Author's Note: Life, folks. It's a doozy sometimes. Sorry for the wait.

I hope you enjoy and review this update.

Chapter 14

Original Word Count: 2649*

Revision Word Count: 5713

"Not yet, Oberyn."

"We can't execute him, Prince Oberyn." Rhaegar's voice agreed with his brothers, heavy with fatigue from having to reiterate this point repeatedly. The king was still in armor, the men having convened in the Small Council Chamber almost immediately after taking the Great Sept of Baelor. The light of dawn was only now beginning to brighten the window outside.

"And why not," demanded the lean form of Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne. One of his hands was lightly stroking the side of the woman in his lap, the newest in a long line of Prince Oberyn paramours. While this Ellaria Sand wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense, she had an exotic, sensuous flair to her that caught the eye and held it.

Prince Oberyn seemed especially taken. Aelor knew the Dornishman easily grew bored, be it with ballads or bed partners, but this one seemed different. The girl was younger than Aelor, her arrangement with the Prince of Dorne a new development, but Oberyn already seemed heavily invested in the bastard of Lord Uller.

Invested enough to insist, despite Rhaegar's protests, to bring her into the Small Council chambers for the war council. Or maybe that was because of Rhaegar's protests. As angry as Aelor was with Rhaegar's treatment of Elia—for less than chivalrous reasons, it seemed—he held nothing on the rage her brother had for the king. Aelor was going to have to make sure Prince Oberyn didn't kill Rhaegar in his wrath.

"Because we need what is left of his army." The king sat at the head of the table, an untouched tankard of ale beside him. Aelor sat to his right, his own hand gripping a bloody cloth. He'd opened two of the stitches—again—when a man in Swyft yellow, stumbling sleepily into the melee in his shock, had landed a punch to his face. "There are three thousand left alive. We could use those numbers to fight the rebel houses."

"They are the rebel houses," Oberyn argued, as he had been since they'd entered the chamber. "They were caught sacking your city, raping your women. They sent an assassin to do the same to my sister and her children. Children." Oberyn emphasized it with a slap of his open palm on the table. "A babe and a little girl. Yet you want to spare them?"

Aelor glanced at his brother as the king responded. His king mask is firmly in place. I wonder how long it will take Oberyn to crack it. "They didn't succeed," Rhaegar said, utterly calm.

"No thanks to you." Oberyn had no such mask in place, not that it would have done any good anyway; his voice held enough venom to kill the king ten times over. Red Viper indeed. Ellaria Sand placed a soothing hand on his chest, rubbing small circles as she whispered something in his ear that made the razor-sharp tension in the Prince of Dorne's shoulders subside. The glare remained, but that was likely to be Oberyn's standard expression around Rhaegar until the end of time. So long as he didn't have to block a dagger, Aelor considered it a win; he was very glad for the paramour's presence in that regard.

"No, it was thanks to me, with the help of Lord Varys," Aelor said, nodding at the Spider as he did so. "And as much as I'd love to slit the throat of every Lannister in our custody, the king is right. Baratheon has near forty thousand men. With those Westermen we'll have close to the same, and with allies in the Riverlands we'll have more."

"Numbers do not win wars," said Randyll Tarly, grim faced as he was in everything. For a second Aelor thought that was all the man was going to say, surprising him; the Dornish and the men of the Reach had been killing each other for centuries, and there was no love lost between them. But Tarly continued a minute later, not sparing Oberyn a glance. "But they certainly help."

Oberyn glared at the Lord of Horn Hill, then turned that ire on the other men seated at the table; Varys, Jon Connington, Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove, Sers Barristan and Arthur, and the Targaryens themselves. The War Council, as the king had called them, consisting of the commanders of the royalist forces and the spymaster supporting them. Oberyn hadn't technically been invited, at least not in words, but Rhaegar and his brother both had known there would be no keeping him out, even if they had wanted to.

