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Lady of Dorne
Coming Back
In Arthur's ears, the whispering of his men-at-arms clashed with the muted clatter of hoofs wrapped in fabric and they both competed with the pumping of his own blood and the thud of his heart. He was happy that the ragged terrain did not allow for any conversation, for he was fit for none.
They were now high in the mountain, the cold tickling every inch of skin it could get to. Arthur had come here in the moonlight thousands of times and although he had always found the night mountain enthralling, he had always been more alert, never quite comfortable. The summits loomed too high, the stars spread a veil of shimmering mist and the trees were whispering secrets in a language he could not understand. The Red Mountains were a different place at night. He had always preferred the sunlight.
Next to him, Arel stared straight ahead. Arthur's sharp sensitivities told him that his brother was so focused on his aim that he could see the details of their environment no clearer than Arthur. Still, he looked calm. In fact, the only thing showing that the failed sorcery attempt had affected him at all was the fact that he now kept Alynna's eldest son close, never letting him leave his side. Arthur had glimpsed the boy's bewilderment but that was better than telling him the truth of what had transpired.
The next mountain top rose before their eyes. The Golden Cup. It was not even this high, yet in Arthur's mind it was far higher than the ones they had conquered, the highest one they had to go to. From there, they could see the sheltered place the tower lay snug in. The men inside, though, they couldn't see them. Not at night, not with the moon starting to fade.
Or so Arthur hoped.
Once again, he thought that night had a way of changing everything, even the land of his birth.
The narrow path started winding, curving around the rocks that Arthur now for the first time recognized to be shaped as strange, giant faces. The First Men, maybe?
Oberyn rode forward.
"What?" Arthur hissed before the other man could go ahead of him.
Oberyn reined his steed in and turned his head. His eyes glittered like the obsidian Naeryn wore so often. "We don't know what lies ahead," he said in a low voice, for in the mountain, voices carried well.
Later, Arthur would get used to such attitude but now he was so stunned that he let the Prince pass. The outright admission that Arthur's life was now more valuable than Oberyn's, that Elia's consort should not go into the unknown when the risk could be avoided was something he had never expected to receive from his fellow Dornishmen. This one least of all.
No. With Oberyn, it wasn't just his recognition of Elia's husband. He wouldn't have done it for Rhaegar. He's giving me a sign. All of a sudden, Arthur's hope rose again. This far, Oberyn had been good to his word – he had been taking Arthur's commands without hesitation, showing him respect in all things, and not only when there were people present. He seemed to approve of Arthur's decision to deviate from the plan to deal with the Vulture King swiftly, cruelly, and effectively. Maybe Elia would also take it this way.
Oberyn returned and shook his head, indicating that no visible danger lurked on the next segment of the path, and the men spurred their horses.
When they reached the summit, the moon had indeed disappeared, leaving them nothing but the feeble light of enormous stars that could not warm Arthur's frozen heart. From where they were, they could see the camp around the tower and the building itself, its red turned to black in the pale shimmer. Dark spirals of smoke rose to the sky and Arthur tried to estimate which chambers they were coming from. His blood started pounding once again when he realized that the rooms on the highest floor where they could reasonably expect to find the captives were cold. Their men had confirmed that there were many men gathered in the tower – but there had been no way to know whether it also housed a young girl and two small boys. What if they weren't there? What if they had been but had been moved somewhere else? Gerold – right now, Arthur had to operate under the presumption that it was his kinsman he was dealing with – might have seen his chance in impulsively trying to abduct and wed Lady Blackmont but he would not start a war against everyone without support. What if he had sent the children to his unknown allies?
What if he kept them in the cold?
What if he had taken Allyria to his own chamber? The girl had already started turning into a woman. A very beautiful one. All of a sudden, shame seared his deepest being. He had once been the guardian of a young highborn lady in the very tower they were about to attack. He had always told himself that Brandon Stark had overreacted, and it was so. Still, now Arthur realized that in Stark's place, he might have done the very same thing.
But if they weren't there – and never had been? He would have squandered their chance to deal with those outlaws once and for all.
He turned about and beckoned Naeryn closer.
