No copyright infringement is intended. All recognizable names and plot characteristics belong to George R. R. Martin.
The news of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's impending visit had caused an uproar in Dorne. There was no love lost between the Dornish and the barbarians of the North, but Rhaegar was a favorite wherever he went, and the people could not resist a chance to glimpse the prince of whom they had heard so many fantastical tales.
In the streets, the young women talked about his prowess on the harp, among other skills.
"I've heard that his music brings tears to maiden's eyes in King's Landing."
"And no doubt many a girl to his bed as well."
In the training yards, the men discussed his ability with the sword, with the lance, and, it was rumored, with the bow and arrow.
"A stable boy once told me his sword was forged with dragon fire, and whenever he swings it, a man in Westeros dies in terror."
"Let's hope next time he gets you. Idiot."
And everyone- every man, woman, and child who was able to wag his or her tongue- spoke of his famed Valyrian beauty, so different from the dark, luscious vivacity of Dorne.
"My cousin- she's a kitchen maid at King's Landing- says his hair sparkles like silver, and his eyes are as dark as the night sky."
"And he's not a weak man, I can tell you that. All muscle and sinew, the prince is."
He arrived with a small retinue- two members of the Kingsguard, his friend Jon Connington, and a few soldiers and bannermen. They breached the outer walls of Sunspear just before dusk, but regardless of the looming night, the entire city seemed to be awake as the band of horses and banners passed through the streets to the palace. The crowds were unrestrained in their cheers for their prince and for Ser Arthur Dayne, whose Dornish heritage was remembered by all.
Elia stood with her brothers and her parents on the steps of the castle. Her robes were the red and orange colors of House Martell, but her mother's gift, a dragon coil that was wrapped around her upper arm, reminded her to whom she would soon owe her allegiance. Princess Aida had smiled secretively when she had handed Elia the bauble; she did not know that her daughter realized the prince's visit was more than just a perfunctory journey. The golden jewelry had been cold when Elia first held it, and it remained cold against her bare skin. She could feel the intricate scales woven along the coil's length bite into her skin like animal's teeth.
Doran, normally careful and reserved, reached out his arm to brace her shoulders as the prince arrived at the foot of the steps and disembarked from his horse. Elia appreciated her elder brother's gesture of support and squeezed the hand on her shoulder with her own. She suspected that although her parents had not informed her of the impending betrothal, they had discussed it at length with Doran. She knew that like Oberyn, Doran disliked the Targaryens, but unlike Oberyn, he realized the political ramifications of refusing a proposal from King's Landing and had no choice but to accept the proceedings with reticent acceptance.
After all, what other option did they have?
The Dorne that Elia saw around her was not the Dorne that had once weathered Aegon's Conquest. The kingdom was already small, but recent terrorism from Essosi pirates who had drifted closer to Westeros had steadily drained the trading in ports and markets. The coffers had grown alarmingly small, but they could be filled again if ties to the throne were strengthened, and the traders were convinced of assured protection from the crown.
But there was more than just financial safety at stake. Elia knew her mother was a proud woman. Princess Aida could not and did not forget the slight Tywin Lannister had paid her family when the Hand had rejected the offer of Elia's hand to Jaime Lannister. Ensuring a marriage to the Targaryen prince, the very one who Tywin had sought for his own daughter, would be tantamount to kicking shit into the Lannister's mouth, and it was an opportunity Princess Aida could not ignore. And Prince Ryad was too weak, too easily coiled under his wife's thumb of control to resist.
It was not that Aida did not love her daughter. In fact, Elia was perhaps her most beloved child. Aida could not easily forget the pain of the two sons who were lost after Doran, the pain of almost losing Elia herself, and the pain of lying in blood, waiting for minutes to hear the wail of her daughter's cry. But even the love Aida held for her child took second seat to ensuring the future of Dorne and the honor of House Martell.
As the men disembarked, members of the Dornish household immediately rushed to take their steeds and belongings, and Rhaegar began trailing up the steps with sure, confident grace. Jon walked at his side, his red hair clashing against the sandstone facades of the buildings around them. They were followed by Arthur Dayne and Ser Harlan Grandison, an old but seasoned warrior who had begun his service under Jaehaerys II, Rhaegar's grandfather.
Prince Ryad and Princess Aida stepped forward to greet their future king, and Rhaegar smiled charmingly at them, returning their warm chorus of welcome with his own barrage of gratitude for their hospitality.