Aelor hadn't. He and the Prince had been fast friends ever since Elia first arrived in the capital. And he understands my need for bloodshed. The two men were cut from the same cloth in that regard. Oberyn had entered the city a half day ahead of the Dornish spears he led and had only learned of the assault on the sept as it happened. He and the men with him had ridden through the streets at breakneck speeds to join, arriving in time to cleave through the Lannister men outside. He hadn't even known the full story of why they were assaulting a sept but had joined in for the sheer love of the fight. Aelor respected that greatly.

The Red Viper took a deep, calming breath. "What are our plans?"

Rhaegar looked at the Spider. "Catch everyone up if you would, Lord Varys."

With a nod he obliged. "Baratheon and the others rebellious lords are slowly moving from Riverrun, following the Red Fork. A few Riverman houses have remained loyal—House Whent, House Darry, House Ryger, assorted others. They have been rallying to Harrenhal, a few skirmishes with rebel houses slowing the process. From what I can tell, Baratheon intends to shatter that host. I don't believe they have any intention of marching on King's Landing itself, at least not for now."

"Wise of them," Connington said, nodding. "They have no chance of carrying the walls with this many loyalist men in the city. They'll destroy the enemy at hand and wait for us to meet them in the field."

"Which Your Grace has incentive to do," Varys said. "My little birds tell me there is already talk of Targaryen weakness for allowing the rebels to remain relatively unscathed for so long."

Aelor snorted. "I hunted the stag throughout the Stormlands for nearly three moons. Hundreds of men died on both sides. Yet we've left them 'unscathed'?"

Varys shrugged. "The lords of the seven kingdoms are fickle, you know this as well as I Prince Aelor. I have a list of all such reports; if you wish, I can retrieve and present it to you?"

The Hand of the King shook his head wearily. "Best not. Odds are good it will only make me angry."

"I will take the list, Lord Varys." Rhaegar gestured towards Connington. "But Jon is right, they want us to meet them in the field, and whether the talk is justified or ridiculous does not matter. Even ignoring it, we have to fight them somewhere, and our city has suffered enough; I will not put it through siege."

"You won't be able to trust Lannister," Oberyn pointed out, eyes still angry though Ellaria was doing an admirable job of keeping him from getting out of hand. Maybe that's why he brought her; to help him keep his head during the meeting. Wise of Oberyn.

"It won't be Tywin in command of the Lannister forces." Or Jaime, Aelor thought as he shot a glance towards his brother. The king returned it furtively. While Aelor had been overseeing the siege from the blacksmith shop, Rhaegar had gone to the black cells to speak with the young vow-breaker. What the young knight had told him, of wildfire and ash and a desire to burn them all, had made Rhaegar swear the few men who knew what truly killed the king to silence.

Aelor wasn't certain how they were going to handle that situation. For all anyone else knew, spurred by the king's declarations and influence from Varys, Jaime had been injured trying to protect the King and was recovering somewhere in the Red Keep. The truth—that Jaime had killed him when Aerys had ordered the city burned—made things much more difficult. We'll handle that once this war is won, I suppose, though the Seven know how.

"Ser Kevan Lannister was captured alongside his brother," Aelor continued on, returning to the subject at hand. He and Rhaegar had discussed this at length, even before the Lords of the West had been captured. "He is loyal to his brother, of that there is no doubt, but as such he cares deeply for his safety. If we hold Tywin on threat of death, Kevan will keep the Westerlanders in line for the remainder of the war."

The Prince of Dorne's ire, barely held in check for a few moments, again roared out of control. "You can't be seriously considering allowing Tywin to live," Oberyn near shouted. "The man tried to kill your queen. Your children! If they had been here, his dogs would have succeeded."

"Yes, he did," the King said, still unflappable. "And I will not forget that, not in this life or the next. But he is a Lannister, and both respected and feared by his bannermen. We need those numbers for this war. Once it is over, we can deal with Tywin, just as we will deal with all of the rebellious lords."