"Are you sure there's no way for us to go through one of the secret channels your grandmother told you about?" he asked when she reined in close to him. The reins were loosely wrapped around the wrist of her malformed hand, so she could use her normal one. It was a strange thing for Arthur to notice just then.
Naeryn shook her head. "As far as I know, the two secret tunnels are accessible only from the inside. I must get in."
Her Northern shadow grimaced. Clearly, as far as he was concerned, any plan that did not include his lady in close contact with the enemy was a good one. Especially when he wasn't supposed to accompany her there.
Arthur swallowed his mimicking of the expression. He didn't want anyone to get in! He wanted to get three people out before razing the damned building to the ground with all the traitors inside.
"Form the wall," he ordered and soon after was the first one who rode downwards, straight against the sleeping men whose sentinels were so careless and tricked by the night that they barely managed to raise the alarm before being literally run over.
Shouts erupted from the tower and from the windows, arrows flew out. But the months spent in the cursed building had provided Arthur with little entertainment other than valuing the beauty of his homeland and inspecting his prison, so he had positioned his men well out of the range of the arrows or rather, in places that made targeting even harder than the narrow embrasures did.
All they had to do was wait a few volleys that showed the men inside just how futile this method of defense was. Then, Arthur rode forward, taking his helmet off to reveal his face under the light of the torch young Laval was holding. Someone behind him suggested to go instead but Arthur was done with it, had been done since he had been shocked enough to let Oberyn do it just once.
"I want to talk to your leader," he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. "I want to talk to Gerold Dayne," he added and waited to find out whether the first one of their assumptions would turn out to be right.
Behind him, someone tried to get near but he raised his hand to stop them. The Vulture King would not show up should he see that Arthur was not alone to talk to him.
"Do you think he's going to come, Ser?" Laval asked.
Arthur looked at his face that was in equal measures eager and scared. The boy must have seen his fair share of knights practicing and tourneys but tonight had probably been the first time he had seen an organized, non-mock attack. "I think so," he replied. "He knows they're encircled. And that he still has a trump card. He will come."
Unless Allyria, Edric, and Ilon weren't there at all. Then, the Vulture King might not realize what they feared and that he didn't have any advantage over them. Well, Arthur thought, then we'll just have to take the tower. Burn it to the ground. Even as he was thinking it, he knew he could never take the tiniest chance that they might be inside.
The Vulture king rode his mount out of the tower when the night was gathering its deepest dark, when the dawn was not far away and the owls were starting to rise. Arthur waited for his approach and suddenly wanted to laugh at the sight of the black stallion. Had Gerold chosen it to compliment his silver hair? He turned the matter around in his head and decided that his mind was getting really unstable if he kept asking himself that – was the horse chosen to compliment Gerold's hair?
"Welcome, Cousin," Gerold said. He wasn't speaking with the typical Dornish drawl – his own drawl was meant to convey his amusement, the fact that he had all the time in the world. Innerve Arthur as much as possible. "You've been really fast. I am impressed."
"I am far less impressed with your folly," Arthur replied. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't take your head right now and then burn your fellow traitors inside as the cornered foxes you all are."
Gerold raised an eyebrow, scanning the earth littered with his dead men. On Arthur's side, there had been almost no losses. "Damnation! They were good men," he murmured.
Arthur didn't take the bait. "Give me one reason," he said.
Gerold smiled condescendingly. "Now, now, Arthur," he chided. "Let's not get childish here. You know that had you not been scared for my three reasons, you would have already burned me… like a cornered fox, I believe?" He chuckled. "I imagine destroying this place might win you some points with your noble lady wife. But maybe you cherish the memories from your time here?"
"Not particularly," Arthur said coolly. Now that he had his confirmation, everything about him had settled in stony resolve. This was just another battle that he had to fight. And now he knew what weapons the opponent had at his disposal. Never hate, Arthur, Mikkel Gargalen's voice echoed in his head. Never hate or rejoice in battle. Because if you do, you have already lost half the battle. Calmness and self-control, those were makings his foster father had built in him for months before even letting him touch a sword. "I'd like it if you let them go but I don't expect that you will?"
