Jena

The last thing she recalled doing was clutching Gwenys' twitching body whilst she screamed with pain. Blackness overtook her then, snuffing out the pain with the light.

She awoke almost immediately, but the pain seemed to have gotten worse. Her vision was badly blurred, and what little she could see was greatly distorted.

Jena blinked rapidly, but this only seemed to make her vision worse. Colours were muted one moment, and deeply vibrant the next.

"Help…" Her voice sounded strange to her, which only heightened her terror at this new state of being. Worse, the pain which she'd been feeling before had only gotten worse. A terrible cry of agony left her as she felt her limbs striking out.

"Hold her down!"

"Jena!"

"Stand back!"

She could not recognise who was speaking, but she could discern at least three different voices. She cried out again, unable to form words as bolts of pain shot through her entire body.

A demon appeared above her, red-faced one moment then pale the next. She cried out in terror at the sight of it, trying to strike at it with her hands.

The demon roared at her as it jammed something into her open mouth. She felt something trickling down her throat, causing her to retch and choke. Still, she could not stop from swallowing whatever the liquid was. She could not even wail, as she felt herself drifting away again.

Her eyelids had barely finished closing before she opened them again. Her pain was lesser than before, but still present. More alarming was the fact that she could not move her arms and legs. They were held fast by some force which she could not make sense of.

She cried out for Baelor, for Valarr, for Willem Wylde, for Titus, for anyone she could think of who might set her free. The only one who did appear above her was one whom she'd never imagined that she'd ever see again, and even if she did, she'd never have cried out for him in a hundred years.

Armond Dondarrion loomed over her. He appeared to be in his prime, long before age and ill-health had robbed him of his red-gold hair and lean build, and certainly before his sickness - nay, Titus' poison - had turned him into a bloated and disgusting corpse.

"Look at you," he gloated, glaring down at his youngest daughter. "What a pathetic creature you've become."

Jena stared up at him in terror; as a girl, she'd feared his wrath, but more than that, she'd loathed how he treated those around him. She had screamed when she'd seen him strike Mother, even when it meant that he would strike her too.

Now, however, he was smiling, leering down at her in vile mockery.

"How many men did I invite to Blackhaven on your account? Do you recall them? Do you recall how you rebelled against me?"

Jena tried to scream for help, but Armond only laughed.

"Of course you do. You remember them all! You remember how much you hated them, how much you dreaded marrying them!"

Half of them were as old as you!

"You were the last of my children, the second daughter! You had no right to expect anything better!" Armond was screaming now, as he always did when he was drunk. "You ungrateful, insolent child!"

Jena braced herself for his hand to strike her, as it always inevitably had. There was nobody here to stop him. Mother never even tried to stop you from hitting me. She would only beg, and sob.

"Aye, she would," Armond sneered, shocking her. "What a pitiful little cow she was! Unable to stand up to me for her own children! No wonder Cassana preferred me over that weak woman! I was the only one who was ever willing to protect her!"

Aye. You did. You protected her, but you hated me! Where was the fairness in that?

"Fairness!" Armond's face leaned in as close as possible without it touching her own. "Is that why you were so fair to your own son?"

I had no choice! I HAD NO CHOICE!

A cruel laugh left Armond's lips as he leaned back. "Valarr had a choice. Look what he chose to do about his cousin and his wife! What a fine and respectable son you raised!"

Jena wept for shame as her father continued to berate her.

"Say what you will about your disgrace of a brother, but I'll grant that he knows how to fight! But you? What is your excuse? You are descended from an unbroken line of marchers! Warriors! You are married to the finest warrior in the realm, even if he is a Dornish mongrel! Have you no shame for what your son has become?"

Jena was dumbfounded by how easily he spoke these terrible things, these shameful thoughts which had been tormenting her for years. She had always dreaded them, and they were doubly cruel when Armond was the man to say them. Of course you would say these things about my son. Of course you would mock his inability to fight. Of course you would sneer at how he watches Daeron fucking Kiera.

Strangely, this revelation did not mortify her as she might have thought. Hearing it from her father was painful, but it was also enraging. My son is twice the man that you ever were.

An ugly anger crossed Armond's face, just as it always had when he was ready to strike her. "Be careful how you speak to me, you little bitch. I am your father! I will always be your father!"

And I am the Princess of Dragonstone!