Aelor held a hand up to forestall another rant from Oberyn. The fact that the Prince of Dorne respected the request spoke volumes. "A name holds powerful sway, Oberyn. Your name is why the Dornish spears outside followed you. Our name, the king's and mine, is the only reason why we have our own following us. It wasn't for love of our father that they remained loyal, of that we are all aware; it is because his name was Targaryen. For that reason, Ser Kevan will lead the Westerlanders as we march on the other rebels. Because he is a Lannister of Casterly Rock."

Oberyn was clearly not pleased, but he held his tongue, eyeing the Hand of the King. After a long while he sighed again, then nodded. "I do not like the idea of fighting alongside one, not after the Sack. But my men and I are with you."

The Prince of Dorne had addressed Aelor, not the King, something Rhaegar—and the others—had certainly seen. The king said nothing of it, however, choosing instead to take the victories afforded him. "Good. Let the camps rest this morning considering the night we've all had. We will welcome the rest of Prince Oberyn's men this evening, but will also make preparations. We will march on the Riverlands tomorrow." He turned to Lord Rowan. "Lord Mathis, what are the—"

A bevy of loud voices erupted from outside the chamber, a very distinctive one letting out a burst of expletives. Aelor gestured towards it. "I'd open that, Your Grace, before your guardsman outside ends up dead."

The king gestured with a hand, and Ser Arthur Dayne, the famed blade Dawn on one hip and a lesser blade his other, quickly crossed to the door of the chamber and opened them.

Queen Elia Martell strode through nearly before Arthur had opened it fully. Behind her, Manfred Darke had a hand on his sheathed sword and was using the other to emphasize the curses and beratements he was slinging at a man in Targaryen black. "Peace, Ser Manfred," Elia called behind her, her quiet voice stopping the flood of profanity like a sluice gate closing.

Rhaegar had stood, prompting the others—even Oberyn and Ellaria—to do the same. "Queen Elia. You've decided on an early morning."

Elia glanced around the room as she walked, in no rush, towards Rhaegar's end, patting Oberyn's arm as she passed him. "You decided on a late night, Your Grace, and there is much to discuss." Manfred followed behind, a broad shadow glaring at each man he passed. "No time like the present."

Aelor knew she was angry. Even if he didn't know the woman as he did, the signs were very clear. She was dressed head to toe as a Martell, her dress silky and orange and much more suited to the oasis' of Dorne than the Red Keep. Gold armlets and bracelets covered bronze skin, one a viper that slithered across the back of her hand and connected to rings on her middle three fingers with delicate golden chains. Perfume filled the room, some combination of blood oranges and lemons and other scents Aelor could not name. Whatever they were, they wrapped around Aelor's head like a helm. The Dragon of Duskendale had to swallow to fight back all it brought out in him.

The others were not immune either. Even Oberyn seemed struck dumb at his sister's entrance.

Rhaegar cleared his throat, then spoke to his gathered lords. "We will reconvene at dusk, my lords. Excuse us."

The others exited swiftly, save for Oberyn who did not budge. "You as well, Oberyn," Elia called out, though she did not turn her angry gaze from Rhaegar, standing halfway down the table at the chair that had until moments ago been occupied by Lord Tarly. "I shall bring the children and see you in a few hours."

Her brother had no intention of going anywhere. "I will stay, thank you."

"You will go. I have much to discuss with Rhaegar. Ellaria, convince him please."

The bastard of Uller whispered something, tugging on his hand to try and draw him away. Oberyn cursed, glaring at Rhaegar and then Elia, but after more coaxing from both women went.

Aelor realized he should probably leave as well, stepping out from his place at the table and making to do so. But as he passed Elia she extended a hand, softly gripping his arm. Aelor froze in place, unable to move even if he wanted to. "You stay. I need your support."

Aelor swallowed once more. "Oberyn is a hell of a supporter, my queen, yet you ordered him out."