Gerold laughed out loud. "Now, that's better, Arthur! I had started to believe those saying that your years away had stripped you of your Dornish wit. No, I won't let them go indeed. If we burn like foxes, so will they… and let me tell you, they might not last as long as we will. All of them are… indisposed."
Arthur's heart felt as if it would burst right out of his chest. But his face stayed impassive. "I have a proposal for you. Give them to me, and I'll spare your life. I'll convince Elia to do so as well. You might get away with as little as a heavy fine and an exile."
"Elia!"
Rabid hatred crossed Gerold's features. For a brief moment, he looked so much like Aerys that Arthur felt chilled.
"You're the soul of generosity, Cousin," the younger man said caustically. "But I'm afraid I have to refuse. It'll be very stupid of me to lose my advantage and rely on your honour. Let alone humiliating."
"But it'll keep you alive," Arthur pointed out.
"And it'll give you and her further glory," Gerold countered. "No, Arthur, it won't do."
It really wouldn't. For all his dislike of his High Hermitage kinsmen, Arthur had never imagined that Gerold's hatred ran so deep that he'd rather embrace death than Arthur's mercy.
"I have another suggestion instead," his cousin said. "Why don't you take your men and march away like the peace-loving do-gooders you're striving to be? Let us leave Dorne. When we're on the other side of the Dornish Marches, I'll release the three to you."
Arthur shook his head. "Out of question," he snapped.
"Is it, indeed?" Gerold inquired politely. "If I send you a small finger instead, will it be still out of question?"
The Seven help me, he's mad enough to do it. Somehow, Arthur kept his face blank. "Especially if you send me a small finger."
Gerold stared at him curiously and started saying something but the scream of a night bird nearby drowned his words. "I wonder," he said pensively, "whether Arel will agree."
Arthur's blood ran cold. In the state he was in now, his brother might be an easy prey for Gerold to smell his fear like an animal would. And Gerold would use that to divide their party, undermine their efforts… and hurt both Arthur and Arel simply because he'd enjoy it. "Arel agrees with me," he said.
"Does he?"
To Arthur's horror, Gerold raised a hand, beckoning Arel closer. Arthur gripped the reins more tightly and the sand steed started prancing, feeling his anxiety. Don't come, Arel. I will solve this, I swear. Don't let him play us against each other. Believe in me as I have always believed in you.
No hoofs moved the grass.
"This bastard!"
Finally, Arthur had had enough. "That's enough. Don't you dare!"
The narrowed eyes resting on his face looked dark in the torchlight. "That got to you, didn't it? But he's no doubt that… just like you and those sisters of yours. Need I remind you that it was your mother and not mine who slept with everyone she met?"
Now, Arthur realized that he might have possibly raised his voice. "Anyway, you lose," he said. "You either play your big advantage with me, or not play it at all. I repeat my offer and even expand it: let the children be, and I'll appeal to the Lady of Dorne to punish you with exile alone."
"Like Doran did their beloved cousin?" Gerold asked. "Do you think me a fool, Arthur? You cannot promise such a thing and I won't take a verdict from your wife either. Especially with him there. Has it ever been a case when Arel asked for something and was not given it? Not while Alric Gargalen had any say!"
His eyes moved from the hilt of Dawn at Arthur's side to the men gathered a good distance behind him. "Thought he'd stay forever chained to that barren wife of his and Geralt would wed Ashara, so we would inherit Starfall. Prayed for that every day. Instead, he killed her and did he get punished for that? No, Alric whispered in his son's ear and Arel emerged completely innocent and married that Gargalen bitch just to cheat us out of our rightful place. Do you even know who she is? No one in Dorne knows where her mother came from, which pillow-hourse in Braavos Carral Gargalen dragged her from. And he made a second Essosi whore mistress of Starfall! Started fathering all those brats on her. You think I'll accept his judgment?"
