ELIA MARTELL
Day 11, 12th Moon, 275 AC
Like gentle waves of a beach, warm air brushed Elia's bare back and drew a lazy smile from her. The slow and soft breaths made her exhale and sink into the pillow.
Weak morning light touched blurry bundles on the floor, unhindered by the open curtain parallel to the featherbed.
Arthur's peaceful breathing and warm skin surrounded her bare body like a silent promise of safety. With her hand atop his, his arm began at her waist, which ended at her breast; Arthur's calloused fingers lightly splayed over it as though they belonged there. In her mind, they did.
The first time he woke like this, he apologised profusely for what he'd done in his sleep. Quite reserved for a Dornishman, almost too much so.
She stifled a chuckle at the memory. That happened the first morning of the pretend marriage, just over a fortnight ago. She awoke in this protective hold every morning and drew languid patterns while he slept.
On the third morning, she'd awoken to hesitant kisses along her neck, Arthur's warm hand low on her belly instead. That day she'd rolled back for his warmth, and their breath hitched at the firm press against her arse.
Right now, he slept and wouldn't know his cock teased her. Ghosting her fingers along Arthur's hand spread over her breast, she closed her eyes. However, she stopped and laid her fingers upon his. Sleep was his actual time of peace in the Red Keep. He deserved all she could give him.
She knew that the mummery and the court's incorrect perception of 'Dornish' wore him down some days. The misbeliefs were bolder than his nature.
In Dorne, on its hottest days, sleeping nude was commonplace. However, the rest of Westeros misinterpreted it as everyday behaviour. If she and Arthur ever acted otherwise, their lie grew more likely to be called one.
They had to be what King's Landing considered Dornish, regardless of inaccuracies about the passionate culture.
In the beginning, he argued against her sleeping bare for the sake of strangers, arguing anyone could walk in and see her. She'd appreciated the concern, but courtiers needed only to give a servant coin for information about her and Arthur. Relenting, but in the same breath, he promised to treat her respectfully and nothing less.
Intense light drew her eyes. A pair of half-full wine goblets and the bottle were lit up by sunshine on her bedside table.
Last night, she'd forgotten to draw the curtain and internally groaned at the mistake. Squinting, she gently loosened Arthur's grip, sipped her goblet, turned onto her other side and wrapped her arm around his back.
As he mumbled in his sleep, his arms shifted and brought her flush against his bare skin. A slight hum, and he slipped into more profound, slower rest.
Innocuous behaviour for a sleeping man, but it made her take long breaths while Arthur's cock sat upon her upper thigh. The sensitive skin felt every slight movement, and she swallowed hard. Thick and firm; warm and smooth. She inhaled and softly clasped his shoulder. The relaxed muscle beneath her fingers provided a moment of distraction.
The pressure on her thigh wept at its tip. Arthur's cock rubbed as she breathed. Her belly began warming, heat gathering within her. A desire for more of that heat built, lust, so she bit her lip while her cheeks grew hot.
To lessen any movement, she slowed her breathing. The details of the wine bottle were an idea. The wine was the red of blood, darker than most Dornish reds. A strongwine of Dorne, a richer taste and sweeter. Typical reds from Dorne were sou-.
Arthur's cock sat heavier on her thigh and smeared her skin where it teased. The slow torture of a sinful promise quickened her breath. She wanted to know what it was like when a man beds a woman. Ladies of the court wouldn't gossip about it in whispers and smiles about something unpleasant.
She cupped his temple and caressed; silver lashes covered his eyes, his face without tension. He slept and dreamed with the hint of a smile.
Elia desired to curse her mother's insistence on marrying as a maiden. Maidenheads meant nothing in Dorne, thus pointless as a Dornishwoman.
She would entrust Arthur to be gentle with her now if things were different instead of waiting to wed. The first time was supposedly uncomfortable. He would never hurt her if given a choice, though.
Silver hair hung over his eyelid, and she brushed it away; those closed purple eyes often lingered on her and simmered when they were alone. Right now, he was at peace and oblivious to the ugly world.
With a light kiss on his cheek, she rested at the base of his neck. The earthy scent made it tempting to press her nose against his skin for more, but she had self-control.
Warm air rushed through her hair, and a coarse hand slid down her back, stopping low. Incoherently, Arthur mumbled something brief. Calloused fingers left sparking trails on her skin. He rocked and moaned when his cock pressed upon her centre.
She trembled, forehead on his shoulder. It took everything to keep her sharp breaths quiet.
She wanted to respond and feel but resisted. He was asleep and unaware. The concept of abusing his trust left a sour taste, selfish and despicable behaviour.
Upon looking at his face, his eyes closed, an arrow of sadness shot through her chest. He wanted her as she wanted him, but Arthur wasn't a man of coercion, and she must remain a maiden until married by her mother's want, whatever the delusional reason.
She swallowed and settled down, all heat extinguished. Sighing, she trailed his jaw with feather-light kisses and snuggled against him. His hold tightened. The imagination of giving herself to Arthur regardless stirred within her mind, but she pushed it back.
Mother's insistence on Elia marrying as a maiden existed long before he approached Mother for her hand; it had a proper reason or a pointless one.
The splayed fingers on her lower back paused, and his breathing lightened. Most of the pressure upon her skin faded, but she kept her arm around his waist and looked up. In the sunlight, Arthur's eyes shone unmistakable amethyst purple, dark and vibrant. He blinked at her, and she pecked his lips.
Respecting his looser hold on her, she did the same. "Good morning, my knight," she murmured, tenderly stroking his jaw.
Arthur's calloused fingers brushed her arm. A trail sparked in their wake. "Elia," he whispered, caressing her face. His nose ran along her cheek, her skin heating beneath it. She sighed and leaned down into his hand, but Arthur squinted. "Gods, that's bright," he groaned. "I'll be right back."
Her back to the sun, she took in his lean, trim form while he left the bed. In firelight every night, they bathed together before retiring to bed bare, clothes abandoned in deliberate bundles. Firelight, while romantic, had done Arthur an injustice compared to sunlight.
