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Winds of Hatred, Glimpse of Sun

Epilogue

No matter where she looked him from, Mors was dark-haired. Too dark-haired. Olive-skinned. Overly olive-skinned. Everything about him would have screamed Dornish even without his silken robes and that worried Daenerys. She remembered all too well the looks she had gotten when she had first come here. The looks Baelor constantly got after a lifetime in King's Landing and Dragonstone. Dornish, Dornish.

"Come on, Daenerys," Maron would say. "Do you really think Daeron and Mariah would let him be mistreated in any way?"

She didn't and each time she told him so. But the worry was a constant weight in her heart, under her skin. In addition to Mors' Dornishness, that was the most unfortunate time for him to go to court. Behind the carefully worded letters, she could feel the tensions run high – and it was not only because of the vile rumours, may the Seven curse the ones spreading them! Baelor and Maekar seemed to be on opposite positions about what to do with the traitors who had yet to reveal themselves; Rhaegel's madness was known to everyone now; in addition to the calumnies spread about Daenerys and her late mother, a new one had emerged – that Dyanna had struck some kind of deal with entities not of this world, so they let her recover from the shameful ailment that had been eating at her flesh, much like the fleshworms that had taken King Aegon's life.

"Those are just vile rumours," Daeron had said briefly a few months ago when Daenerys had visited court. "I'd like to lay my hands on the ones spreading them – and that will be better for them instead of Maekar getting to them first!" She didn't know if he had, but the word of people who had lost their lives for simply telling the truth about the Dornishwoman had spread wide and far. Worse yet was the reality of Maekar's plunging into darkness – Daenerys had seen that with her own eyes.

"He doesn't love the younger one, does he?" she had asked and Daeron had aged before her very eyes.

"He denies it but I know he doesn't. Or at least not as he should. He thinks the lesion wasn't there before Aerion was born. And I…" He had cut his words short and she had not dared ask.

All in all, it was not a happy court that she'd send her Mors to and yet send him she must, for that was the age when he could actually form friendships and relationships that could truly build a bridge between Dorne and the rest of the kingdoms. Mariah's marriage to Daeron had paved the road; Daenerys and Maron's own union had started the preparations but it was the new people who could actually walk the road. She stared at the pools, now filled with laughing children, and felt it was the right thing to do. That knowledge just didn't make it easier.

"For someone this young, Mors is turning out great," Maron would say. "Do think about the courage you and Mariah showed."

Daenerys thought about the fate of the little Dayne girl, one of the first Daeron's hostages, instead. Astra who had been Mors' age when she had first encountered the cold winter and hatred of the Red Keep that had finally claimed her life. But Mors was of no delicate constitution. And he wouldn't be a hostage. He'd be a cherished guest. No, Maron was right. If Daenerys had been able to face all the bitterness and dislike due to her father here and Mariah had faced the man himself and emerged victorious, then Mors could face the gloom that awaited him in King's Landing.

Only, he did not reach King's Landing at all.

"Daemon had claimed the crown?" Daenerys asked incredulously, unable to believe that it could have happened so fast. Couldn't Daeron and Mariah have warned her after he escaped and before she sent her son to travel in those newly dangerous times? Oh but perhaps they hadn't known the reach of Daemon's treachery and readiness. Or the ravens hadn't reached Sunspear because they had had to fly over lands that had suddenly became enemy.

"I've sent orders to the Tor to not let Mors go," Maron said, immediately guessing what her utmost fear was. "If he's there, Lord Jordayne will keep him where he is until we can take him back."

If, if, if. And even if their boy was still there, Yronwood was so close – and they had declared for Daemon, the traitors that they were. Daenerys paced and watched, paced and watched, wondering who she feared more, Daemon or the Yronwoods. While the vile rumours the traitors spread about her brought her to rage, the thought of her boy in Daemon's hand curdled her blood. Even with the calumnies about her mother, there was still someone of the legitimate line standing between Daemon and the crown he so coveted – Daenerys herself. And her children… As to the Yronwoods, it wasn't hard to see what their purpose was. It was one and the same, actually…

"And they call us treacherous," Dyanna said fiercely as she paced Daenerys' chambers as if her feet just couldn't stop. "The hypocrites they are! They're shouting against us and claim a desire to avenge the Young Dragon but they're siding with the very people who killed him. Because it wasn't us or the Martells who killed him. It wasn't us who kept Aemon the Dragonknight as a personal prize…"

"That's what could have been expected of a Wyl who were indeed always close to the Yronwoods," her grandmother said, lips curling down in derision. "Not that the boy deserved better. Daeron, I mean. Prince Aemon did try to do right by us whenever possible."

Did he, Daenerys wondered, amazed not by the words but Lady Ileria's willingness to say them. So much pain and hostility had melted – and Daemon and his cronies saw that as a bad thing? Or was it only bad when it didn't suit their purpose? Some avengers they were!

Mors arrived back in a dark night two weeks after Daemon had made his claim and Daenerys gasped when she saw him because there had been no word as to how far north he had gone in his journey… and because in the new glitter of his eyes she realized that in that brief time, he had learned how to hate.

"Are you truly fine?" she asked anxiously, examining him for any wounds. "You have… no bruises?"