Arthur sighed, exasperated. "Are you done with your laments?" he asked. "Because I really don't think we're getting anywhere. You don't want to lose your advantage? Fine. That's our last offer: you will release my sister and the boys and you can have Lady Naeryn instead. Surely she'll make a far better hostage. She won't require a nursery," he added, realizing fully well that nursery was the last thing Gerold would have provided to his prisoners. But if he was right and they were cold and held in bad conditions, then his cousin would certainly appreciate a hostage who was far better able to take his accommodations without getting ill. "Then, we'll give you a day time to leave the Red Mountains before giving chase. I expect you to release her when the day ends."
He only prayed that they wouldn't take the time to attack some poor villagers on the way.
Gerold's eyes glittered. "Naeryn Sand turned out to be a bigger fool than I thought her," he said. "All for two brats and a girl she barely knows." He laughed. "I'd like to see you explain this to your wife. Her own cherished cousin."
He thought briefly but Arthur could say with reasonable certainty what his answer would be. Naeryn might be a malformed bastard but she was Elia's beloved cousin. Alric's niece. Aemon Targaryen's stepdaughter. Stannis Baratheon's future goodsister. Lord Yronwood's paramour. And a healthy young woman like her would be sustained on less and moved with less trouble.
"And she agrees to come willing?"
"Yes," Arthur said, and Gerold stared past him to regard her. Naeryn the Cursed. Naeryn the Whore. All of a sudden, Arthur remembered the pale smoothness of slender arms twining about him. How he had watched her, amazed how delicate her bones and skin were despite her great bodily strength.
"Fine," the younger Dayne finally said. "She will come with me and I'll release them as soon as we get there."
This time, Arthur laughed derisively. "Do you think I am such a fool?" he asked. "She isn't getting anywhere near you."
Gerold scowled at him. "Then how do you suggest we make the exchange?"
"You'll go back to the tower and let them out. At the same time, Lady Naeryn will walk against them. They will pass each other and reach the gates and us at the same time."
It was Gerold's turn to laugh. "Not going to work."
Arthur hadn't expected him to accept immediately. But there was no way he was giving him the children and Naeryn. "Then I'll assume that you don't have them," he said firmly. "I wish you good luck. You might even make it to the tower to burn and suffocate with the rest of them foxes."
Gerold blinked, clearly not having anticipated this turn of events. Arthur turned his horse. "Come on," he told Laval. "We're leaving."
They had almost reached the rest of their groups when behind them, Gerold shouted, "Fine!"
Arthur had won this round!
His feeling of triumph lasted just about the length of a screeched conversation between two owls. The moment the figures emerged from the gate of that bloody tower, fear swept him, more powerful than ever before. The pale apparition drowned in torchlight from the courtyard looked nothing like the girl who had traveled to Sunspear for his wedding – her face was pale and bloated, her hair hanging limp and draggled over one cheek, her clothes soiled rugs that the kitchen girls at Starfall would never don. She was dragging a boy by the arm and holding another, unmoving one with his head on her shoulder. But their advance was very slow because she herself could barely walk, swaying and staggering, her body visibly numb and irresponsive to her commands. She was so changed that for a moment, Arthur thought that it was not her, that it was all a trick.
In the middle of the distance, Naeryn came near, touched her shoulder, and said something that Arthur could not hear. Then, she kept walking toward the Tower of Joy slowly, resolutely, matching her pace to Allyria's, so the moment the gates swallowed her, Arel came forward and without saying anything, grabbed the fair-haired boy from Allyria's arms. Oberyn took Ilon who went to him willingly.
Relieved of her burden, Allyria swayed precariously and her knees buckled. Arel kept her upright and looked at Oberyn. "Can you…?"
"Light a fire," Oberyn said curtly and a short while later, a few blankets were stretched near the young flames, so he could examine Allyria without hurting her modesty.
When he emerged from behind the makeshift screen, his face was white. "Send someone to the Wyl Castle," he said. "She needs a litter. She cannot travel by horse."
Arthur and Arel shared a troubled look. They had both noticed that the part of Allyria's clothing that was most soiled with blood, both dried and new, was her skirts. "Has he…?"
"No," Oberyn said. "It isn't that."
It did not sound too comforting but then, he had hardy meant it this way. Allyria's eyes blazed a lion's anger, she clasped Arel's hand and whispered, "Kill Gerold, please. Kill him for me."