Fabric rustled, and the light dimmed. On Elia's bedside table, glass clinked on wood. A moment later, Arthur reappeared and climbed on, ignoring the sheets. Streaks of light rippled on his fair skin as he got closer. Her lips parted, and she wanted to reach out.
He shuffled closer until there was a mere gap between them. Gentle, he tucked Elia's hair behind her ear, and his hand lingered there.
Smiling, she gave his bottom lip a quick nip. Over her temple ran Arthur's thumb. It drew a sigh, and she shifted until she lay flush against him, her fingers sliding up his firm back.
Calloused hands in a barely-there grasp held her waist when Arthur rolled onto his back, bringing her somewhat upon his chest. Her hips were on the mattress, and she bit her lip at a thought and took a breath.
Arthur captured her in a kiss, and she straddled him. Beneath her, his belly went taut, and she smiled against his lips. Her hands light on his shoulders.
At first, hesitant fingers ran through her hair, and their massage dazed her. She hummed at the bliss and ran her lips over his neck. Arthur relaxed and eased. A hand returned to her lower back and feathered her skin, hovering at her lower back.
She guided it further and let go, his fingers slow and gentle on her arse. Purple eyes met her black ones time and again. She nipped his collarbone, taking breaths while Arthur's touch left sparks on her body.
She couldn't stop smiling between the nips she gave while her heart quickened.
He'd held and kissed her while awake before, but today, for the first time, Arthur did more. His firm fingers gently mapped her body as though to memorise it. Something he'd never before done fully awake.
She copied him. Sliding up, she brushed her lips over his ear and nibbled his bottom lip, initiating a slow kiss. Her hands ran through his hair. Arthur's thumb stroked her cheek and left tingling heat. His hand splayed on her hip.
Drunk on the moment, she ignored a click sounding somewhere. At least once a day, people dropped something in the halls.
Arthur tensed beneath her. "Oh, shit!"
A flip robbed her of breath. On her back, she panted while the weight of his body covered her own. She blinked and met lustful, amethyst eyes while silver hair tickled her face.
She shifted beneath him and gasped at the friction; her heart raced. On her tongue sat a whimper of want, and she pressed her lips against his shoulder, muffling her voice.
"Shh…" Lips kissed her hair tenderly, and fingers rubbed where he'd held her when flipping them over. "Sorry, Elia," Arthur whispered and edged back, fading her torment. "Servant came in."
Encased in the cover of his body, she kissed down his neck and splayed her hands over his back. He buried a hand in her messy hair, fingers back and forth; her head grew heavy, and her eyes drifted shut. "Stay for a while this morning," she breathed, her shaky hand finding his cheek. "Please, Arthur."
She opened her eyes at a click of the door. he turned back to face her and relaxed but lifted himself off and left the bed. Sitting up, she blinked and witnessed Arthur bar the door.
When he sat beside her, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Hot fingers brushed her cheek, and she softly hummed. Firm lips rolled against hers while a hand ran down her back.
She lied down, which brought Arthur with her. His hand traced circles low on her hip. Hers lightly pulled his silver hair.
The press of his cock on her centre reduced her to gasps while heat pooled there. The heat was all she could think through haziness.
Shifting beneath him, she chased the elusive pleasure. His breath was slow, deep and arduous in her ear, which threw her mind further into that haze. When she tilted her head back, a shaky panting reached her ears. Animalistic and from her own mouth.
Her knight groaned and brushed his lips over her neck. Her skin sparked from the touch. "Elia…" he breathed above her. His weight vanished, and she met his darkened eyes. "I must stop. I don't know what resolve I have left," he murmured, lying at her side. His burning fingers ran low over her belly. A concentrated look flickered with uncertainty upon his face.
She reached out to him with the heaviness of bliss and stroked his chest. "What are you thinking?" she whispered slowly, eyes hooded but watching his.
Arthur sat and took her hand, pressing his lips inside her wrist. Her breath hitched. He swallowed and met her gaze with an unsure one. "I've heard of what pleases a maiden…if you wish," he said, brushing hair out of her eyes. "Only if you wish." Those eyes watched her but were hesitant as they did.
She stared for a second and smiled. Their pretence must convince the court and spying servants, even more so because she and Arthur were Dornish. However, Arthur was still Arthur. At heart, he remained respectful.
Guiding his chin down towards her, she reached up for a soft kiss. His earthy scent surrounded her. Fingers slid down her cheek and left a hot trail. She opened her eyes and exhaled. "You'll be gentle. I know you will be, Arthur," she whispered, their shared breath making her dizzy. "I trust you."
He might not have realised his light exhalation, but some tension melted from his body while much remained.
Lying down beside her, he propped himself on an elbow. Arthur cupped her face; the stroking fingers on her temple drew a sigh from her. He smiled and took a breath, eyes lowering to her neck.
There, fingers sizzled a path on her left, joined by pressure on the right, while warm air brushed against her. Her eyes fluttered, and she bared her neck, her breaths longer and slower.
The touch stayed there, and hair lightly brushed and teased her skin while Arthur ran his nose along her collarbone. A tongue flicked her neck, yet too wet. She suppressed a twitch the best she could. He murmured an apology while dry fabric ran over her skin.
She entwined their fingers and gave a short squeeze. He couldn't have known her preferences; she didn't either. When they bathed or slept, he made a point of not lingering long and tempting himself. Today was new. Today, they learned about each other.
The bed stirred, and a hand cupped her cheek. Opening her eyes, Arthur watched hers while his hand lowered towards her breast. "Elia?"
She softly smiled and buried a hand in his hair, her languid fingers dragged back and forth. A hand cupped her breast, his touch ever gentle, but a rush washed over her. Within her mind flashed her reaching up and pulling him down for a hard kiss, among other things.
Instead, she traced his jaw and stared into his dark eyes. Within them fought desire and tension. She bit her lip and brushed it against his. He deserved to take pleasure in a moment like this.
