Chapter Text
After what Jaime eventually realized was a gentle interrogation, Elia Martell dismissed him. He took the dishes back to the mess hall and left them for someone to collect. A quick word with the Captain confirmed that they didn’t have any medicine on board.
He wasn’t surprised by this, but was still annoyed by the lack of foresight. They’d clearly been prepared to escort the royal family and yet hadn’t accounted for their possible injury.
Jaime wondered what this ship had done last time. Had they simply waited quietly in the bay before slinking off back to Starfall, precious cargo never collected? Or maybe they’d transported the mutilated bodies back. Jaime had always assumed they’d been thrown to the wayside, perhaps cremated in the Targaryen fashion if they were lucky. But then again House Martell had never demanded their bodies as repentance for the injustice done unto them, only the Mountain and Amory Lorch's heads, so perhaps they had been sent off quietly in the commotion by cooler heads. He could see Jon Arryn doing something like that.
Jaime collected lunch when it was brought and again dinner. Elia had bid him to stay both times, but didn’t speak, which suited him just fine. Other than delivering food and standing guard the only thing Jaime accomplished over the next day and a half was polishing his sword and getting most of the blood off the visible parts of his armor. There was only so much he could do while it was still on and he had no intention of taking it off until he was in the presence of at least one other Kingsguard.
(If his brother’s decided to kill him for his failure even after all this, then he figured he deserved it. Ser Arthur would never let his King grow up a bastard and that would already change the course of history. There was no special need for him to meddle more.)
So he stood, he ate, he held the door.
---
They reached Starfall early in the morning. Early enough that the fishermen had not yet set out and the first bread was still being pulled piping hot from the ovens.
The ship docked at a private port, reserved but not very well hidden. Jaime took a quick look outside to assess the situation. There was only one entrance into the hold and he was confident enough that no one could sneak past him to risk it. Already guards were pouring out of the keep and lining the walkway. He hoped they’d bring out a palanquin for her to ride in, but he couldn’t count on it.
Quickly, Jaime turned on his heels and went to get Elia Martell prepared.
“Princess.” He knocked. “We’ve arrived.” After a handful of minutes he was bid to enter. She was fully clothed and packed, currently going over arrangements for Rhaenys.
He’d checked on Rhaenys himself at every meal and while she was declining, it was slow. An infection not yet having taken hold, though it showed signs of appearing. She’d yet to truly wake, but Jaime suspected that had as much to do with mental shock as physical trauma. Hopefully a Maester would help.
“I’ll carry these, while you carry her. The Maester’s room is on the ground floor to the back right of the entrance hall, Maester Botley always keeps some tonics on stock so he’ll be able to treat her immediately, make sure to tell him about the head wound-”
“Princess,” Jaime stopped her ordered rambling. “Robert Baratheon will not allow a dragon to live.”
Her face hardened as she turned cold eyes to him. “He will not take my daughter. There will be war first.”
Jaime held up a placating hand. “I am merely stating facts. That man will not stop until all the dragons are dead. It doesn’t matter that you are in Dorne now. He will send armies, assassins, spies, anything to see her dead, no matter where you flee too. A widowed Princess of Dorne might be overlooked, in the face of certain war. Allowed to go into mourning and quietly be forgotten, but he will not forget Rhaegar’s child. Even a girl. He will hunt her down to the edges of the known world and beyond.”
“And what am I supposed to do with that!” Elia Martell spat. “I will not abandon my daughter!”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying it’d be better for everyone, including her, if Rhaenys Targaryen was dead,” he heavily implied.
Elia Martell frowned. “But everyone on the ship knows she’s here and they won’t find a body in the Capital. Not like-” she choked.
“Everyone on the ship knows that over two days ago a heavily injured Rhaenys was carried onto the ship, then I asked for medicine that was not received and they’ve heard no word from her since.” True he’d had the cook continue to make bone broth, but he’d also offhandedly mentioned that it helped soothe Elia Martell’s uneasy stomach. There would be no questions from the boat, only true stories to support the evidence.
Completely real evidence, minus the part where the child miraculously hadn’t died yet.
“You want me to make a show of bringing her body back to Dorne,” Elia Martell said flatly, but there was a spark of plotting in her eyes. Already taking in the plan and working it over.
“She’ll be in no further danger if everyone thinks she’s dead,” Jaime confirmed.
Elia Martell nodded decisively. “Alright, how do we do this?”
Jaime breathed a silent sigh of relief, he really didn’t know what he’d do if Elia Martell didn’t agree to this plan. The last thing he wanted was to have saved Rhaenys from his father’s scheming only to have her die later by Robert's hand.
“Cover her in the cloak from the first night, make sure she's fully wrapped. We can’t risk anyone seeing her and not believing.” He moved over to start helping. “You’ll have to carry her. Someone would try to take her from me. Lady Dayne, should meet us at the gate, have her escort you to your room immediately. Once you’re safely behind closed doors, she can send for the Maester for Rhaenys under the guise of him being there for you.”
“A lot of this is on you. If anyone gets between you and Rhaenys she would certainly be discovered or worse hurt. You’ll truly have to sell the grieving mother.”