"He's a dead man," he promised, wrapping her in the cloak they had brought over for her. "I promise. Thank you for taking care of them."
She shook her head. "It wasn't much of care," she said bitterly, staring at the boys who were now examined by Oberyn, and then dropped to her knees near the fire, sitting on her heels and supporting her weight additionally with her arms outstretched behind her. She stayed in this weird position for a very long time – all the hours needed for the stretcher to arrive.
The first thing the two guards did upon taking her to the chamber on the top floor was strip her naked, on Darkstar's command. And they meant naked. Like, taking everything off. At seeing the hand reaching for her smallclothes, she flinched away and snapped, "I can manage on my own, thank you very much."
"Can you?" the burly man asked, looking truly surprised. His eyes went to her missing limb.
Naeryn angrily started pulling the remaining items of her attire off and the men didn't try to stop her and keep doing it themselves. They were probably scared of the rumours of her sorcery, she realized and started thinking of different ways to put this to her advantage.
Until the Vulture King came. He checked every inch of her skin for an ointment that shouldn't be there, removed the silver ring with a ruby from her finger and the earrings from her ears. Naeryn growled when he took the twin bracelets of interwoven gold strands with sapphires and amethysts at the interstices and reached to snatch them back.
"No Essosi tricks, my lady," he warned. "Or you'll spend the next few months just like this – naked, to everyone's delight. Mine, most of all."
So, he wasn't thinking of honouring his part of the deal. Naeryn was not surprised. But her hopes that they'd just forget about her while they were doing their preparations to flee and give her the chance to find the secret tunnels she had mentioned about were crushed. As Gerold pulled new clothes over her, she realized that he didn't mean to let her out of his sight. Her fingers fumbled with the laces.
"Not comfortable in those, eh?"Gerold Dayne asked. "You should be honoured. Those were probably clothes worn by a future queen."
Of all things that had happened to her in the last few minutes – all the things that would happen to her now – this was the ultimate offense. She glared at him, showing her teeth. "How dare you bring me such soiled clothes," she spat. "You will pay for this, as well."
He chuckled. "That's what I've always thought about you Martells. Or is it a Gargalen thing? You can stand anything but a blow to your pride. Aim at the pride, and you fall down. You can take those off as well, my lady, I won't stop you. But you'll either have to suffer them or accompany us naked. I daresay Cousin Arthur wouldn't feel this shocked. I heard that he took your maidenhead when you were twelve, so he must have seen you like this hundreds of times. Of course, that was before you became Anders Yronwood's whore."
"I am Anders Yronwood future bride!" Naeryn said immediately, without thinking. Only a moment later did she realize with her brain just how important it was to have Gerold Dayne convinced in that or she would likely become his whore instead.
He laughed derisively. She cocked her head and smiled arrogantly.
"As if!" he exclaimed. "You might be good enough to warm his bed, my lady, but he isn't mad enough to wed you."
"Is that so?" she snapped. "He's trying to mend things with the Martells, so his heir will wed my sister, as you might have heard. And he's planning to wed me because he fell in love with me along the way. These bracelets you took from me – they are a present from him. Our wedding will take place in three moons," she lied.
"I don't believe you," he claimed even as he inspected the incredibly costly jewels.
She didn't need him to. She just needed to have him thinking for a few hours. Because she was not sharing her mother's fate, to be dragged to all the cities and continents the villain decided to take her to.
They left the tower under a bright sun rising young to the western horizon. Riding a horse with reins that were held by the Vulture King in person, Naeryn thought that a bad omen. She had always been more comfortable in the moonlight than in the sun. Preferred silver to gold, everyone knew that and took care to present her with silver. Everyone but Anders. Had she, in her heart of hearts, accepted the secondary place the world had allotted her? She saw the ranks of their own men as she went past them. Arthur caught her eye but she didn't dare give him any inkling, lest someone see. Right now, she didn't want to set his mind at ease either. She had never begrudged Elia his lasting love but sometimes, the swiftness that he had forgotten her, Naeryn, with, stung unexpectedly. But had his feelings been unexpected themselves? Hardly! Who remembered the moon when the sun rose in the sky?
