout. Why didn't you? He doubted that there was even one man in Dorne who would mourn the building. "But they are there," he reminded the man more acidly than he intended to.

From his place near the wall where he stood silent, having been allowed to be present only if he didn't say a thing, Alynna's eldest son, Elvar Sand's squire, was shaking his head in mute horror. For a moment, Arthur found it in himself to pity the boy and his mother who was still sleeping under the effect of the milk of poppy, unable to deal with what had happened last night, and then his mind returned to his own plea.

Everyone in Arel's study knew just how much trust Elia had placed in him. Everyone knew that he had a way of proving himself worthy of it in a way that was almost certain to be an easy one – if a fire in the forest could ever be named easy.

He only had to give something in exchange. The lives of two children. And the life of his own sister. Allyria burning into the fire…

Would someone blame him then? Yes, for sure. But he'd be known for his honour. He would have justified Elia's confidence. He would have given both sides of the Dornish Marches the peace they deserved. He would have won the appreciation of the realm for Elia.

"No," he said, and he wondered bitterly whether he'd ever get Elia to forgive him this last betrayal.