Rhaella sat in the large glass dome at the top of the castle Plataea. Ever since she had agreed to marry Lord Ambrose to solidify her family's safety, she had been granted greater access to the massive structure. Of course, even her special privileges only amounted to being allowed into the 'observation platform' as it was called by the Terras, as well as quick walks through the settlement that was forming at the base of the castle.
Rhaella watched the settlement, named New Currahee according to Lord Kurt, grow in amazement. It was an astonishing thing really. Rhaella had heard of and even in some rare cases seen the processes that most peasants and even lords undertook to build or renovate their seats. They were long affairs and could take years before they showed any progress. Harrenhall had taken forty years to finish with the might of two kingdoms supporting its construction, and even the Red Keep, with all the labour of six realms, had taken a generation. By contrast, the people of House Terra seemed to be miracle workers. Rhaella watched as the structures grew larger, as strange open topped carriages without horses pulled carts full of things she could not recognise.
"It must seem like magic, mustn't it?"
Rhaella tried to hold down her startled jump, reeling around on her seat to see Lord Ambrose behind her, a pair of steaming cups in his hands.
"I thought you might want some tea."
He offered her a smile, warm and lacking in menace, but after what Rhaella had learned of the man, she refused to believe anything about him. He was a killer, a murderer who had threatened her entire family. His own soldiers had killed her son and her husband, though she admitted to herself that she would not miss Aerys. Still, he had spared her, Viserys, Elia and her children when he could have easily had them killed as well. Rhaella reminded herself that it had not been a decision he had made out of kindness. Jane had managed to convince her lord that she and the other members of her family would be of better use to them alive, and while she still could not bring herself to fully trust her the woman who had become perhaps her closest friend, she was thankful for her backing in keeping her children and grandchildren alive for the time being.
Lord Ambrose held out the cup, and Rhaella hesitantly took it, letting the warmth of the tea seep through the cup and into her hands. There was no wind to chill her, even this high up, and Rhaella found that she could still wear summer dresses and clothes without having to worry about wind-chill. Her body was tense even without it though, and as the lord of the castle and her future husband took a seat on her side, she felt a slight shiver go up her spine. The lord of southern Fair Isle followed her gaze and watched with her as a strange mechanism hoisted building materials into the air, to the top of a large building that was already cresting the hight of the tallest towers of the Red Keep.
"It's called a crane." He said, following her eyes. "A counterweight us used in order to bring heavy building materials up to a higher area. I'm sure something similar is used in the building of many structures in the rest of the world."
"I have never seen one so… quick, when delivering supplies." Rhaella admitted.
"Likely not. Nowhere else in the world has the technology to create the kind of thing that we can here."
"Technology?" She asked, unfamiliar with the word even as it flowed past her lips.
Lord Ambrose smiled, giving her a look that reminded her of one an old maester might give a child.
"Yes, technology. It's a rather interesting concept, though one your society has not yet come around to understanding in the same way we do."
He chuckled under his breath.
"Honestly, we weren't sure that the people of Westeros would recognise, or even understand the word. Our xeno-linguists aboard have been having quite a time tracing back the linguistic roots that led to the formation of two virtually identical languages over entirely different paths of linguistic evolution."
Rhaella watched the man, unsure of what he was talking about, but she felt that Lord Ambrose was only vaguely speaking to her. Rather, he seemed to be musing to himself more so than engaging in conversation.
She watched as Lord Ambrose's eyes seemed to stare off into the distance, seeing something that she could not on the horizon, but after a moment his eyes focused again and turned to regard her.
"We will be returning the Starks to the rebel's camp today, in case there were any final sentiments you wished to relay to Lady Lyanna or Lord Rickard"
Rhaella blinked in astonishment. Could they have negotiated with Tywin and the rebel leaders so quickly? She wondered to herself how long this alliance had been in the making. Surely it could not have been for long or Varys and his spied would have discovered it.
"I would like to speak with my good-daughter before she departs." Rhaella nodded. "But I must ask, when will Elia and her children be released? I was promised their safe return back to Dorne upon the agreement of our marriage."