“I am a grieving mother,” Elia Martell reminded harshly and Jaime winced, ducking his head in subservience. Aegon’s death hadn’t struck him yet, was still categorized in his mind as a trauma he’d learned to live with long ago, far overshadowed by the new and shocking revelation that Rhaenys and Elia Martell were still alive.
“But I will do as you say,” she conceded, gently wrapping her daughter up and lifting her. “Carry the bags,” she ordered.
Jaime grabbed them quickly making sure neither hindered his fighting ability and led her out the door.
---
Elia Martell, Jaime decided instantly, was a brilliant actor. He’d heard her take a deep breath before completely transforming as she stepped onto the dock. Her shoulders were hunched and shaking, tears gleaming in her eyes. She clutched the fully covered Rhaenys with a desperate white knuckled grip that looked far too tight.
Jaime set his face grim and determined, letting his eyes drop hard and cold. He didn’t draw his sword, but rested his hand on it nonetheless, staring down anyone who motioned to step closer to them. He walked half a step in front of her, guarding and protective as the path cleared for them.
There was a corridor of guards past the dock holding open a straight shot from the boat to the keeps interior. Jaime held firm in his protective stance as they proceeded forward, a gesture helped by the way Elia Martell flinched and shielded behind him.
He was under no illusions of his precarious position, he knew not what rumors had already reached Starfall of the Lannister army, but doubted any were good. His position as Kingsguard was only held by virtue of Elia Martell’s presence with him and should they be separated before she’d managed to speak on his behalf Jaime expected he’d quickly find himself in the dungeons.
He doubted they’d kill him immediately, and was fairly confident that Elia Martell would stop them if they tried, but with Rhaenys’ injury he didn’t know how long it would be before she remembered him and he couldn’t miss the confrontation at the Tower of Joy. His King’s life depended on it, his brother’s lives depended on it.
They’d reached the sandy coble stones of the main throughway, when a shout came from the gate. “ELIA!” Prince Oberyn Martell's voice cried out, loud and desperate. Jaime cursed to himself as the Dornish Prince sprinted towards them. He stepped to the side slightly, still in front of Elia, but no longer blocking her from his line of sight. Oberyn didn’t look armed, or at least was missing his signature spear, but Jaime hardly wanted to test him.
Behind him Elia Martell collapsed with a sob, just as Prince Oberyn skidded to his knees before her. “Elia, sister, sister, are you hurt? The children-? We’d heard-” he reached out to Rhaenys.
“No!” Elia Martell screamed with such hysteria that both Oberyn and Jaime flinched back. “Don’t take her! My girl, my little girl, she’s fine, she’s just sleeping, the Master will fix her, he’ll fix her, he’ll fix her,” she dissolved into incoherent babbling.
Confusion crossed Oberyn’s face for a moment before gut wrenching pain. He closed his eyes briefly at the force of it, his face softening into grieved understanding. “Elia,” he whispered, once again moving to relieve her burden.
Jaime’s hand shot out, quick as a whip, and grabbed Prince Oberyn’s. All at once the tension skyrocketed and Jaime knew with certainty that the presence of his grieving sister was the only thing that kept him from losing his hand again. Gently, cautiously, as one might deal with a venomous snake he shifted his grip to very purposefully press two fingers over Oberyn’s pulse point.
“I think,” he whispered, “It would be for the best if the Princesses could go somewhere private to grieve.”
Prince Oberyn tensed. “Aegon?”
Jaime shook his head grimly as he carefully removed his hand. “We were not able to retrieve his body,” he confirmed, loud enough for both Prince Oberyn and the surrounding crowd to hear.
Oberyn swallowed, before visibly rallying himself. He reached for Elia again and this time Jaime did not stop him. He kept his hands far from Rhaenys.
“My sister needs rest and peace. We are not to be disturbed by anyone,” he commanded in a voice worthy of a Prince. Jaime wondered how much of himself Prince Oberyn had lost with his sister's death. This young man seemed much more mature than the cocky arrogant fighter he’d seen get his head crushed nearly two decades later.
Prince Oberyn guided Elia Martell up with a strong arm around her back and marched them determinedly forward. Jaime fell into step behind them taking the side opposite of Prince Oberyn. Lady Ashara Dayne was waiting for them at the castle's main doors. Jaime outwardly ignored the by play between her and Prince Oberyn as at the Prince’s glance she waved a hand signaling the guards who had stepped forward to stand down.
“My sister needs to be seen by the Maester immediately,” Prince Oberyn commanded. “Have him sent up to her room alone. No one is to come down our corridor until I call for them. I want guards placed at both ends. Ser Jaime, with me.”
Jaime let out a slowly controlled breath of relief. It was an open statement of trust, an acknowledgment that he was to be treated as acting in his position as Kingsguard. While he was under no illusions that Prince Oberyn wouldn’t take the first opportunity to interrogate him, it would at least give him a chance to plead his case.
“I will see it done,” Lady Ashara confirmed.
They quickly made their way up to their rooms. Lavish tapestries and delicate oil paintings lined the hallways, filled with images of lemon trees, sand dunes and past Dornish royalty. Carved into the sandstone itself star motifs glinted with inlaid silver.
Elia Martell was hurried into the royal suite by her brother and the door shut firmly behind them. As Jaime had done a hundred times, he turned back around and guarded it.