Elia finally looked at him. There was the anger he had known about, and pain he had assumed, and other things he couldn't begin to name. "Oberyn will bring nothing but venom. You are levelheaded enough to say something that might actually be helpful…while still being biased to my point of view."

Aelor nodded softly. "Of course, Elia."

She nodded, squeezing his arm briefly before turning her ire back on Rhaegar. The king raised his hand cautiously, speaking before she could. "Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, give us the room please."

Elia countermanded the order. "A moment if you would, Ser Barristan. We have an issue concerning the Kingsguard to handle first." Elia, still staring Rhaegar down, gestured towards Ser Manfred. "Jonothor Darry is dead, dying alongside dear Talana. I have his replacement here."

Rhaegar glanced at Aelor, then back to his wife. "You are the second person to suggest him. Usually, Aelor's word alone on that front would be sufficient, much less a seconding by you, but the man has glared murder at me since long before he became your sworn shield. Forgive me if I'm hesitant to give him a sword and stick him outside my door while I sleep."

"He won't be outside your door, he'll be outside mine, so you need not worry." No one in the room missed the further implications of her statement, though Rhaegar couldn't have expected anything else. Elia had had her own chambers since her early days in the capitol—most queens and princess consorts did—but her statement made clear Rhaegar was no longer welcome in them.

Madness lay down that line of thought, so Aelor instead spoke in Manfred's favor, stepping to his household knight's side and clasping his shoulder. "I've told you before, Rhaegar. Manfred is a mean son of a bitch, but he is a loyal one as well."

"Didn't you tell me he can barely ride a horse?"

"No, I told you he hated riding horses. And the horses themselves, for that matter. But that doesn't mean he's incapable, just that he'll curse bitterly while riding." Aelor did not add that Manfred cursed bitterly during all activities. Rhaegar probably already knew anyway.

Ser Barristan, whose presence Aelor had missed in the days since the Sack, spoke from where he and Arthur Dayne stood near the doors of the chamber. "If I may, Your Grace? I've known and trained with Ser Manfred for over five years. He may not hold the principles of knighthood as highly as others do, but he is honorable in his own way. His sword work is worthy of the Kingsguard on its own, but I've never met a more dangerous man without a blade in his hand. A valuable skill to have protecting the queen and your children, I would think."

Rhaegar was looking at Manfred, who had not said a word or moved a muscle throughout the conversation. Or changed expression, which isn't helping his cause since that expression is revulsion at Rhaegar. "Your thoughts, Arthur?"

Aelor saw Elia tense up at the mention of The Sword of the Morning. He couldn't speak for the queen, but it seemed logical that she was hurt by Ser Arthur's compliance with Rhaegar's betrayal. Her husband's crime was the greater and much more damaging one, to be certain, but Elia had been close friends with Ser Arthur as well, nearly as close as she still was with his sister.

"I do not know the man, Your Grace," Ser Arthur said. "But if Ser Barristan and Prince Aelor vouch for him, I doubt he could be a poor choice."

Rhaegar nodded once more, then waved a hand. "Ser Barristan, if you would."

Despite the storm brewing, both in the Riverlands and in this chamber between the king and queen, Aelor smiled broadly as Manfred Darke took a knee, Barristan the Bold overseeing the oath. House Darke was the last surviving bastard branch of House Darklyn, and Manfred the last surviving member of that once great dynasty. Aelor had found the squat man in the streets of Duskendale near dusk on the day all the others had been killed, a dagger in his side and the blood of three men coating his bare hands. It had taken much work, both from the maesters to save him and from Aelor to prevent King Aerys from lopping off his head, but it had paid off handsomely. Manfred, though technically a potential claimant to Duskendale, had zealously supported Aelor's rule with few words and two fists ever since.

And now he is protecting the queen and the heir. And Rhaegar too, even if he'll grumble about it.

Manfred looked uncomfortable for a moment as he rose. "Does this mean I can't buggering curse anymore?"

Aelor laughed. Barristan too, and even Elia giggled despite her anger. "It does not, Manfred," Aelor assured him.