"You swindled your way into the dragon's den," Armond snapped. "The same dragons that saw fit to marry our enemies!"

Your enemies, Father, not mine.

"Traitor," Armond bellowed. "Traitorous little bitch! I hate you!"

I know, Father. I've known that since I was nine.

"Don't listen to him, Jena!"

Armond no longer stood over her, much to her shock.

Instead, Bella Dondarrion was hunched over her, as if she was shielding herself from rain. Her lank brown hair was undone, hanging down past her shoulders. Her eyes were red, her face was puffy from weeping, and she wore that same defeated expression which Jena recalled so terribly well.

"He loves you, he really does!"

No, Mother! He is cruel! Do you not realise how cruelly he treats you?

"It was my fault, dear," Bella whispered shamefully. "This is what I deserve."

This was worse than her father's anger, or his hatred, or even his beatings. She saw her mother in her nightmares, struggling not to weep as she apologised and begged forgiveness for her own transgressions or on behalf of her husband. Stop this! Stop speaking like that!

"Why should I?" Bella suddenly whispered. Something new flashed in her eyes. "This is how I survive, is it not? I never defended you from him. It was easier to have you defend me, to draw his wrath upon yourself. It was even easier when Titus did something to distract your father from me."

Even as Jena struggled to make sense of what Bella said, her mother suddenly looked disappointed. "You really did become like your father, though. So very much like him."

No! Never!

"But of course you did, darling. You fight back when you are opposed. Do you think I would have slapped Elaena across the face when she disrespected me?"

Jena writhed where she lay, unable to even sit up. You're not my mother! You're an imposter! She would never say something like that!

"Aye, she wouldn't. Because she was too weak to even do that."

Armond was back, sneering triumphantly. "I must admit, I ought to congratulate you. You almost hold your drink as well as I did."

Horror and revulsion twisted inside of her. I am nothing like you! I love my children!

"Do you, now? Which one do you love more? The boy you neglect or the cuckold you despise?"

STOP!

It did not stop. Armond continued to torment her, as did Bella. She saw her elder brothers too, though they had little to say to her. Daemon Blackfyre inquired after his wife and children, cursing her with grief to match Rohanne's. More ghosts arrived, many of whom she no longer recognised, but who haunted her all the same.

Demons appeared around her too, forcing her mouth open, laughing as she tried to resist. They poured more poisons down her throat, which only enhanced the ghastly appearances of the restless spirits. Armond became a rotting carcass, cursing Jena and Titus through a jaw which was barely attached to his skull. Bella's neck was broken as it had been when Jena had last seen her.

She was powerless to stop the madness. She tried to give in to the insanity and laughed as the spirits harangued her. She tried to reason with them. She tried to confess her sins to the gods, begging them for salvation and forgiveness.

It went on and on, until Jena could no longer recall that she'd ever existed outside of that bed.

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There was nobody standing above her. She could barely see much of anything, until she blinked her eyes several times. The room was bright with sunlight, and she could hear birds singing nearby.

She felt drowsy and lethargic, but after the eternity she had spent in that bed, it felt blissful to her. Her head was pounding, but the pain which she'd felt before was gone.

By intuition, she sensed someone else's presence. Slowly, groaning from the effort, she turned her head to look to her right.

Valarr sat beside her bed. His hair and clothing were both disheveled, and he seemed half-dead where he sat.

She tried to call his name, but all that left her lips was a strangled croaking noise.

Still, it was enough for him to take heed of her again. He sprang upright and clasped her hand in both of his. For the first time in what felt like years, Jena saw tears streaming down his face.

"Mother," he gasped hoarsely; his shoulders shook as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Thank the gods!"

Jena was struck by how vulnerable he seemed, how he looked at her. She had not seen that expression on his face since… since he nearly saw me die on the birthing bed.

"I'm sorry, Valarr," Jena croaked softly. "I'm so sorry."

Valarr was surprised by those words. "For what?"

For forcing you to attend me when I was near death on the birthing bed. For giving you cause to resent your own brother. For arranging your marriage as I'd always dreaded Father would do for me. The words snagged in her throat, no matter how much she wished to say them.

"You should rest, Mother," Valarr urged after a pause.

But Jena did not want to rest. Now that she was awake again, she recalled that terrible moment at supper, when she and the other ladies of the royal family had been poisoned. "What happened? How long have I been lying here?"