"They will be remanded back to Dorne once peace is achieved, and the throne is secured under the new regime. Elia has already agreed to the abdication of her and her children's claims to the Iron Throne. We will expect the same of you and Prince Viserys once the time comes. After that, there will be no danger and Elia and her children will be released."
"Very well."
They were silent for a while after that, but Rhaella couldn't tear her eyes from the massive man. He was huge, even sitting down as he was. She wondered silently to herself how this new marriage of hers might progress, and her hands unconsciously wandered to her belly, where the bump of her last child by Aerys was growing. At the moment, it was noticeable, but still small, and she wondered how her future husband felt about it.
"My lord?"
"Yes Lady Rhaella."
"My child. What will become of them?"
"If you are asking after Viserys, then know that the same process will apply for him as does with Princess Elia and her children."
"And after our marriage?" She asked, sending the conversation into a new direction. "How many of your children do you expect me to carry at my age?"
Of all the things she had expected from Lord Ambrose. Astonishment was not one of them.
"My children?" He asked, as if the thought had not even occurred to him.
"Yes, my lord." She said. "Your children. I am in the twilight of my years when it comes to childbirth, so I will not be able to deliver many."
Her eyes turned misty for a moment, and she laced her fingers over her stomach.
"I've… I've had several miscarriages and stillbirths throughout my life. I am not sure how many would survive."
As she spoke, her voice quivered. Rhaella felt a hand on her shoulder, seeing that Lord Ambrose had risen from his seat and was instead kneeling in front of her, one hand resting there, and the other on his leg.
"Miss." He said, moving his hand to raise her lowered face enough that their eyes met.
"I wouldn't ask you to do that."
Rhaella was shocked. She felt a knot in her stomach loosen slightly, but she dismissed the small comfort. He was a lord of a noble house. He was marrying her, of course he must expect her to bear him an heir. She shuddered, thinking that she might return to the bed of a man, after all that Aerys had done to her.
Her breath came faster, and she shivered under Lord Ambrose's touch as she imagined what he would do to her on their wedding night. Aerys had been different at first, but he had never been gentle in any real way. She expected that this hulking man, this massive soldier would be no gentler.
"Please my Lord." She sobbed lightly, moving her chin from his hand and looking down. Her hands had gripped the fabric of her dress, and she could see the outlines of her tears where they had fallen and turned the cloth to a darker shade.
"I promise I will do my duty. You need not deceive in this way."
"My lady…"
He reached for her, and Rhaella flinched, her mind flashing back to every seemingly light touch Aerys had given her, which had turned harsh and cruel just as he had reached her. His long nails in the twilight years of their marriage had left scratches and bleeding cuts all across her body during their infrequent couplings, and faced with the idea of repeating that life again, with another man, she felt the quiet walls that she had built up around herself crumble.
Rhaella fell in on herself. Loudly sobbing and cradling herself.
Lord Kurt came closer to her, looking as if her were about to touch her. In that instant Rhaella felt something break.
That long held piece of her that her parents, her septas, and all the etiquette of courtly life that had held back all her sorrow, all her fear and pain and heartache over her marriage. Over her husband's madness, her lost children. Over each and every time Aerys had entered into her rooms, holding her down and raping her for his own desires, regardless of her cries for mercy. Over the Kingsguard, who had ignored her cries, who had stood by and listened as Aerys had raped her over and over again.
She felt that last shred, the part that sounded like a thousand disapproving voices all telling her to play the part of the doting, servile wife. She felt the rage of all her torment, the injustices of her life, and saw before her just another man who hoped for force her down. Who sought to make her once more into a simple piece to be used and discarded.
Rhaella launched herself at the man, her hand curling into a fist as for the first time in so long, perhaps the first time she could remember, she struck someone. As soon as her fist met the man's jaw, Rhaella regretted her action. She had just struck someone, behaviour unfit for lady and a queen, though she did not know if she still held the title. More than that though, she had raised her hand against the man who held in his hands the fate of her family, of her children, her good-daughter, and her grandchildren. Most pressingly of all however, she regretted it because her fist had hit him right in the jawbone, and she felt as if she had punched solid stone.