Her eyes were red from the lack of sleep. Should she have a looking-glass, she was sure that she would see bruises so deep that her eyes would look made up in black.
"Welcome to the start of our journey, my lady," Gerold Dayne said sarcastically.
She ground her teeth as he led her horse past the ranks of waiting men. She had every intention to end this journey much sooner than expected but the thought of her means… She breathed the mountain in, the screeches of the bird, the blue summits, the glittering lines of the streams running down and yes, the sight of the dead men littering the ground. She wondered whether Arthur would bother give them a proper funeral.
The Old River, narrow and deep, ran along the Boneway, immediately after the grounds of the tower. Naeryn looked at the deep precipitous gorge, the surging waters, the trees sporting their bare branches at the two sides and wondered whether anyone could survive a fall in there.
"Take care, my lady," Gerold wondered and motioned at one of his men to step in line closely behind Naeryn because the path along the defile was so narrow that it barely contained a horse. There was no way for it to fit two abreast.
That was the moment Naeryn had waited, to be given the control of her own reins. Indeed, she normally preferred to wrap them around her wrist but she could deal without should need arise. The Vulture King had taken all precautions but he had no way of knowing just how lithe Naeryn was. She had taught her body to be a perfect instrument of her will because that was the only way she could keep up with the rest of the world – compensating for the missing limb.
Still, she had never gone down this route before. She had no idea where she could best jump off so that Arthur's men would see her. Stealthily, she stirred her feet in the stirrups to test the suppleness of the leather and braced herself for action.
The sky was rising blue and clear, free of the morning mist, so close that she could touch it. Before her, Gerold Dayne was navigating his night horse and after, his men were concentrating on soothing their own skittish beasts. Far beneath, the Old River gushed and hissed, and carried foam and whirlpools to the sea.
A voice suddenly spoke in her ear, "Now! Do it now!"
Whose was this voice? Errol, Naeryn thought, startled. Was she imagining things? Or had he, with the failing of her sorcery last night, stayed with her without her knowing it?
Her hesitation lasted no more than a minute. She freed her left foot from the stirrup and moved her leg on the other side of the saddle, causing a shout of alarm from the man riding behind her. For a moment, she balanced on her right foot still in the stirrup and her strong right hand to give their men the chance to see her. Then, she pulled her right foot off as well and with a sharp cry threw herself right into the gorge, flying to the river – and her death?
She heard the startled curses of Dayne's vagabonds and then the sounds of trumpets from farther above. A familiar voice shouted an order but she could not say who the voice belonged to. Arthur? Or Oberyn? she wondered and then her head hit a rock and she knew nothing more.
Arthur's hopes that his return to Sunspear would be a quiet one were crushed as soon as he reached the shadow city: everyone living in the shade of the Old Palace, plus a good deal of visitors, had come out into the streets to cheer him into the dying light. Sure, Oberyn's name and the names of some others of the leaders in their party were chanted often and loudly but one name was rising above anything else, breaking through the din, feeding on its own echo: the Sword of the Morning. Everyone's eyes were trained on the milky sword with glinting hilt that reflected the fading light of the evening.
It took him more than two hours to reach the Old Palace where he was met with no less excitement and anticipation – but also fear. Aemon Targaryen was the first one to meet him, heading for him with remarkable speed for someone who had trouble walking. "How is Naeryn?" he asked urgently. No congratulations from this one. Certainly no cheering. Just grave concern. Finally, Arthur felt justified in feeling this way. All that the acclamations had done for him was making his distress more acute.
"She lives," he replied, unwilling to lie, yet feeling that he should soothe the older man's tension to the best of his ability. Then, he had to look aside, feeling that he was intruding into Aemon's soul – the Targaryen prince's relief and gratitude were so profound and bare. He occupied himself with untying his saddlebag.
"Take the horses to the stables," he told Laval. "Then, you're free to go and look for your family."
Without adding anything, he headed for the private quarters, leaving his men to fill the gaps in the palace people's knowledge of the events that had just transpired. He was so tired and disheartened that he just wanted to slide down the wall and bury his face in his hands. But alas, he had to tell Elia the full details of everything that had happened. How he had placed something before her again. And the horrifying results of the whole thing.