On her back, she trembled when fingers ran down her chest; one scratched, and she bit back a gasp. Arthur's eyes darted to hers but calmed before he kissed the valley of her chest and over the scratch. Her finger rested on his chin, capturing his lips while her arms wrapped around his neck.
Arthur sat up, bringing her with him. Long and slow, she avoided anything possibly too tempting for him. Respecting his wish was the least she could do.
His hands left a burning on her back. Hot trails on her skin anywhere he touched.
Hers buried in his hair, her fingers tugged. A heady wave made her moan, and the future filled her mind; Arthur unlacing a gorgeous gown as though he had all the time in the world, his lips on the nape of her neck as he did.
Hands lay her on her back, and she blinked. His naked form sat beside her with fingers tracing her waist, her skin prickling beneath them. At her hips, he stopped atop her inner thighs, and he cupped her cheek, giving a tender and short kiss.
Warm air brushed her ear. "Elia?" He drew back, eyes darting over her face. A gentle touch on her thigh.
Smiling, she nodded. Anticipation and imagination stirred within her. Her heart quickened, and her breath shallowed.
With a peck to her lips, Arthur gazed at her face again and slid away from her side.
She shifted to the featherbed's end. Hands touched her knees with barely any pressure. She cooperated, and hot breath teased her. Elia's heart hammered.
Unless he'd drunk the whole of both goblets this morning, this was all Arthur. An Arthur she'd never met but wanted to. As a rule, he never got into his cups. A sober Arthur.
Purple eyes met hers, and she combed his hair, smiling.
Light strokes explored with a soft, sizzling touch. So careful yet too gentle. Lips followed, and her breathing hitched when hot air teased her core. Arthur stilled before that hot air returned with ardour, and she gasped while fighting an impulse to press for more. At his ministrations, warmth pooled in her belly, and she ran her hand through his hair, urging him on.
His hands relaxed and continued. Calloused fingers brushed Elia's nub, and she whimpered. A falter in the touch, but the stroke repeated a little firmer. While a slow rhythm built, an impatience made her tremble.
Catching her breath while that heat grew within proved a struggle. Hips jolting forward, she breathed a moan when the fingers and hot air teased together. Shaky, she closed her eyes, biting her lip once in a while between breaths.
Her mind climbed towards the start of something, but it all stopped, and she made to speak when a flicking tongue drew a gasp and light moan from her. Breaths tight, she turned her head to the side. He did it again.
Each time got better; Arthur lapped instead of licked, and she couldn't muffle herself. Her hands grasped his hair. His fumbling faded, and his fingers drew sure, tight circles instead. She was on some precipice and desperate to fall into the abyss.
A slower, firmer and warm lap prodded where Elia's desire burnt hottest, and a wanting cry of his name broke free, her back arched and breath erratic. Despite the featherbed beneath her, her mind fell.
Limp and sluggish, she reached for him while her pounding heart slowed. Lean arms soon wrapped around Elia. Tilting her head proved difficult, but she lifted her heavy fingers onto Arthur's cheek. "Thank you," she whispered against his jaw.
Those purple eyes came into sight, and his smile seemed pleased as he leaned in to kiss her gently. His nails trailed within her hair, giving a lovely bliss to which she could fall asleep.
He held her close, and she rested a hand on his hip. "What about you?"
He hummed in a low tone. "Don't worry about me. It was for you," he mumbled, pecking Elia's cheek. "Rest, my sweet lady."
Within his hold, she closed her eyes and snuggled against him. Runaway thoughts and memories aplenty, she traced his skin. Arthur cupped the back of her head, his lips lightly pressed to her forehead.
This man cared about her, Elia, not Princess Elia Nymeros Martell of Dorne, a princess with nothing to offer but her royal blood. She was only homely. Regardless, Arthur held her like a precious jewel every day. In Sunspear, he'd supported her interest in horseflesh instead of looking at her strangely.
She swallowed, eyes pricking, and she burrowed further against him. If Mother decided to disapprove of them marrying, she would rip any sorry excuse to shreds.
He supported who she was and never demanded things. Argued and protected her when something threatened her dignity. Ideas were listened to and considered. Arthur fought lust so they could marry soon with genuine blessings. As far as King's Landing knew, they were married.
If Mother attempted a political reason, Elia would counter it.
Arthur was a Dayne, a prominent and respected family. Also, a true knight and the Sword of the Morning. Both titles held influence and sway; their children would undoubtedly be taught the same good morals as his. An honourable man, and far and wide, Westeros knew and acknowledged it.
She held hope.
She took a breath and caressed his neck. With lazy eyes, she rested against him; a small smile graced her lips.
A life in Starfall flickered in her mind. In it were children with Martell and Dayne features. Arthur taught swordsmanship to an avid son, favouring her features. And Elia, with the swell of a third child in her belly, feeding a foal with a little girl, her hair entirely silver like Arthur's, and her eyes are that captivating amethyst.
Tilting her head, she met Arthur's inquisitive eyes while fingers traced her mouth. She kissed their pads and rested her head. The Arthur in front of her was at ease, unlike in the halls and court.
His jawline and cheeks had no tension, eyes expressive, and peace she longed to last forever. He ran his fingers down her cheek, and she could fall asleep then and there in his warm hold.
The lightest of breaths brushed her ear. "Sleep. Elia Dayne." That whisper belonged in dreams.
She closed her eyes; the phrase repeated in her head like a murmured secret. Lightness overtook her mind and wrapped her in gentle peace.
.
.
A flurry of pictures faded. Whatever Elia dreamt left a lingering smile. Opening her eyes, they fell upon Arthur's chest and its silver strands, her hand upon it. A welcome change, so she stayed and gave the lightest of touches.
Against her forehead, lips pressed a tender kiss.
She shifted and met his eyes. "I fell asleep?"