Rhaella hissed and cradled her hand, pain washing away her anger before itself being replaced by horror and fear. She swung her gaze up to Lord Ambrose, she was regarding her with a look in his eyes as if he was watching a scared animal.
"My lady." He said, holding his hands up as if in surrender and moving forwards.
Rhaella moved back, still cradling her hand, but unwilling to let the man come anywhere closer to her if she could help it. As she moved away, Lord Ambrose stopped moving closer, instead making a wide berth around her, and heading to the door that led back into the rest of the castle.
As the strange sliding doors opened, Rhaella saw a woman standing on the other side. She wore the same strange uniform as Jane had when she had last seen her, but unlike Jane, who's hair had grown in length during her time in Rhaella's company and had not yet been shaved down, this woman's hair barely passed her ears. Her hair was a light but subtle brown, rather than Jane's red hair, and her pale skin was clear of freckles and seemed almost milky white.
"Rosenda." Lord Ambrose addressed the woman formally, but with a warmth in his voice that Rhaella had heard before whenever the man spoke to one of his spartan soldiers.
"Inform Jane that Rhaella has been injured, and inform the medical staff as well, in case she's suffered any serious injury."
The woman nodded and without a word, the door slid shut. Lord Ambrose turned to her, making his way back and kneeling in front of her again.
"May I see it?" He asked, holding out his hand for her to take.
Rhaella regarded him with scepticism, but with the pain in her hand that was only growing greater, she was worried that she might have hurt herself in a serious way, just from punching her future husband in the face. Tentatively, she placed her injured hand in his open on and waited as her inspected it thoroughly.
"Looks like a broken knuckle." He said, prodding her hand but stopping whenever she winced as new pain flooded from her hand.
"It's somewhat common." He explained further. "When a person cannot punch properly, they can injure themselves, or when they punch something sufficiently hard."
Lord Ambrose chuckled slightly.
"I suppose you did hit my jaw. We spartans are a tough bunch."
Rhaella was about to open her mouth. For what she was unsure. Perhaps to curse the man for his apparently stone-like jaw, perhaps for finding some amusement in her injury. Likely she would simply hurl insults at him over Rhaegar's death, but at that moment the doors that lead back into the castle opened and several people moved into the room. At their forefront was Jane, who crouched next to Rhaella and began to inspect her hand.
"Hurry." She said, ushering over people who Rhaella assumed where the Plataea's maester and assistants over to her.
Rhaella followed when they ushered her back into the doors and into the castle, but as she looked around, she saw that Lord Ambrose was not following. Looking back, she could see that the man was simply watching her, a look of almost amusement in his face before he turned to look once again on the growing settlement sprawled out beneath them.
Elia Martell had come to enjoy the small liberties that had been afforded to her and Ashara since Rhaella's agreement to marry Lord Ambrose. Today was the day that the Starks and Lord Glover were to be returned to the rebel camp, likely to then continue whatever was left of the war now that Aerys and Rhaegar were dead.
Ashara was still in the Plataea, making sure that the children were taken care of. Her oldest friend had been getting better since the birth of her son not three days ago, several medicines offered by the Plataea's maesters had helped her greatly in recovering from the childbed sorrow and Ashara had insisted that both Elia and Rhaella take some time to enjoy the small mercies that their captors had granted them. Rhaella was up in the 'Observation Room' as the Terras had called it, but Elia preferred to take her escort and wander the settlement that was continuously growing at the foot of the massive castle.
The Plataea was truly large, and Elia had not truly understood just how large it was until she had been allowed outside it. The massive monument towered over everything, and Elia had yet to see its edge, much less what lay on the other side of it. This only made her more curious of why the people of the castle were building the settlement outside of it. Surely there must be ample amounts of room within to comfortably house the number that resided there. Elia had once asked her escorts about this and been given only a curt reply of being authorised to build more spacious living quarters.
Any further information was held back from her, and Elia knew that she was unlikely to receive any more for a long while yet, if ever. For now, her greatest focus was on her family in Dorne, and the eventual return that the Terras had promised should she agree to their terms. She knew that Dorne would likely not go quietly along with the Westerlands' declarations. Aegon was meant to be the next king of Westeros, and Dorne would be incensed to see her son's birth right stolen from right from under them.
