Chapter Text
Rhaegar's general policy towards crawling children was generally to move out of their way. Not that he had experience with many children – in fact, his experience was limited to Viserys and his own attempts to prevent the little boy from crashing into him – by the Seven, how had he been able to move so fast? Just a glance away, a step without looking at his feet, and he might walk right over his brother. He had had little time and even less patience to examine Viserys' pattern of movement closely, which was why Rhaenys' took him aback. He had never known there were so many ways to crawl – on all fours, on two hands and one bent leg, letting the other lag behind, on hands and toes. His favourite one was when she'd sit down and start pushing herself backwards with her hands. Those were the moments most likely to make him laugh, lately.
The nursemaid hurried towards them but he waved her back, leaned over, and lifted his daughter the moment before her back hit the wall. Rhaenys wailed indignantly but laughed when he lifted her higher yet, her howl turning into a shriek of delight. When he brought her down, three tiny teeth glowed in the candlelight and he wondered when she'd get to start using them on everything she encountered.
She squirmed and he left her on the floor. He looked at Elia and hesitated but she smiled and beckoned him near. Rhaenys loved seeing them next to each other and when he put an arm around Elia and brought his head close to hers, their daughter grinned widely.
"Come here," Elia said, holding out her hands.
Ashara hurried over and brought the child to her mother. Rhaegar reached to adjust her against Elia's protruding belly and was delighted when his lady wife did not stiffen at his touch. It had felt like eternity for the ice to melt, for her to start talking to him again and not just answer, to not get tense each time he touched her hand or growing belly. And in this time, he had regretted the madness that had come over him not one time but ten. One hundred. No pair of grey eyes, no display of valour were worth his children's mother losing her affection for him. At the same time, he had been angry with Elia. She was Dornish. Her parents had been notorious for the peculiar arrangements of their marriage. She, of all women, should have understood the wants of the heart – or the instincts for honouring those who deserved it. Rhaegar was still not sure what had prompted him to crown Lyanna Stark.
Rhaenys started squirming but Ashara now stood near the window, gazing outside. Elia was about to call her over but Rhaegar reached over and took Rhaenys from her. "It's time that she goes to bed," he said.
"She's overtired, that's why she's acting up," Elia agreed. Her hand went to her belly that was visibly lurching under her gown.
"You didn't eat much tonight," he said.
"I won't starve your son, I promise you!"
Sometimes, she said things like this, things that made him wonder if she believed she was only the vessel meant to bring the Prince Who Was Promised in this world to him. Sometimes, he thought she hadn't forgiven… anything. The night of their son's conception had marked the start of the precipice dividing them that Harrenhall had only deepened. And just when he thought they had finally made the two ends meet, Elia said something that made him think that perhaps she did not think so.
She was a friend and partner. But even she could not understand him fully. Of course, it did not matter. Over the time, when their children rose to their fate, she would.
Rhaenys' screams of protest echoed in the colourful solar long after the little one had reached the nursery. Soon, she'd start walking and be put in leading strings. Would her mother be confined to bed again, Elia wondered. Would she only watch? Would she never take one of the strings in her own hands? Those thoughts seemed to grow along with the darkness that demanded more and more candles to be lit.
Elia, a hand still on her belly to calm down the active babe that seemed to have risen for some dancing now that her walking no longer lulled it to sleep, watched Ashara and wondered how long she would keep staring out into the night. In the last few weeks, her young companion had become unusually moody.
"What's going on with you?" she finally asked when it became clear that should she leave her to her own devices, Ashara would meet the morning mist that made one unable to see the fingers of their own hand, held up before their face, here, at the window. "Ashara?"
The girl slowly turned. "Yes? Do you need something, my Princess?"
"I need to know what's wrong with you," Elia said. "I've been watching you for days. You don't eat properly, you speak to no one unless addressed, you no longer hum. In fact, you look like the world has collapsed and buried you underneath!"
Even if Elia hadn't been so fond of Ashara, she was responsible for her – and she happened to be very fond of her. Once, they had been supposed to become kin… but there was no use to think about that now. Ashara was in a bad place and Elia had to know what was going on to help her get out of it. There was no one else to do it. Arthur would be happy to help, of course, but he had not even noticed how pale and wasted his sister was. He was a man.
Well, I am a woman and I still can't understand what's going on. In fact, Ashara looked much like Elia had five years ago. This realization chilled Elia. There was no reason for it… as far as she knew. "Do not tell me you are still longing over this Stark… which one was it, by the way?" she asked. "I never knew if it was the dashing one or the quiet one that caught your eye."
Ashara laughed a little. "You know I wish I could meet a man like your uncle but twenty years younger."
"That would be Oberyn," Elia said and this time, Ashara's laughter was real. She still could not believe that twenty years ago, Lewyn Martell had not been this much different from his nephew in some ways.
"No way!"