He stroked her cheek and nodded. "Brief but peacefully," he said, helping her sit. He ran a hand through her hair and softly kissed her. "Midday is a few hours away, but I must get to the yard."
Rising from the bed, she remained as bare as her nameday and helped Arthur dress and into his armour. Strapping Dawn's scabbard onto his back, she grabbed the helm. "Olenna Tyrell left yesterday for the Reach, but there are others like her with sharp tongues," she said, hand cupping his cheek and looking him in the eyes. "Alys Waynwood is almost as awful sometimes. Take care, especially around her."
He tucked the helm under an arm and pecked her cheek. "I will, but keep Ser Camren with you. Since your uncle was named Kingsguard, I always wonder if you're well and safe, Elia."
"His presence does make my day easier." She put on a fresh shift and dress. "Will I see you at the midday meal?"
"You should, if not earlier."
"Until then, Arthur." Opening the door for him, she watched Arthur go until turning a corner. Back inside their bedchamber and completing the final touches to her hair, she emerged and nodded to Ser Camren.
With Ser Camren on her flank, she went about her morning. Craven speakers uttered 'whore' in the halls, hiding within crowds. It wasn't a recent development, but she kept her dignity and never retaliated.
After breakfast in the Dining Hall, the echo of Ser Camren's steps receded when she took to the gardens. The more pleasant ladies would sit on the cloth-shaded balcony with tea or wine in their hands and act nothing but polite. The likes of Olenna Tyrell and Alys Waynwood wouldn't roam here unless bored and wanting to cause grief for the sake of it.
Joining them, she poured herself tea and glanced at the ladies. The usual women were sipping and talking: Lady Rosby, Lady Florent, Lady Bracken, and Lady Darry.
A woman approached the balcony, holding a babe with light brown hair and a skin tone typical in the Vale and upper Riverlands. The lady was certainly older than Mother, but this was the first time she'd seen this lady in The Red Keep.
The lady had greying hair and shared some facial features with the babe. Most likely the boy's grandmother.
When their eyes met, the lady glanced at the others as though seeking a hint about Elia's nature. From Elia's left stirred Lady Darry with a wide smile. "I'm glad you've arrived safely, Verity. How's your gooddaughter? Was Darry Castle pleasant for her recovery?"
Verity, presumably Lady Verity, sat on the other side of the round table. "She's doing well, thank you, but I dare say Lord Darry was happy to see us depart. My son's heir has inherited quite the scream when he wants to be heard, Lady Darry."
The other four ladies chuckled at Lady Verity's remark, and she grinned at the reminder of her younger brother. "Some men never quieten down, but I pray the little lord does, Lady Verity. Oberyn was still loud last I saw him."
Silence permeated the air, but Lady Rosby cleared her throat. "Lady Verity, meet Princess Elia, wife of the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne; they'll be here until the tourney. And Princess Elia, this is Lady Verity, mother of Lord Audrey Charlton of Charlton Castle. She occasionally visits to see her gooduncle, Ser Amos," Lady Rosby said to Elia and Lady Verity, before sipping her wine. "Lady Verity, Olenna Tyrell left yesterday, so worry not about thorns. Alys Waynwood is in The Red Keep, though."
Lady Verity adjusted her hold on the babe and relaxed. "That's one less barbed voice to dread hearing," Lady Verity murmured. She met Elia's eyes. "Lady Rosby called you 'Princess Elia', but as the wife of Ser Arthur Dayne, wouldn't that have changed your title?"
She took a sip and shook her head. "My family is the overlord house to Arthur's, so I keep my name," she said calmly and smiled at Lady Verity's nod. "My best friend, Ashara, is Lady Dayne of Starfall until Lord Alijah weds. And my goodmother is currently Lady Dayne of High Hermitage until the heir is a man and married. I go by 'Princess Elia', and my husband is 'Ser Arthur' or 'Ser Arthur Dayne' in a more formal setting."
Within Lady Verity's arms, the babe stirred but stayed asleep. The ladies cooed over the adorable little boy while he was peaceful.
She wanted a family with Arthur and to raise their children as Daynes in the peace of Starfall. Marry and be his wife for true. Marriage required the bride to be a maiden everywhere except Dorne; the Dornish dismissed the notion.
In Dorne, houses drew contracts that bound a man and bride together after the vows. Relying on the bride's maidenhead and presentation of bloodstained sheets to finalise the marriage was a flawed method.
However, most nobles of Westeros used a bedding ceremony to ensure a stained sheet. Something only possible with a maiden bride or a hidden cut to produce a little blood. She was a maiden, thus unmarried in the eyes of Westeros if a maester ever checked. The image of Grand Maester Pycelle touching her made Elia clasp her cup tighter.
She needed to prepare for the worst and see the maester at the Great Sept of Baelor. Fail, and the Silent Sisters could be her fate if Arthur was named to the Kingsguard.
There had to be a way to keep the maester silent if she never needed his help. However, the sept's maester hadn't attended court since she'd arrived. She doubted he ever had. Nothing guaranteed he wouldn't reveal the truth, though. A flawed solution but better than nothing.
Not wanting to appear bad-mannered, she took a sip and spoke. "When did you last visit King's Landing to see Ser Amos, Lady Verity?" she asked when the fawning ended. As a Kingsguard knight, Ser Amos was required to stay in King's Landing. Charlton Castle was near The Neck, so Lady Verity's visits should be infrequent but prolonged.
Lady Verity rubbed the babe's arm absently. "Almost two years ago. And another babe, a Targaryen. Prince Jaehaerys was born and lived to the relief of Queen Rhaella…for a few moons. King Aerys became the joyful man of his youth again and doted on the boy despite being a son. Had it been a strong daughter, Prince Rhaegar would have had a sister to marry. I pray the gods are good and the queen won't have another stillbirth; she's struggled ever since Prince Rhaegar."
She relaxed so she wouldn't shift in the seat. Doting on a second son when the first was healthy, a training warrior, and a grown man with acumen for court life but disliked by the father made ill news.