"It does mean you'll have to step out though, my friend," Elia said. "As will you, Barristan, and you Arthur. You are sworn to protect the king, and I am about to seem quite a danger to him." Manfred didn't seem to like that, in the sense of leaving Elia. Arthur didn't like it for Rhaegar's sake. Barristan just seemed uncomfortable.

Rhaegar made it easier on them all. "Go ahead, sers. Ser Barristan, find a suitable septon and have Ser Manfred's arms added to the White Book. I don't know if it is one of their usual times of year or not, but they are to come today. Arthur, see about a cloak and armor for him as well."

When the doors finally closed behind them, leaving the three royals alone, Elia strode up to Rhaegar and slapped him hard. His brother did not attempt to block the blow, his head jerking to the side with the hit. He also did not raise a hand to the queen in retaliation, which was well and good; Aelor, though he was trying to be an impartial arbiter—or mostly impartial, as Elia had pointed out—would have broken the king in two if he had.

"I waited through the night for you to explain why you have done what you have. Going into battle to escape was a bit extreme, but now there is nowhere to flee."

Aelor had come up behind her, pulling one of the Small Council chairs from beneath the great table. Elia, sensing him do it, sank back into it without glancing backwards. Rhaegar, nodding softly to himself, took his own. Aelor remained standing, hands on the back of Elia's chair.

The king snorted half a laugh upon seeing it. "I thought she asked you to be a third party."

Aelor grunted. "A biased one. And while my own irritation with you has been discussed between us, I am still angry on her behalf."

Elia nodded. "And my own anger has not, our brief talk on the dock aside." Elia leaned forward. "You are a thrice damned fool, Rhaegar. An adulterer, and a coward for not having the strength to face me until long after the rest of Westeros knew." Though she didn't look away from her husband, she pointed over her head in the direction of Aelor. "You nearly got your brother killed. You nearly got our children killed. And me, and Viserys and your mother. And you did get Aerys killed, all because you couldn't keep your cock in your pants."

Rhaegar tried to interject. "This is about—"

"I know what it is about," Elia. Her voice had dripped with fire during her short tirade, but now it was a broken thing that tore Aelor in two. His own rage at his brother, the coals of which had never stopped burning, roared back to life. "This is about Visenya."

The king clenched his jaw but said nothing. Aelor, both angry and ashamed for reasons he didn't know, hung his head and held his tongue.

"I prayed, Rhaegar, for so long. That the maesters were wrong, and I would be able to have the third child you so wanted. I always found the prophecy flawed, and I know the faith would not have allowed Aegon to marry both of his sisters, but I told myself I could talk you out of it in the time they took to grow. I wanted her for me, too. I wanted another child, not so they could be a puppet in a prophesy but because I love the two I've had so much." Her tone stiffened. "But I cannot bear that child, despite both of our hopes. I can live with that, but it seems you have decided thousands can't because of it."

"Elia—"

The queen cut him off. "I'm not here for a conversation anymore, Rhaegar. I'm here to state plainly what you have done, how I feel on the matter, and determine what it is we all will do next. Because no matter what your foolishness has done to me, it has also put our children in danger, and that is something I find much more important. What's done is done. We need to determine the next steps." She lowered her head. "With that in mind; where is Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar."

Aelor knew this answer. He also knew the reaction it would bring out in Elia. Rhaegar did too, judging by his eyes. "Dorne."

The two Targaryens weren't wrong. "You son of a bitch." The queen's voice was low and boiling. "You son of a bitch."

Rhaegar plowed ahead. "In the Tower of Joy in the Red Mountains. Sers Gerold and Oswell are with her."

Elia took a moment to compose herself, then spoke again, voice bitter. "Why? If you are going to dishonor me, you should have done it right and brought the girl to court."

The king squirmed slightly. "It wouldn't be safe for her here."