The boy nodded. "I am fine, thanks to Lady Gargalen. She was traveling with me from the Tor and we were going to separate in the Prince's Pass and she was going to visit Skyreach…"

Daenerys wondered why those details mattered. She was glad that the son Maron's mistress had given her old man would be one of Mors' most loyal bannermen one day but she didn't truly want to hear about the woman. She wanted to know how Mors had managed to steal away, why there had been no word…

"It's her, Alor's mother who died," the boy went on, his voice shaking. "We heard about armed men looking for me. She was not about to stand by and find out what they wanted after they found me. So she ordered Ser Gawen to take me to the Scourge and from there to Godsgrace while she resumed her journey as if we were still together. The attack was without warning…. They say Walder Wyl personally tied her to his saddle when she refused to say where I had gone. She wasn't very healthy, so she dropped dead before the first mile was over."

Silence followed – terrible silence, deadly silence. Daenerys stole a glance at Maron and drew back, horrified, as if she were intruding on something not meant for her. With time, Elana Jordayne, Elana Gargalen had stopped mattering but she had thought that Maron had forgotten about her. It was clear that he hadn't but this time, she didn't hold it against him. She was ashamed to remember just how much she had hated the other woman, how she had hoped that Elana would die giving birth to her last child with Maron. Now, she admired Elana's courage and hoped that in death, she'd know more happiness than she had in life, at least after Daenerys' arrival.

That night, she went to bed with the vision of her children sharing Elana's fate if they lost – by the hands of the very man who proclaimed to love her. And although she waited till midnight, Maron didn't come. He only entered her bedchamber when it was almost dawn and Daenerys could feel his eyes on her as she pretended to be asleep, although he could surely hear the pounding of her heart. When she dared a look, she found out that he had taken a seat near the hearth with black ash, staring unseeingly at the emptiness inside. Without words, she was sure that in his chamber, the box he always closed when he saw her would be open.

Many years later…

It was night again when they came. Just like it had been when all those years ago Dyanna and Jenna had arrived running from the rebellion that had been close on them. Like the night Mors had returned with the news of Elana Gargalen's death. So many years but Daenerys had the feeling that nothing had changed. Even the victory that they had come with did not make them look more triumphant, just tired to the bones. Maron smiled at her, happy to see her, as she drank both him and Mors in before looking at the others – dark forms in dark cloaks in the dark night.

"Where can I put her?" Maekar asked as if they were continuing a conversation from just an hour ago. When she led them to a chamber and he placed the bundle in his arms gently on the bed, Daenerys saw the burns on the woman and gasped.

"Saryl Lothston?" she asked, remembering the woman who had been one of Dyanna's attendants and now attended Maekar in another capacity. She had been taken by Bittersteel as soon as he had landed and had clearly fared badly.

Maron nodded. "She's lucky to be alive," he said and paused. "Bittersteel is now on his way to King's Landing, along with the King's Hand. We only came here so Lady Saryl could be attended."

"Maekar will no doubt want to be there for his execution," Daenerys said. There was no doubt in her mind that Aerys would order it. Aegor Rivers was doubly guilty, first for goading Daemon into rebelling and now with all but orchestrating this new rebellion. Looking at the poor woman on the bed, she was astounded that Bittersteel still lived. They must have stopped Maekar by force, she thought just when another one of the dark figures stepped to the bed, removing her hood to reveal a waterfall of black hair. Daenerys gasped.

"Dyanna…"

"No," Maekar said and smiled a little. "It isn't Dyanna. It's Daella."

Daenerys knew that apart from being his mistress, Saryl Lothston had been taking care of his daughters for years and it showed now in the ease of Daella's ministrations. She sat on the edge of the bed, moving the hair back from Saryl's face, and looked around for some water and cloth to cool her forehead.

No one felt the need to talk, they were all staring at the woman on the bed and Daenerys felt that it had been all for nothing. What had they achieved since they had started living? Peace was as elusive as ever; victory was such a bleak thing; innocents paid for wars that were not their own. Had it all been in vain? No, no, it hadn't! Nothing would have happened if not for Daemon and Bittersteel, his instigator. Daemon had paid for his treachery and now so would Bittersteel. It was good and right, and it brought her no joy. So many good men had died. Later, she'd ask Maron about Ultor Dayne, although it would pain her to hear the details. He had been as good a friend as his sister.

"When did it happen?" the maester asked, pushing his way to the bed, and Daella started answering his questions. She looked exhausted, although not as exhausted as her mother when Dyanna had been fighting the corroding disease. When she rose, she swayed dangerously and Elana's son, Alor Gargalen, was suddenly there, reaching over to steady her and Daenerys was abruptly thrown back in time when Maekar had crossed a hall before she could blink… and Dyanna could fall. Daella looked at Alor and smiled and Daenerys held her breath. She knew that smile – Dyanna had smiled at Maekar like that in aftermath of the first rebellion, with the belief that there would never be a second one. Let there never be a fourth one, she beseeched the Seven as the maester told them in polite but no uncertain terms that they were not needed in the chamber. Stop the deaths. Stop the debasement of my mother and myself. We've all already paid enough. Let the young ones live well and long.

Maron took her hand and everything became a little brighter.

The End