Queen Rhaella was on the verge of bringing another babe into the world. Should it be another son, King Aerys could dote on this one, too. How did Prince Rhaegar react, and what will he do this time?
She seized the silence. "Speaking of Prince Rhaegar, what was he like when Prince Jaehaerys was alive?"
After a sip of wine, the grandmother eased back against the seat. "Polite and nearing manhood, but not overly interested in the babe. He rarely spent time other than reading his scrolls. Is it true he's training against the Kingsguard now?"
She nodded. "And my husband. When King Aerys bid in court for my uncle to remain and train against the Kingsguard for the tourney, Prince Rhaegar suggested that Arthur did the same. And so it was bid."
Lady Darry swirled her goblet. "You should see the prince and Ser Arthur spar, Verity. It's always a close match. Ser Arthur doesn't humiliate the prince but doesn't fight easy either."
"I have no fondness for swords, Lady Darry, but Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur are close in age, no? Knights don't typically like schemes. They could become friends." Lady Verity said. Her eyes dropped to the babe against her chest. "Friends are ever rare in The Red Keep. It's good the prince is finally seeking some. I suppose he can now distinguish when someone is false or genuine."
Her belly tightened at those words. Prince Rhaegar had a squire who desired friendship, but he treated Jon Connington more like a servant despite being a lord's heir. If the prince wanted friendship, he could've formed one with his squire years ago. Jon Connington was a year younger than the prince. A wasted opportunity.
Prince Rhaegar sought to befriend people of prominence while his mother, according to the Grand Maester, would birth a babe within a moon. Prominent people implied a search for influence, and such behaviour suggested politics, not friendship.
If Queen Rhaella had another son, King Aerys could dote on the boy as he'd done with Prince Jaehaerys.
With Prince Rhaegar older and more politically astute now, he undoubtedly acknowledged the option a second son could present to the king. Another successor for the Iron Throne. A prince befriended by prominent people would be more difficult to uproot.
Many Westerosi knights envied the Sword of the Morning. The title was earned through extensive merit. Who else has the prince approached of late to use politically?
Restlessness boiled within her, and she suppressed it for a few minutes while the ladies discussed how wonderful Prince Rhaegar was. Once safe to leave, she finished her cup. "I pray you to pardon me, my ladies. My seamstress will be waiting for me," she said warmly. "Lady Verity, you and your grandson, were a pleasure, and I do hope to meet your gooddaughter at the midday meal. She'll be lovely, I'm sure."
Lady Verity seemed to combat a laugh. "I appreciate the sentiment, Princess Elia. Hilene has been at her wit's end of late. She will be polite though, fear not."
"Thank you, Lady Verity. Until the meal, my ladies," she said. The ladies gave her smiles, and she left. The seamstress was skilled but off-branched from The Hook due to the nature of her order.
Taking a few unnecessary corners through the gardens, she slowed and sat on a bench. Aside from Ser Camren near her flank, she was alone. Faint clangs echoed nearby. She breathed, imagined the agreed whistle and wanted to make it. She faltered.
What point is there in raising the alarm when Arthur is already wary of Prince Rhaegar's attention? He is more aware of scheming now. That alone is intervention. Arthur knows something is strange about the prince, so he won't be compelled to befriend him. Exploiting Arthur's status for political weight will require friendship first. She smiled to herself. You won't use my husband so easily, Prince Rhaegar.
She left the gardens and, within The Red Keep, ignored a harp's melody on her way towards the city. Today marked the third day of Prince Rhaegar playing his harp in the mornings instead of sparring.
She was almost onto The Hook outside the front gate of The Red Keep.
"Goodsister!" A Dornishman's voice called over the smallfolk chatter.
Only one man would call her that. "Alijah?" she said in disbelief and turned. He wore a Dornish lord's attire of robe and breeches in the colours of his House. She had to move. "Walk with me. I don't want courtiers watching us." He joined her and walked into the thick crowd. Taking the offshoot alley to the seamstress's store, she spoke. "Gods be good. What are you doing here, Alijah? Why?"
He glanced over their shoulders down the quiet alley towards the bustling of The Hook. With an exhale, he pulled a rolled parchment out of his lavender robe. "I'm here for you and Arthur. The initial announcement for the mummery won't be enough by itself," he said, with determination plain on his face and handed her the parchment. The Lord of Starfall touched the scroll before she could open it. "I know my brother, Elia. I doubt I took much of a risk."
She put the scroll safely in her skirts. "Alijah, what did you do?"
"As I said, I know my brother-"
This seemed too severe for the outdoors, and she pulled him into the seamstress's store to escape any spies. Ser Camren stayed outside. The young seamstress, Trish, still worked on an elaborate lavender and white dress; the work was incomplete, thus her early. She released Alijah and stepped forward. "Trish, pray forgive me for barging in like this, but could I speak upstairs while you finish?"
"Aye, m'lady. My home is tidy."
Leading the way, she kept Alijah away from the windows and closed them. She put a hand on her skirts. "What's on this parchment?"
He tensed and forced himself to relax with an exhale. "A contract with caveats; it was the only option I had that protected my brother and you. When the marriage was announced, no physical proof was provided. I'm sorry that Prince Lewyn was named to the Kingsguard. He no doubt hates the standing around all day."
"He does. And you're right about the mummery, but it matters little." She sat on a stool and took his hands into her own, imploring forgiveness. "Alijah, I'm about to tell you a difficult truth. Nothing can protect Arthur, married or not. The wife of a married man named to the Kingsguard was sent to the Silent Sisters to nullify the marriage; Ser Quentyn Ball's wife."
Alijah shook his head and sat down. She furrowed her eyebrows.
"Elia, that story is misinterpreted. People shortened the retellings for a scandal story and missed key aspects. Ser Quentyn Ball never became a Kingsguard knight. He wanted a position, and King Aegon IV promised the next opening. In advance, Ser Quentyn made his own wife join the Silent Sisters. However, King Aegon died, so Ser Quentyn reminded King Daeron when a vacancy arose. He didn't get it, so he sided with Daemon Blackfyre in the First Blackfyre Rebellion."