"Well, not in all ways," Elia acknowledged. "Find someone as faithful as him. And more than Oberyn," she suggested. Unbidden, the memory of Ashara's brother rose to her mind. How different her life with him would have been! She would not be the Princess of Dragonstone now but the future Lady of Starfall. Not carrying a supposed savior but perhaps a child she and Edric both wanted for himself – or herself. Dorne did not distinguish. How Edric had made her laugh! And he had had this gift that Elia found equally rare in both men and women – the ability to laugh at himself.
No, she had to stop thinking about him. Five years had passed and experience had taught her that letting herself think about what could have been, about the preparations for their wedding, about the magnificent wedding gown, yellow like the sun, that the seamstresses at Sunspear had sewed for her for many weeks, she would end up just as he wouldn't have wanted her to, biting the pillows of her bed to stifle the sobs. He had loved making her laugh and be lighthearted. No grave questions how she felt from him, no looking at her as if he wondered what she couldn't do. Instead, he had focused on all the things she could do. All he had cared about was life and that was all that she had cared about, too.
It was strange how much grief had gone from her over time. It was strange how much there was still left to rise in the most unexpected moments. It was still there and she still missed him terribly, she missed him and wanted him to come back…
"He must be faithful," Ashara agreed, once again indulging in what they both knew she could never have. She was meant for political match, like Elia had been both times. Elia had just been lucky… for a while. "And cheerful. A good swordsman, of course. And he must look at me as if he'd die for me."
"Edric used to look at me like this," Elia heard her own voice say. And he did die for me, she thought and didn't say it. There was no need.
Ashara's eyes went softer. She came closer and touched her hand. Did she think Elia regretted that Rhaegar never looked at her this way? Did Elia regret it? Yes, she did. How selfish people were! She wanted him to love her despite her not loving him, despite her hating him sometimes for only seeing her like a vessel, or worse – someone whose part was to never contradict his wishes. He had not used to be like this once but her months confined to bed had changed his perception of her and she hated him for this, hated him even when she liked his powerful mind. She even held some grudging respect for his desire to do whatever was demanded of him to save the world – although it included bedding her when she had not recovered fully yet! I am going mad, Elia thought despairingly. As mad as Aerys. The Mad Princess.
"Do not think of him now, Elia," she said softly. "It'll make you sad and this isn't good for the babe either. We don't want a sad prince, do we?"
No, Elia thought. One would last her a lifetime! She wanted bronze skin and hair that the sun had turned more silver than gold, black eyes like those of the men of the desert and House Qorgyle, strong arms to carry her to bed with utmost desire, laughter as inevitable as the desert wind… With the crowning of Lyanna Stark, Edric Dayne had risen to life, escaped the small confines of her mind that she had finally managed to stuff him into, stole back to haunt her nights and even days with the taunt of what was lost, missed on, never lived.
Ashara kept talking about the babe as if she knew it would be a boy. Naturally, she assumed that Elia wished for a son as well. She did wish for one but Ashara had no idea of the vengeful twinges that sometimes made her long for a girl. Even to her, Elia had not confided the truth about her babe's conception.
"I could ask my lady mother to come visit with Allyria," Ashara suddenly said. Had she realized Elia's desperate fear that this time, she would not cheat the Stranger? "If you want to."
Elia hesitated, longing burning in her as hot as the flame of Rhaegar's belief. "I'd love it," she finally said, against her better judgment. Everything else aside, no one stayed unchanged at Dragonstone – she, Rhaegar, even Ashara.
A sharp sound echoed in the silent solar. For a moment, Elia did not know what it was. And then, at Ashara's gasp, she looked down at herself. A huge wet stain was spreading all over her skirts.
The birth had started, two weeks early.
It was three weeks before the maesters told Rhaegar that yes, Elia would live. That was the time milk fever finally relinquished its hold over Elia's torn, tortured body. How she had survived an infection this worse on the top of all the blood she had lost in birth, no one could explain. And Rhaegar was happy that she had. He simply didn't know if he'd be able to look her in the eye. Not after the whispers that she had been screaming another man's name when the pains had made her lose her mind. Not after he had heard her whisper it when the fever had had her in her thrall. He – and all the maesters and ladies as well.
It hadn't come as a surprise. Many times, he had felt that Elia did not love him truly but he had not expected it of her. After all, love was not the reason he had chosen her either. But he had not expected to have his face rubbed in her love for a dead man either. And certainly not in front of everyone! The future King of Westeros unable to win his lady wife's affections over the heir of a mere lord who had been dead for years? It… stung. Wasn't what they had built together enough to make her feel even remotely content?
Finally, he understood how she must have felt like at Harrenhall. Why she had been hurt. Why it had mattered. Forgive me, my lady. I did not know. And yet this knowledge was a precious gift. It freed him of guilt. Now, they were even.
And yet, and yet… He stared at her face, small and white, resting peacefully for the first time in weeks, and wondered that the prophecy should bind him to a woman who could not touch his heart. Who, in her heart of hearts, was a stranger to him and he, to her.
Swish of robes made him turn back and sigh, rising to make room for the coming man. "I thought the Princess was well enough not to merit any more visits for tonight, Maester Ruban."
The old man only gave Elia a precursory look but his delight at her progress was evident. "She is," she said. "But I have some grave news to give you, Your Grace…"
The End