"Ten days," came the muted reply. "Longer than Grandmother, even. We were beginning to lose all hope."

Jena looked about. "Where is Baelor?"

"He is tending to Matarys."

Jena tried to pull herself into a sitting position. After a moment, Valarr stepped forward and assisted her as gently and ably as he could.

"What happened to Matarys?" Jena demanded.

"We were also poisoned," Valarr explained. "Aerion, Daeron, Matarys, myself." He shook his head. "Not so bad as you; we were warned of poison by the alarm. Matarys and Daeron were the worst affected."

Jena wanted to drag herself out of bed and see her younger son. "Is he recovering?"

"Of course," Valarr assured her hastily. "He is walking again, but he still needs some assistance. Father has been going from your bed to his."

Of course. Jena felt tears in her eyes.

She could not stop now, however. She still knew so little of what had transpired. The details of that fateful supper were slowly coming back to her.

She grabbed Valarr's wrist. "Is Kiera safe?"

"She is," Valarr affirmed. "She did not eat the lamb. Her pregnancy has changed her appetite. Thanks to the gods that it was so, too."

He actually means that, Jena mused to herself. Or is he only saying that to mollify me?

"She has been visiting you too," Valarr added. "She will be relieved to know you are on the mend."

Jena was skeptical of that too, but she brushed her doubts aside this time. Her father's derision was still echoing in her mind.

"What of the others? You said Queen Myriah has recovered, but what of the others?"

Valarr faltered; a shadow might as well have flashed across his face. But before he could speak, another voice spoke instead.

"Oh! You have awoken again!"

The cheerful words, spoken with such relief, chilled Jena to the bone.

She looked away from Valarr to where Shiera Seastar stood in the doorway, carrying a silver cup in her hands.

Her mismatched eyes turned away from Jena to Valarr. "Is she speaking sensibly again?"

From the corner of her eyes, Jena saw her son stand from his seat. "She is, Aunt Shiera," Valarr replied deferentially.

Jena was incensed at how Shiera spoke of her as if she could not comprehend her words. "What are you doing here?"

"Your medicine," Shiera answered, holding up the cup with a small smile. "Forgive me for not being here sooner, I presumed that you would wish for Matarys to be treated first."

Jena recognized the meaning of Shiera's words, and knew that she'd made herself appear ungrateful and foolish.

She forced her tone to change. "Forgive me, Lady Shiera. I owe you a great debt, that which I cannot repay."

Shiera smiled and gave a small curtsy. "Your recovery is thanks enough. I did not want to lose anyone else to this vile attack on our house."

Anyone else… "What do you mean by 'anyone else'?"

"Alas," Shiera remarked softly, even as her beautiful face went from cheerfulness to sorrow. "It pains me to bear you ill news."

Jena frowned at these sympathies, but she soon gave a gasp of horror. She looked from Valarr to Shiera. "No! You don't mean…"

Valarr was visibly alarmed by her outburst, but Shiera's countenance remained solemn and calm.

"I'm afraid so, Princess," she murmured. "There was only so much that Brynden and I could do to prevent the poison from doing its deadly work. We could not save all of you. And unfortunately, Lady Gwenys Bolt succumbed."

A wail of agony left Jena before Shiera finished speaking. She buried her face in her hands.

She felt Valarr's hands upon her, and she heard his distraught words, but she could not stop thinking of that last night she'd spent alone with Gwenys, how she'd turned against her friend for telling her truths which she did not wish to hear. That is how we left things. I will never be able to beg her forgiveness, I will never be able to make things right with her.

Aside from Titus, Gwen had been her closest confidante. She had been her lover, her friend, her companion. Although the years had put a wedge between them, Jena could never have dared to imagine her life without Gwenys in it.

She felt two pairs of hands, delicately but firmly, remove her hands from her face. The silver cup was placed at her lips and tipped upwards so that she could drink it.

"I will be back shortly with sweet sleep," Shiera declared. But before she did so, she bent over the bed so that her face was almost touching Jena's. "It is a cruel thing, Princess, but we must take comfort that her pains and toils are at an end. The gods will welcome her to her deserved rest. All we can do now is ensure your recovery."

The words were spoken so kindly, so soothingly, so sympathetically, that Jena forgot why she had disliked and distrusted Shiera.

Still, she did little to ponder it, for her grief was stifling all other thoughts. She turned her face to the window of her chamber and wept silently until Shiera returned to grant her the gift of slumber.