She sighed and relaxed on the stool. "So husband and wife separated by their own accord and free of influence?"
"Yes. No king demanded Ser Quentyn's actions, and all Kingsguard knights joined as unmarried men. The contract will protect Arthur, as well as you, Elia. I checked Kingsguard's history before negotiations with your mother."
Given King Aerys' tendencies, pessimism arose in her. "What if King Aerys misunderstands history as I did? Or doesn't care to know what truly happened? If Arthur is named to the Kingsguard, then he's named to the Kingsguard, Alijah."
He gave a grim smile. "The contract is the best option I have. If your fear is true, then there's little else."
She considered her choices. "I'll have to make the idea appear as politically damaging as possible for discouragement. What are the caveats of this contract? I assume it's a marriage contract."
"It is. I counted on Arthur being Arthur when I signed it. Your mother is a gruelling negotiator; we spent the voyage to King's Landing finalising the details. There are two caveats; one was neutral, and the other was a sacrifice I gambled on never having to fulfil. There's an escape clause if the first caveat is met."
"Alijah? What was this sacrifice?"
Purple eyes met hers. "The short of it is I don't marry a woman of my choosing if you're not a maiden."
She gave a slow nod. She said the rest; it was political, and her mother would prefer it. "And you marry me instead."
"Yes."
"Why? How would this protect Arthur?"
He met her gaze, the hint of a smile on his lips. "That's where I'm counting on Arthur and his knightliness for this contract. The first caveat is you stay a maiden until the Fourth Moon next year. The second caveat was I'm to marry you if you're not. If Arthur is named to the Kingsguard before Fourth Moon, and you're still a maiden, you and I won't be obligated to wed. There's a lot of floral wording to avoid trouble, but the points are in there."
"How does any of this protect Arthur, Alijah?"
"In exchange for the caveats, your mother will support the mummery as though it's the truth. After Fourth Moon, she'll give her blessings for a private ceremony between you and Arthur."
I'd best avoid horses for a while. The contract was a hefty demand towards the Lord of Starfall, but Mother wasn't ruling Princess of Dorne in name only. "I am a maiden," she whispered and sat back, smiling when Alijah oozed relief.
A grin grew on his face. "That's Arthur. I can guess your sleeping arrangements, but trust Arthur to keep his cock in his breeches. I knew I could."
Unbidden, this morning flashed through her mind, and her cheeks grew hot. She averted her gaze but whipped it back when Alijah laughed.
"The oh sweet, pure and fair maiden blushes?" Alijah asked, chuckling. "Never would have guessed that of my own brother. Or were you imagining something?"
Elia huffed and squashed her embarrassment. "Alijah! I acknowledge and am thankful for the personal risk you took for Arthur and me, but I ask you not to pry. Just know Arthur and I will respect what you've done and won't poorly repay you for it."
With a guilty grin, Alijah cleared his throat with the ghost of laughter. "Sorry, Elia."
She doubted that but let the teasing fizzle out. While an agreement is good, parchment is easily torn. They needed another aspect for this to work. "You and I know what court is like. Bringing a marriage contract to prevent Arthur from being named to the Kingsguard will result in us being laughed at. How can parchment possibly protect Arthur from a king's bidding?"
"Don't despair yet, goodsister," he said with a secretive smile. "Do you have many errands today? The sooner everything is in place, the better."
She glanced at the stairs. "One or two after this; the Sept of Baelor is my next destination, and after it's The Red Keep for the midday meal with Arthur."
"The sept?" he repeated. "You're not a woman of routine prayer, Elia."
She nodded and put distance between herself and the stairs. "I have the same concerns as you but fewer resources. The sept's maester is my best option because I doubt Grand Maester Pycelle can keep his mouth shut. That man makes me want to shudder. The maester of the sept isn't involved at court, but he could notify the High Septon of error should I be commanded to join the Silent Sisters."
The agreeing hum of Alijah filled the air, and he said nothing more.
She took the stairs as the seamstress packed away her bolts of cloth. "M'lady, I've done my best for your order. Does the dress please you?" the young seamstress asked, wringing her hands.
With a cursory glance, it had the elements Elia requested. Nearing the dress, she ran careful eyes over it and nodded. "You've truly done well," Elia said, drawing the owed coin from her skirts and six more copper stars.
"M'lady, thank you. Would you like assistance putting it on now?"
That caught her off guard but put her plans into play sooner. "That would be lovely." She glanced over her shoulder. "Alijah-"
He sat and lifted a hand, a smug smile, while he stared at the dress. "Say no more, goodsister."
She and the seamstress went upstairs, where Trish helped her change. The original dress was held within a drawstring cloth bag. The new design took time to put on and take off for a particular reason. She cringed. Hopefully, that element won't prove necessary.
Alijah's lips parted. "A royal Dayne?"
Grinning, she raised an eyebrow. "Did you forget I am a princess of Dorne, goodbrother?"
He chuckled and stood up. "Banter another time. We need to organise matters." He turned to Trish. "Seamstress, your work is exemplary."
"Thank you, m'lord."
Back on The Hook and Ser Camren trailing behind them, she wove through the people on the main streets of King's Landing with Alijah. Ser Camren turned towards the harbour, leaving her and Alijah alone.
The presence of Alijah was a much-welcomed surprise, but her mind still spun with the news. She desired to repay him for the risk he'd taken for her and Arthur but wondered how.
Finally, she and Arthur have a chance to honestly marry. Her lips bloomed into a smile.
Climbing the steps of The Great Sept of Baelor, she glanced at the sky. Roughly an hour until the sun reached high noon. Several people knelt in front of one of the seven statues inside the sept, except the Stranger, the god least prayed to.
The halls attached to the prayer area stood fewer people. One of them was a little busier, and she glanced at Alijah, who shrugged. "I don't know, Elia, but it's likely."