He had appreciated the princess' immediate acceptance of his proposal back at Lannisport. Realizing that his father was too suspicious of Tywin Lannister to accept the offer of Cersei's hand, Rhaegar had had to plan quickly. It was not as if he hadn't noticed Elia Martell, Rhaegar had told himself when he had first presented his idea to Princess Aida. Her name had been mentioned by the members of the Small Council as a possible bride, and she was the only one whom his father had not rejected with an outright proclamation. In addition, Rhaegar had long heard of her charm and kindness from her uncle, Prince Lewyn Martell, a member of the Kingsguard, and through Arthur Dayne, whose sister was an especial friend of Princess Elia. She was, all in all, his best option, especially in light of the closer alliance with Dorne that a marriage to its princess would bring, and Dorne's ferocity was something Rhaegar would need to ascend the throne.
The three Martell siblings stood behind their parents, politely but decidedly distant. As he turned to greet them, it was unmistakeable to Rhaegar that the sons, Doran and Oberyn, did not care for his presence. Doran, whom Arthur had already warned him was a stoic man, had a slight furrow to his brow as he took in his sister's soon-to-be-betrothed. But his disapproval did not concern Rhaegar as much as the barely tempered anger on his brother's face did. Despite his broader shoulders and bolder face, Oberyn Martell cut a very similar image to his brother, but the slight cunning in the youngest Martell's eyes reminded Rhaegar exactly why the man was called the Red Viper despite being barely twenty years of age.
However, the person who interested him the most of the entire Dornish ensemble was not the noble father nor the proud mother nor the angry sons, but the small, wispy figure who stood flanked and was almost hidden by her brothers.
And when he saw her, Rhaegar's heart sank.
Marriage had never interested Rhaegar. He was a man who was born in sadness, who breathed it in every day, and who would die cloaked in its embrace. He may have wished, once or twice, as he sat in the loneliness of King's Landing that he had someone to caress away his pain, but he had buried those dreams long ago, resolving that he had no right to bring someone into the despair of his world.
But time and circumstance had changed, and Rhaegar Targaryen needed a strong wife, one who was capable of fulfilling the demands of a husband. He needed a strong wife because his mother was sitting in King's Landing with bruises on her arms and scratches on her face, because he knew that his mad father was getting madder every day, and because that accursed prophecy had promised salvation from the madness of the Targaryens- from the madness of his blood.
Elia Martell was not strong, at least not in body. He had heard rumors, of course, of her sickly constitution and premature birth, and he had felt her too angular form when she had stumbled against him during their long trek back to her rooms that night in Lannisport.
But Rhaegar had swept those notions aside when he recalled seeing her dance, looking like a sunbeam with more life in her small body than Cersei Lannister could ever hope to contain in hers. Seeing her flit around the room, hand in hand with her brother, Rhaegar had seen an inner fire that burned bright enough to match any dragon's flame, and he knew then that he had found his queen, the mother of his prince that was promised.
The Elia Martell that stood before him now was still more planes than curves, but her fire had not dimmed. Nevertheless, Rhaegar's heart still sank because her lustrous brown eyes were not lit with joy as he had last seen them. No, her eyes- indeed, Elia herself- burned at him with a storm of hostility and fear.
Yes, Rhaegar was a man born in sadness, but it was clear to see that Elia was not. Dorne had nursed her from her cradle with the nectar of happiness, and for a single moment, he felt guilt burden his heart like it never had before.
By taking Elia Martell as his bride, by taking her to his bed, by making her his queen and the mother of his children, Rhaegar would be feeding an innocent woman to the dragons, and the flame of her beautiful spirit could not save her.
So it was with the weight of his impending sin in his mind that Rhaegar Targaryen brushed his lips across her hand and quietly chanted in his mind, forgive me.
But he knew already that she never would.
Even if Elia could have read Prince Rhaegar's thoughts, she could not have comprehended them. From the moment her eyes were able to distinguish the individuals of the party, Elia had ignored all else but the young man with the blue eyes and the white cloak.
Elia had tried, in the past few months, to slay her feelings for Arthur, and for a time, she had been convinced of her success. When letters arrived from King's Landing, Elia restrained herself from earnestly searching for his name in the missives Uncle Lewyn had sent. She schooled herself from smiling like a fool when Ashara spoke of him in daily conversation. And after some time and effort, she no longer had to consciously stop herself; dulling her love for Arthur had become an instinct.
But when she saw that face- that frustratingly beautiful face- and when those blue, blue eyes met hers, Elia's heart fluttered like it had done years and years ago when Arthur Dayne of Starfall had kissed her underneath the shaded leaves of a blood orange tree, and she had first tasted the sweet tang of citrus on his lips. Whatever shutters she had drawn closed on her emotions were flung open with a bang, and Elia could not help but curse him silently and blissfully in her mind as the ferocity of her love for him overtook her body and left her trembling with a happiness that made her glow with want.
But then her sight shifted to the man standing beside him, the man he was sworn to defend with his life. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was tall, lithe, built, and handsome. His eyes were as dark indigo as the midnight sky, and his silver locks glowed with golden starlight against the setting sun. He was a beautiful man, but when she saw him, the sunshine that had warmed her heart died, and all Elia could feel was the fingers of fate inch its claws down her back.