Elia laughed aloud at that, a broken bitter thing that tore Aelor apart. "It wasn't safe for your children, clearly, yet you didn't bundle them off to Dorne. They would have died here if not for your brother." She scoffed. "I would have too, but I imagine that doesn't distress you half as much."

"It would, as you well know."

"I know nothing of the sort," Elia snapped back. "Not anymore. All I know is you're willing to kill thousands over the ramblings of a witch."

The king's face darkened at that, as it tended to when the few who knew about it called the prophesy into question. His tone, however, was still completely conciliatory when he answered the charge. "I know you don't understand it. Aelor doesn't either."

Aelor grunted. "No, I certainly don't."

Rhaegar continued undaunted. "But Aegon is the Prince that was Promised. Believe, don't believe, it matters not."

Aelor had heard this before. He still didn't know what in the seven hells it was supposed to mean. "As Elia said, what's done is done. The next step is war in the Riverlands, unavoidable now, but I believe she means what happens after that. Assuming we don't all die, of course."

"I can hold my brothers at bay. You need their armies, and while that by itself almost makes me want to withdraw them, there is more at stake than you or I. They will look past this insult if I tell them to. But if you add to it by replacing me with Lyanna…"

The king's face was unmoving. "I will not be parted from her. It is too late for that."

"What do you mean, Rhaegar."

Haughtiness always has played well on Targaryen features, Aelor thought as his brother's face turned imperious. "I mean she and I are wed, Elia. In front of a heart tree, with Septon Jameis presiding."

Elia sat stock still. Aelor, hands still resting on the back of her chair, ached to shift them in slightly, to lay them reassuringly on her shoulders, though he refrained. He'd struck Rhaegar again when the king had told him on the balcony, nearly thrown him from it to shatter on the cobbles below. Seven knew what the women scorned was thinking.

When she spoke, her voice was a bare whisper. "That cannot be legal."

Rhaegar shook his head. "Not yet. But once peace has been restored, I will make it so."

"The great houses will never accept it."

"They'll have had enough of war by the time they learn."

"The faith won't, then, Jameis aside."

"Targaryen exceptionalism can extend to more than close blood marriage. By the time our son takes his sisters to wife, the taboo of it will be washed away. We will take that criticism from them, if you are willing."

Elia rose to her feet as her voice rose to a peak. "I most certainly am not."

The king was nonplussed. "Then marry Aelor."

"What?" Aelor was as taken aback by the sudden statement as Elia was, the empty chair in front of him rocking on two legs as he shoved off it to stand straight.

"What?" Elia said at the same time. She turned to look at Aelor for a moment, olive face reddening as they locked eyes for a moment before she quickly turned back to the king.

Rhaegar waved his hand impatiently. Though his tone didn't give it away, Aelor knew his brother was over this conversation. It took much restraint for Aelor not to bash his skull in for having the nerve to be so. "Let's not play this game any longer, not amongst the three of us. Aelor and I stopped playing days ago." The king stood, resting his hands on the table in front and leaning against them as he settled his gaze on Elia. "You and Aelor have loved each other for years now. You may not have admitted it to yourselves, but you know it is the truth. I have known it since before either of you did. I will not be parted from Lyanna before or after she provides me Visenya; if that is not acceptable from you, fine. You can remain tied tightly to this family, as is your right and your place, and maybe find a touch of that happiness you and I once had."

Elia was shocked silent. Aelor was not. "That's lunacy. Idiocy." He was going to bash his brother's skull in after all. Aelor gestured towards the queen. "It's treating Elia like she's a game piece on a board. Hell, it's treating me like one."

"You both are," Rhaegar said coldly. "So am I. So is Aegon and Rhaenys and Viserys. It is all a game, Aelor, everything about Westeros. You play the game, or you die." Rhaegar sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes before softening his tone. "I apologize for referring to either of you in that light. You are both more than pieces in a game to Rhaegar the man, surely you know that. But to Rhaegar the king, it is what all of us must become. I don't like that this is what our lives are. I don't like that any of this has happened the way it has. I know I am no small part to how utterly fucked up it is." The eyes, and tone, hardened once more. "But I am doing what is best for Westeros. And no matter the strain it may put upon us, that is what I will continue to do."