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It took two more days of recovery before she could leave her bed for longer than an hour. She insisted on going to see Gwenys' body before she was laid to rest.

Gwenys Bolt had been the daughter of a minor knightly house in the Dornish marches. None could have predicted that she would have become a female companion to two different princesses of House Targaryen. None would have imagined that she would be awarded the honour of lying in state for days in the Sept of Baelor.

Jena would have certainly insisted on such an honour, but she had been too ill. It had been Princess Aelinor's will and her doing. She had recovered first of the afflicted ladies, and she had been the one to sit by Gwenys Bolt's bed when she'd breathed her last.

All that was left for Jena was to stand vigil over her body as it lay in the royal sept. She was still frail from her brush with death, and so walked with a cane. Baelor accompanied her, putting a protective arm around her shoulders.

He should have returned to his duties. Jena had urged him to do so, more than once. He would not hear of it whilst his son and his wife needed him. Thus, he escorted her to the sept so she could say farewell to Gwen for the last time.

She had already begun to weep as they set out from Maegor's Holdfast, as she'd done several times during her recovery. Stepping into the sept, however, made it so much worse.

Gwenys' body lay in state, carefully prepared by the silent sisters. It was the sixth day of her funeral; on the morrow, she would be interred with those who had died in service to House Targaryen. Jena thought that was fitting; Gwenys had long ago left Cloudwatch and the marches; she would never have wished to return.

Princess Aelinor was already there, her face obscured by a dark veil. She gave Baelor and Jena a small nod when she noted their presence.

Jena cuffed tears from her eyes as she limped forward. Her old friend lay as peacefully on the bier as if she was merely slumbering, and a sweet fragrance hung about her body. The silent sisters were highly skilled with their work, after all. And yet, it did Jena no pleasure to see Gwenys like this; it seemed more like a grotesque mockery of life, unable to ignore what the Stranger's work had wrought upon that face which Jena had kissed so many times.

Baelor held her fast, else she might have fallen to her knees on the hard floor. For several minutes, she sobbed aloud, unable to restrain her grief. Only when her weeping subsided did she recover herself enough to sit down beside Aelinor.

She had always encouraged Gwenys to find love again, but it was still strange for her when she'd become a companion to Princess Aelinor. Baelor and Aerys were not close, and their wives had not done much to close that gap between them. Gwenys had served as the bridge between them, but it had only ever allowed for polite discourse. So strange that she understands my loss better than anyone else in this castle, Jena reflected as she gazed upon the bier.

"You have my gratitude, Princess," Jena whispered. "You were good to ensure Gwenys received such honours."

"It was not all my doing," Aelinor replied softly. "The king wished it as well. He wished to let the realm know how she was murdered."

Jena shuddered. "Is it known who did the deed?"

"The Blackfyres," Aelinor answered, as if the answer was an obvious one. "They were responsible for those other poisonings too, the servants. Who else would seek to poison the women and children of the royal line?"

Jena felt a sour sensation inside her. "I suppose it was the Master of Whispers who decreed this?"

Baelor, who sat on Jena's other side, chose that moment to interject. "Mayhaps it was, but from what I heard, he staunchly opposed shining a light on what had happened."

Jena hadn't expected that. Baelor had steadfastly said little about what had occurred, insisting that Jena focus on her recovery. "He did?"

"He did not think it wise to let the world see how close the Blackfyres had come to succeeding. If they can infiltrate the Red Keep and attack us so directly, it would encourage their supporters across the Seven Kingdoms."

That made sense to Jena, but she could not help but wonder if the Blackfyres were truly to blame. She recalled how the Vulture King had vowed to wipe out House Dondarrion. She and her sons had all been victims of the attack, and it was only a miracle which had prevented Kiera from being poisoned as well. I even recommended we prepare lamb for her, she thought bitterly. I told them it was her favourite dish.

"I failed my family," Jena spoke aloud. "I have failed them for too long. Just as I failed Gwenys."

Aelinor turned to look at Jena. "She never stopped loving you, Princess," she urged. "She would have sought you out in time."

It was exactly what Jena wanted to hear, and thus she mistrusted it. But she was grateful to Aelinor for the attempt. "She chose the better woman," Jena confided as she put a hand on Aelinor's shoulder. Then, with no small effort, she rose up from her seat and left the royal sept.