To his surprise, she was alone in her solar, unattended by anyone. There were a few candles lit but no candelabra. Maybe the light hurt her eyes. And maybe it was because of the faint light that he looked at her with an entirely new worry. She had already started to show, albeit not much, meaning that her belly was not bulging yet. But she looked abnormally wide right above the hips, Arthur could see it under her loose robe. Her skin gleamed white, her lips bitten all over and her eyes as bruised with exhaustion as his own. The thought that he had hurt her once again, made her distrust him made him want to run far away, where he would never have to look at her and know that he had killed her hopes for a future of love and trust.
She came near and reached out. "Arthur, what happened to your hands?"
He looked down at them with surprise. "It's nothing," he said. Indeed, he had felt no pain when he had been clinging to rocks and removing smaller stones to reach Naeryn, stuck unconscious between a rock and a tree, with the river beating her from all sides. Later, he had felt it all as the maester had tended the bruises, the split nails, the infection that had started spreading.
"It isn't nothing," Elia said. "Let me clean them."
He nodded silently, grasping at the chance to postpone the moment of explanation.
Elia brought him over to the settee and went to fetch some water and a piece of fabric. Arthur sighed in delight when he realized that the water was a warm one. Elia worked swiftly but carefully, avoiding even the least distress to him, and he marveled at the sight of her leaning over his hands, once again bloodied and calloused by holding the reins. Five days had passed since he had put an end to the raids and taken his kinsman's head. It looked like five centuries.
"I am sorry," he murmured. "I betrayed you again."
She dabbed at a bit of blood and looked up, her eyes bewildered. "What are you talking about?"
"I promised you I'd deal with him most effectively. Instead, I let my feelings get in the way, allowed Naeryn to start a ritual that she handled so terribly that Alynna still isn't in her right mind, alerted Gerold that we were there, actually handed Naeryn to him and if it hadn't been for her own bravery, he would be now sow panic and death all around the Dornish Marches." He paused. "You didn't ask me how she was."
"I got a raven from your brother and another one from Castle Wyl." She paused. "Do you truly think so little of me?"
"No…" Arthur protested.
Elia made a step back. "You think I'd rather have innocents, among them my own blood, die than have my orders thwarted? Do you think I wed you just so I can have someone subservient to my own will in all things?" Another step back. "I see the misunderstandings between us run even deeper than I imagined."
"It isn't that," Arthur sighed.
"Then what is it?" To his relief, she didn't keep her progress to the door. Instead, she examined him and something in her softened, her dark eyes filling with candlelight. She came close once again and placed a feathery kiss on his poor hands.
He drew a deep breath. "Deviating from the plan," Elia whispered, "showed me that I had chosen wisely. You're coming back to yourself. Leave the obedience as you knew it at King's Landing, Arthur. Leave it where it belongs. Let go and live here, with me."
"I want to," he said simply. "I love you and you know it."
A sad smile crossed her lips and stayed around the edges of her mouth. "It was never your love that I doubted. It was your ability to be loyal to me. But I wouldn't want you to lose what makes you human and… you. Not just so you can follow my orders."
She didn't say she loved him, even now. Sometimes, he thought she did. Like now. Other times, he wondered whether her distrust had suffocated love.
"You protected the innocent," Elia went on. "Like a true knight should. Like I want my husband to do."
It was the kiss that made him think, once again, that she loved him. It wasn't the passion she let a free run in their marital bed, the kisses that always made him bury his hands in her hair, trying to drink her whole. No, she kissed his eyes and lowered him to lie down on the settee. "Welcome back," she whispered and he knew it wasn't the punitive expedition that she meant.
He opened an eye to make sure that she wasn't going anywhere. Elia pulled a chair next to the settee and seated herself, holding his hand. "Tell me," she murmured. "Tell me about your sister. Tell me about Naeryn."
His voice shaking, his eyes closed shut against the terror, his bruised hand clasping hers, he did.
Now, this truly was the last story for 2014. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and I wish you a Happy New Year!