Step after step, Elia took the same path as the smallfolk until one of the rooms wasn't sparse but plentiful. She spotted a shelf holding vials with clear writing through the door's gap. This was it. She met Alijah's eyes, and he stood himself outside the door. Bracing herself, she exhaled and made her body melt off its tension. A relaxed patient left sooner than an anxious or persistent one.
She knocked on the ajar door. "Maester?"
His back was still to her from where he hunched over a desk. "Aye? I need to finish this if you can wait."
"As you wish." Air shifted behind her, and she looked where Alijah stood by the door, not behind her. He had a mischievous, almost smug smile. What amuses you so?
Her jaw went slack when she turned towards him, but she kept her mouth shut. A rattle came from the maester's chamber. "Come in." As bid by the man, she did but left the door open behind her; Elia and the maester weren't alone. "M'lady, m'lady," the maester said to her and Mother as he closed the door. "Are you new at The Red Keep? Grand Maester Pycelle will treat you."
She didn't want to look incapable of countering obstacles in front of Mother. "Mayhaps," she said. "But I am already here, and no one likes wasted time. The journey back would be long, but my matter is small."
"That is true," he said as though people often wasted his. "Small, you say?" He approached, eyes searching her face. "I see nothing wrong. Grand Maester Pycelle would treat you faster than I."
That was the second time he mentioned Grand Maester Pycelle, but she ignored his attempts for her to leave. "I was on horseback outside King's Landing and need some reassurance. That's why you can't see, Maester."
He sighed at her insistence and gestured to a straw bed covered with white cloth. "Very well, m'lady, if you insist."
"I do."
At a hearth, he lit a fire. Metal clinked against more metal but slower than a bustling kitchen. Elia closed her eyes a moment. He heated water to wash his hands; he didn't want me here but would do it clean like a proper maester.
She finally met Mother's eyes again. So many questions, but this wasn't the place. Sitting down, she obeyed Mother's directing touch to lie on the bed. Her belly tightened at what she must do.
In Dorne, she'd never needed something like this. But the other kingdoms cared about maidenheads, and losing hers was considered the sign of a wedded woman. She swallowed and gazed at the ceiling; a stranger was about to touch her in the most intimate places.
In the Red Keep, she'd overheard whispers between young maidens of how long Grand Maester Pycelle took for something quite simple. She shuddered.
On her chin, a gentle finger guided her to look to the side. Her mother's brown eyes met hers. No doubt, Mother wanted to know if Elia was a maiden. Alijah's explanation about the contract spoke of Mother's determination for her to be and stay a maiden for at least a bit longer.
What's the point of staying a maiden when Westeros believes Arthur and I are wed? And before our pretence, a maidenhead, not once, mattered in Dorne, and that's unlikely to change. Yet long before Arthur proposed a betrothal, Mother always instructed me to remain a maiden.
Somewhere behind Mother, the maester moved about. Elia took a breath and presented the sealed contract to Mother; it could be damaged when the maester lifted her skirts. With a hand over Mother's holding the contract, she nodded with a smile.
Mother sat, parchment in her skirts, and ran a hand over her hair. "Alijah Dayne told me, and your uncle wrote, about the risk you've taken for Ser Arthur." Elia gave a slow nod. "You love the man, don't you?"
She swallowed while her eyes pricked. "He makes me happy. Mother…please…"
Upon her lips, Mother rested a finger. "Shh…I wrote the contract, Elia. Don't forget."
"It was so conditional…."
Mother adjusted on the bed and leaned forward until her lips brushed her forehead. "No mother wants their daughter joining the Silent Sisters. By the standards of Westeros, you're unwed. You know words are wind in court, Elia."
She closed her eyes and, her throat tight, swallowed. "And the caveat about Alijah?"
"He was confident and willing to take a personal risk for his brother. It was but reassurance in truth." Mother drew back until their eyes met again. "Keep to the contract, and you may marry the man you love, sweetling."
Her heart swelled, and she clasped a hand over Mother's. Tears of joy threatened, but she fought them back.
"Sweetling…" Mother took a heavy breath and turned serious. "The Kingsguard has many old men, and Ser Arthur is a knight of high calibre. I wish not for a broken heart, Elia, but keep what's possible in mind."
It was a bitter fact to swallow, and she looked away.
A shadow neared Mother and drew her eyes; the maester. "Is she afraid, m'lady?" In his hands was a piece of wet fabric he dropped into a basket by the handbasin.
"As to be expected, but she'll be more at ease once we have an answer," Mother said smoothly.
"Aye, m'lady."
She stiffened when the maester slowly lifted her skirts. The procedure was less than pleasant. Mother stroked her face through it all and kept Her gaze on her. She tried to keep Elia distracted but couldn't ignore the maester's touch.
Enduring the necessity, she remained still with a bitten lip. Her smallclothes once again in place, and then her skirts. Elia, with help from Mother, rose from the bed. It is said Grand Maester Pycelle takes twice the amount of time.
"Your daughter is a maiden, m'lady. Her maidenhead is fine."
Mother wrapped an arm around her and led her to the door. "Thank you, Maester. We shall leave you in peace." In the hall, Mother murmured in her ear. "That is no man of the royal court. His speech was simple and to the point."
A glimpse of crystal ahead, and Mother stirred as though to follow it. She stepped out of Mother's hold. "Shall Alijah and I await you near the statues of the gods?"
"Please," Mother said. "You're as protected as possible from joining the Silent Sisters. Now, I must fulfil my side of the agreement." With dignity, Mother pursued the moving crystal, leaving Elia and Alijah together.
In the main chamber, she knelt before the looming statue of the Crone with Alijah, both of them waiting for Mother more than praying. Within her mind, she'd formed a prayer or two that Arthur would know what Prince Rhaegar intended, but she discarded the notion of muttering them. He would notice something amiss with the prince and take caution.