No matter Dorne's fiery blood, Oberyn's probable protests, and the odds that once safely in Dorne her people would likely plot to install Aegon on his rightful throne, Elia was under no illusions of her family's safety in the face of objection. The Terras had crossed a continent, snuck in forces and assassinated and captured the most important people in all of Westeros, all without interruption. If Dorne did not capitulate, she doubted it would be long before her children's blood painted the floors of Sunspear red.
As she walked along the edges of the Plataea's settlement, she saw the large walls that separated the people of the castle with the locals of Fair Isle. Massive groups of smallfolk, seemingly from all walks of life, crowded under the walls, arranging supplies, and building materials with the help of men and women in what she now knew to be the uniform of the people of the Plataea. They worked with the smallfolk, though she saw that they were mostly ordering them around, only occasionally offering aid and what looked like instruction, while the peasants worked around them. She recognised the signs of building but wondered about the sheer number of people that had arrived.
"Why are there so many here?" She asked her escort, one of Lord Ambrose's spartans.
"When we arrived, the Plataea caused a severe amount of damage to the local residences. We have been aiding the people in building replacements after their destruction under our… castle."
The spartan, a young woman who looked more Dornish than Westerlander, seemed to be the picture of formality, and Elia was reminded of how Jane and Lady Lucy had been during their time at the tourney of Harrenhall.
"They seem rather larger than normal abodes for the smallfolk." She said. "Lord Ambrose seems to be aiding them greatly in building new homes."
"They are adequate sizes given modern and local estimations for sizing." The woman said. "Some require more room to house larger families."
Elia regarded the woman's neutral expression. Not once did her countenance of stoicism break, no matter what she was talking about. Elia admired the girl, but inwardly felt a wellspring of frustration begin to bubble to the surface after these last few days of silence. She was a prisoner, she understood that, and the amount of room the manoeuvre was truly massive considering who she was and her status. She attributed Lord Ambrose's leniency to his complete faith in his men, but Elia had been in King's Landing, and amongst the noble courts, long enough to know that there was always someone who would betray you, for the right price.
Varys' inability to gain information here for so long suggested that that price had not yet been found but Elia hoped that she might find it. After all, she had a large amount of wealth and influence, and would trade any of it for the chance of her children's safety.
"So, lady spartan, I have seen several of your order, but your lord has not yet told of anyone of what it takes to be inducted into it."
The woman did not move, nor take her eyes off of Elia.
"How does one become a Spartan?"
"That information is classified ma'am, if you want, I can arrange a meeting with the captain to discuss with you."
Elia turned away from the woman, frowning somewhat as the woman seemed immovable. Of course, she had not expected to get through to the woman immediately, especially considering what she had heard of the Spartans' loyalty from Jane. But she thought she might be able to at least form something like the friendship Rhaella and Jane shared. The woman was clearly from Dorne, or possibly the Rhoyne. and Elia could use that connection.
"That would be wonderful." She turned and smiled, trying to show an agreeable façade to the woman.
"And you, my lady?" She asked. "If we are to be about today together, I would at least like to know your name."
The woman nodded, all business.
"It's Olivia, miss Martel."
Fuck this took forever. I'm so sorry to all my readers for the long wait. I just got this massive case of writer's block and ran out of my buffer and then some, so this is really late. I will try and make sure it doesn't happen again, but really, I'm not sure it won't. Still, I'm back, and I promise I will try.
This whole thing was difficult to write, with Rhaella's part being interesting as it's a small collapse of her façade under the weight of her abuse, physical, mental, and sexual, while trapped in what she sees as just another man taking advantage of her. And while Kurt is nothing like Aerys, he is using her for political expediency and has been honest with her, which considering their opposing loyalties is a rather cruel thing for her. Elia's part was the hardest, and really, I wanted to make the whole thing about Rhaella but couldn't. Sorry if it's a bit off and awkward, but at this point I really just needed to end this bit and move on. Let me know what you think.
Also, we see the first of the Gamma Spartans. Olivia is a cannon spartan who appears in the Ghost of Onyx book and then later in Halo novels. I hope you guys like her.