Aelor snarled and took a step towards him. "Rhaegar—"

"You can hit me again, Aelor," his brother said quietly, tilting his head back and holding Aelor's identical stare. "You can act a barbarian and break skin and bone. I wouldn't stop you even if I could. But it will not change my decision." At a loss for what to do in response, Aelor slowed to a stop. "If you and Elia wish to be wed, I will make it happen. If you do not, for foolish pride, then I won't step in your way there either. But the course of the Seven Kingdoms is set. You and I will win this war, this battle of men, then prepare Aegon and his future queens for whatever it is they will face."

Rhaegar turned from the table and headed towards the door, skirting around the two figures who had been stunned into silence and stillness. "Discuss it. Come to an agreement or leave it for a date after the war, but we have our heading."

And he left them in silence.

Elia broke it, voice quiet. "Did you know?"

Aelor faced her, insides a mess of so many emotions he couldn't identify a one of them. "About Lyanna in Dorne? Yes. He told me after we stopped the Sack. I knew nothing of him suggesting we marry, no."

She looked at him then, Dornish dark eyes piercing. "Did you know?"

Aelor furled his brow. "Know what, Elia?"

"How you felt."

The Dragon of Duskendale's throat was suddenly very dry and his heart thundered in his chest. He tried to speak thrice, grinding to a halt each time, before finally forcing out half a whisper. "You know I did."

Elia turned to face him fully. Gods she is beautiful. "How long?"

He swallowed, but he did not let his gaze waver. "You know that, too."

She nodded softly. There was a pause, so unlike them, before she whispered. "I don't know what to do with this, Aelor."

He took a small, cautious step towards her. "I don't either."

This time it took her multiple attempts to say what she meant to. "I've never let myself think of this. Not even for a moment. I knew it could lead nowhere good."

He took another small step. "I didn't either, for much the same reason." He finally took one long stride and came to a stop in front of her, peering down. "I am now, though."

She looked up at him. She started to reach a hand towards him, his body tensing at the thought, but then dropped it back to her side. "There is a lot to think about." She swallowed. "After all of…that…I don't know if I can right now, Aelor."

"Elia—"

She shook her head. "Not now. Please."

He nodded, understanding. She's always been the most sensible of us. "Of course." He took a small step back this time, clearing his throat. "I'll be leaving for the Riverlands tomorrow, and it will not be a short campaign."

His implication was clear, and she nodded smally. "I will pray each night for your safety. And for wisdom on…other matters. By the time you return—and you will return, Aelor Targaryen—I should be thinking clearly."

It wasn't what he wanted right then. Aelor was an aggressive man in almost all regards, and while he knew patience was a virtue, he had yet to prove all that virtuous; his actions in the sept the night before was testament to that. He'd had to watch as another had this woman he loved, and now that a door had been opened-however brusquely and ineloquently—everything in him wanted to lower his shoulder and slam it aside.

But she was a woman, a queen, not a thing to be claimed. He knew she felt the same as he did—knew it, beyond the shadow of doubt—but she was right. There was much too much to think about and many implications to consider. Whatever their future might be, it was not a decision to make now, after such a shock of revelations and emotions.

"Thank you, my lady." He gently, carefully, reached out to take her dainty hand in his calloused one. He brought it to his lips and pressed his lips to her knuckles, then let it fall as his own hand and lips burned. "I shall see you then."

Aelor Targaryen was a strong man. It took all of that strength to leave her there.

When he collapsed into his bed shortly thereafter, he dreamed of a woman and a war.

A/N: Took me a long time to write something I felt was half decent at the end there. Hopefully that didn't seem too rushed from Aelor. Since I literally created him, I'm saying it wasn't haha. I'm sure some fo you will complain anyway, but oh well.

Cheers!