And those fingers left her feeling colder than she had ever felt before.
Colder than she had felt in the Lannister castle, colder than she had felt hearing her mother bargain her to the Targaryens, colder than when she had revealed the truth to Oberyn, and colder than she had ever felt in the days and months leading to this moment of seeing the dragon prince at her doorstep.
But she did not let her coldness show. No, Elia of House Martell, Princess of Sunspear, and woman of Dorne smiled.
Elia smiled as Prince Rhaegar bent over her fingers and briefly pressed his dry lips to her skin. She smiled as he explained he was pleased to meet her properly. She smiled as he took her arm in his and walked behind her parents to the interior of the palace. And she smiled as a tall, white cloaked young man who held her heart in his arms, stalked only a few yards behind them.
It was raining outside. It rarely rained in the desert kingdom, but the sky had to spill its burden at some point, and it chose to do so through a resounding storm that battered the palace walls with screeching winds and buffeting sheets of rain.
The party from King's Landing had all been settled in following a brief feast. Due to their belated arrival, it was decided that a proper welcome could be postponed till the next evening. Nevertheless, Elia did not fail to notice that she had been placed directly adjacent to Prince Rhaegar during their dinner. Fortunately, the prince had seemed too occupied talking to her father about recent events, especially the tragic deaths of Steffon Baratheon and his wife, Cassanna, at Shipbreaker Bay.
Elia had heard the Mad King had been enraged upon hearing the news; the late Lord Baratheon had been friends with the king since they were young men, and it was rumored that the king had intended to have Steffon Baratheon replace Tywin Lannister as his Hand, especially since Lord Baratheon, not the Hand, had been sent to Volantis to find a Valyrian bride for Rhaegar. Of course, Steffon Baratheon had failed. Or else I would not be sitting next to the Mad King's son, thought Elia with some bitterness coursing through her mind.
Even months after she had heard him speak to her mother, Elia could not help but resent him for his selfish actions, for they were selfish. He certainly did not propose marriage because he loved her. He barely knew her beyond her name and lineage. He proposed because he needed her kingdom's allegiance and because he needed her womb, and as crown prince to the Iron Throne, he had the authority to request, if not outright demand, for her hand and to not be denied.
If it had been anyone else, Elia would not have reacted with such animosity. After all, if it was not Rhaegar, it would be another stranger with whom she would eventually have to share her bed, but her anger towards him was fuelled by another emotion.
Fear.
No matter what she had told Oberyn, Elia was afraid. She was afraid of Rhaegar, and she was afraid of what her future with him would bring and not just because it would tear her from Dorne.
She had grown up hearing whispered horrors from her mother about King Aerys, his cruelty toward Queen Rhaella. And everyone in the Seven Kingdoms had heard about the fate of the Jaehaerys' nursemaid and her family after the infant prince had died, long before the birth of Viserys. They were tortured to death beneath the Red Keep, accused of a murder they had never committed. Everyone knew how Aerys' madness only seemed to multiply after the disaster at Duskendale. Even in Dorne, where the men and women were raised among sand vipers, the people had recoiled when they heard of Aerys' wrath toward Denys Darklyn and his family and the macabre deaths they had all been submitted to.
Regardless of what she had seen and heard of Rhaegar, Elia was wary of him as well. She had long heard from Arthur, through his letters to Ashara, that the prince was kind, a man who favored music to swords, that he bore more resemblance to Rhaella than to Aerys. She had heard much the same from her uncle on the Kingsguard. Elia had seen evidence of this at Lannisport in how kindly he had treated Cersei, how respectfully he had behaved towards Elia herself, how beautifully he had played on the dias.
But Elia also remembered how ferociously he rode in the tourney, how his ebony armour seemed to attract darkness to it, how his red lance had gleamed until she could no longer distinguish the metal from the blood of Rhaegar's opponents.
However hard she tried, Elia could not put aside these dark thoughts, nor could she ignore what she had been taught since birth:
The blood of dragons was tainted with madness.
And as hard as Elia tried to remember that she was a Martell, that she was a woman of Dorne, she could not forget that, ultimately, she was also human, and that to be human was to break.
I realize this is an early update, but I happened to finish the next chapter a few days earlier than planned because I realized I would be without Internet access later this week and wouldn't be able to update on schedule.
Anyway, we'll get to see some direct Rhaegar/Elia interaction in the next few chapters, but I think I've started laying the groundwork for their later relationship. Also, this is the longest chapter yet, and my goal for future chapters is to hit this length (or somewhere around it) as well.
As always, thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think with a review/favorite/follow. Speaking of reviews, thank you to everyone who has written one so far. I love writing this story, and I love hearing from my readers as well!