Instead, she reviewed the matter of the contract within her mind. Mother still had the parchment. The need for Elia to stay a maiden mattered to the sept and prevented her from having to swear vows expected of Silent Sisters.
Silent sisters covered everything but their eyes so her escape from any royal decree would happen here. The mummery would protect Arthur in court against being named to the Kingsguard, and Mother supported it.
Aside from prayer, the people of the Red Keep and The Great Sept of Baelor rarely interacted. The Red Keep wouldn't care to know Elia was a maiden and unmarried; they would doubt it. And The Great Sept of Baelor wouldn't be appearing in court, thus won't contradict the marriage mummery. It was a headache to unravel, but she understood now.
She released a long breath.
Beside her, Alijah shifted. He was twisted at the waist towards her. "What?" he whispered.
"Arthur. I see how the contract's conflicting aspects work to protect both of us."
He had a wry smile. "It was a voyage of headaches." Standing up, Alijah offered his hand and helped her do the same. "I need to find Arthur. Explain it all to him."
"The Red Keep's yard allocated to the Kingsguard," she said. "He's there most days at this time. Not always, but most days. Ensure he keeps his armour spotless; there's been no word of Ser Amos healing."
"Of course. Thank you, Elia. Let me take that bag." The man climbed the stairs towards the entrance and, in moments, was gone.
With only Ser Camren now, she stood before the statue of the Mother Above. Courtiers would expect to see her praying before the tall marble creation in hopes of getting with child. Arthur's child. Her imagination of children this morning returned. The son had black hair and dark eyes but skin a lightened tone of her own; the daughter had inverse features to the boy, all-silver hair, Arthur's eyes but slightly darker skin than her father.
She rested her hand on her belly unintentionally but lowered it quickly. In her mind, she'd been heavy with a third child but hadn't thought of what it would be. Son or daughter, she wouldn't mind either way.
Firm, quick steps neared and drew her from the daydream. Mother had tiny shakes of hidden fury; she rarely was, but Oberyn had done some pretty stupid things as a boy. Mother's rage was quite memorable. Hands squeezed together, flexed, and when she reached Elia, she relaxed. "Pompous, fat oaf," she muttered. Mother exhaled and closed her eyes. "Let's leave this place." She, with Elia, left The Great Sept of Baelor.
What had the High Septon done or refused to do? He's the only fat man of The Faith there. She refrained from prying; Mother would speak of something when she desired to.
Little by little, Mother's body lost stiffness while they approached the Red Keep. Any strong emotion was a vulnerability in the Red Keep. The return of Alijah to court would stir gossip, but Mother's presence, the Ruling Princess of Dorne, gorgeous in her Martell red dress, even more so. They were Dornish and looked down upon, but the arrivals would create curiosity.
She needed to know Mother's reason for coming so she could as well. "What will you say you're doing in King's Landing?"
Mother had a reminiscent smile. "Joanna Lannister, rest her soul, and I used to make Queen Rhaella laugh when we served her. It's been too long. I'm sure she'd appreciate a short visit."
"Wouldn't your presence make it awkward? Didn't she stop having ladies-in-waiting because of…promiscuity?"
Mother smirked. "My brother is on the Kingsguard now, always around the man; king's mistake. I won't be touched, sweetling; worry not." She gave a long sigh. "I'm sure poor Joanna is at peace now."
Elia dropped her gaze. Mother had spoken so well of Lady Joanna when raising her and Oberyn. Lord Tywin was a sour and, away from court, insulting man. Thankfully, he'd left for the Westerlands shortly after she and company arrived at King's Landing.
If King Aerys used to touch respectable or beautiful women who weren't his sister-wife, then it would make a safe assumption that he'd have no qualms touching someone less attractive. She grasped Mother's fingers until their eyes met. "He vowed fidelity to Her Grace in recent years, but will he keep to it?"
Mother's eyes turned fierce like a storm. "The Seven Hells will rain down upon him if he touches you, Elia." She brushed a loose strand from her face. "Impulsive Oberyn, now he's back in Westeros. Arthur, if he's as enamoured as you are. Lewyn is on the Kingsguard and irritatingly good at passive aggression to the point of maddening. And I, as Ruling Princess of Dorne, would give him political hell for it."
She kept her gaze on Mother's eyes as though her breath depended on it.
Mother's eyes calmed, and she pecked her temple. "He won't do anything to you if he has any sense."
"Thank you."
Passing through the main gate to the Red Keep, she walked in step with her mother. Mother in House Martell's hot red and orange, and Elia in the lavender and white of Dayne, the elaborate dress she purchased this morning.
A breath tickled her ear. "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken."
Many eyes turned to Mother in the halls, and Elia smiled. Some started staring at her, and a soft chuckle came from Mother. To satisfy her curiosity, Elia met her mother's gaze. "What is it?"
Mother smiled as her eyes roamed her face. "Your smile. When it's a true one, your eyes light up. Just like now," she murmured, tilting her head towards other people. "Just look. I'm not the only one they stare at."
The notion that people had their eyes on her while she walked beside someone like Mother heated her cheeks.
"Happiness is your beauty, Elia."
She bit her lip to keep everything at bay, but her eyes were likely shining. A stupid question rose, but she couldn't fight the urge to ask. She needed to hear it. "Truly?"
"Yes, sweetling. I speak true. Believe in yourself."
They neared Maegor's Holdfast when the frantic patter of a woman's slippers on the stone floor neared. The moment's levity was blown away. Elia, as well as her mother, turned to the sound. It was a handmaiden but with the face of her unofficial aunt.
Mother took a half step. "Freya?"
Uncle Lewyn's paramour's breath raced. "Mariah, what-? I suppose both of you now-."
Elia took one of Freya's hands into both of hers. "Freya, breathe. Take a moment; we're still going to be here."
With one controlled breath, Freya's eyes stared into hers. "By the gods, I've been looking everywhere for you, Elia."
Mother's soft fingers curled over her nearest shoulder.
She stiffened. "Freya. Tell me."
