Chapter Text
Elia
Elia rubbed Balerion affectionately, smiling as the black cat stretched under her hands. She had moved her chair to be in the sunlight, and Balerion seemed to appreciate it. She doubted the light orange dress she wore would survive if his mood changed, but for the moment he was content. Of late, Balerion had been visiting her chambers more and more often. She wasn’t sure why, though she suspected that Rhaenys’ growing absences had something to do with it.
Recently, Elia’s daughter had been spending more and more time outside the Red Keep, to ride in the kingswood or visit one of the city market’s or take a pleasure barge onto the Blackwater. All the while she was accompanied by at least one Kingsguard, as well as her cousins and the courtiers who always found an excuse to accompany them.
Elia could only advise her daughter to adapt when she came to complain. “You are the king’s daughter, and for all the blessings that entails, responsibility comes with it. One such is the power you wield, and the way that people will flock to it. Some will seek to serve you and your family, others will wish to use you to advance their own interests, some will try to do both. Knowing who is which and acting accordingly is something you must learn.”
So far, the results had been mixed. Rhaenys had always been accustomed to attention, but of late had been growing more and more irritated as part of the court seemed to make a lifestyle of following her. While she could be patient when she wished, Elia had heard stories of Rhaenys sending flustered ladies and humiliated squires from her sight when the cloyingness had grown too much. Her Dornish kin found it all amusing, while Elia could only do her best to remind Rhaenys to keep her head as often as possible.
Balerion suddenly shifted in her lap. The cat turned onto his belly, his eyes going to the chamber’s door while his ears rose. Elia’s gaze followed his, where sure enough a knock came from. She stood, Balerion meowing in protest as she placed him at her feet, leaping onto the bed as Elia crossed the chamber to open the door.
Oberyn was waiting outside, standing a few feet from the door. Between them was Ser Humfrey, the Kingsguard assigned to her while Lewyn looked after Daenerys and Ser Arys after Rhaenys, respectively. Her brother looked concerned, though it seemed to dissipate as he saw her. “Elia, you look rested. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Not at all, Balerion and I were just enjoying the sunlight.” Elia looked at him, puzzled as his appearance. “Is something the matter?”
His smile faded in part at the question. “The Hand- well, the small council asks that you join them.”
“What?” Lord Arryn and other members of the council had asked after her advice and opinion on some matters, but this was the first they’d invited her to join them in the chamber itself. “What brought this on?”
“A letter from Pyke, Elia.”
Her good mood was gone in an instant. There hadn’t been word from Rhaegar himself since he had departed Lannisport. What word had come to the capital had been from Ser Arthur Dayne, other lords, or simply as gossip. The last news they had received had come three days ago, a raven from Casterly Rock announcing the fall of Pyke and capture of Balon Greyjoy. While the capital had erupted in celebration, many at court had been concerned about what the letter had not said- namely, its lack of words on the king or any of the other royal family in the west.
It was with the latter that Elia’s thoughts were with now. By all accounts, Aegon had been well all the while he had been in the west. Nevertheless, fear for him and for his father had always been present in Elia’s mind.
Though none such for the others, though, a voice in her head whispered.
She brushed the though aside. “Take me there, Oberyn. I doubt the council will appreciate any delay.”
“You’re sure-”
“Yes, Oberyn. Let’s be on our way.”
Her brother nodded before turning and walking down the hall. Elia followed close behind, while Ser Humfrey came right behind her.
“Do you know anything the letter said?”, Elia asked.
“Some of it. Greyjoy has bent the knee and sworn fealty to the Iron Throne. The man had the nerve to say his rebellion was not a rebellion, as he never swore fealty to Rhaegar when he became king. Apparently, his surviving son has been taken hostage as well.”
That part did not surprise Elia. Men who committed treason rarely lived long, and those that did usually yielded their kin to deter them from repeating that mistake. She nodded as Oberyn noted that other ironmen houses would be yielding hostages as well.
Oberyn’s next words caught her off guard. “The king also seems to be recovering well. Good to-”
“What do you mean ‘recovering’?” Elia stopped and rounded on her brother. Oberyn looked unusually abashed at the look on her face, and shame was written across his. “Oberyn, was Rhaegar injured?”
“I don’t know if I-”
“You are not just talking to your sister about her husband, Oberyn, but to a queen of her king. Now, tell me whatever you’ve been hiding from me or I’ll send you back to Sunspear.”
“As if anyone could send me anywhere.” Despite his words, her brother looked resigned. “You know that Rhaegar’s fleet fought a battle before landing on Pyke. Well, during the fighting he dueled with one of Greyjoy’s sons. He killed the man but took some hard hits during the fighting. Then, he collapsed back on his ship. He didn’t wake for two days.”
The last words rang in Elia’s mind. Two days? Two days and no one told me? “Who ordered this be kept secret? And who knew of it?”
“Dayne was the one who ordered it. Only he, Ser Barristan, the ship’s captain, and the maester knew until after Rhaegar had already awoken.”
Her face must have betrayed her thoughts, for Oberyn reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “He probably didn’t wish to discourage the soldiers, or worry you or any other family about his condition.”
Elia sighed. “Oberyn, you know there was a time when I never thought Rhaegar would keep something from me, especially something so important. It makes me wonder what could have been.”
Oberyn laughed as they started walking again. “Only fools or maester’s trouble themselves with what could have been, Elia. It happened as it did and there’s no helping that. Don’t you think so, Hightower?”
The young Kingsguard looked caught off-guard by Oberyn’s question. “I suppose so, Prince Oberyn. My lord father always said to learn from the past, to help guide the future.”
“That’s common wisdom,” her brother observed.
The knight flushed. Elia decided to aid him. “Common wisdom is still wisdom, Oberyn.”
“I suppose it is.”
A thought struck Elia. “If it isn’t about him, then what about our son? Has any harm come to Aegon?!”
“No, not at all!” The quickness of his reply helped reassure her. “My nephew is well, along with his brother and uncle.”
Elia frowned at the mentions of the others. If she wished to know of them, she would ask. Oberyn ought to know that by now.
They had reached the throne room by then. Elia’s pace quickened as she turned from the Iron Throne itself to head towards the small council chamber, with Oberyn and Ser Humfrey matching her pace. Even now, Elia preferred to spend as little time as possible in this place, rarely doing so except for events concerning her personally.
As she entered the small council chamber itself, the present members all stood. Half the chairs were empty, making the room appear larger than it normally did. The king was gone, of course, along with Jon Connington, master of laws, and Ser Arthur, the Kingsguard’s Lord-Commander, both accompanying him to the campaign. The master of ships, Lord Redwyne, was also absent, having sailed the royal fleet to the Arbor with the intent of combining with his own and meeting Rhaegar in the west. He had done so but became ill in Lannisport. Elia didn’t know if he had recovered enough to join Rhaegar at Pyke.
She gazed at the remaining members before her. Lord Arryn looked as old as ever, though he could move as fast as Ser Humfrey when he wished. The Hand smiled at her, one of the few she found to be genuine at court. He kept his mouth closed as he did, disguising the fact that many of his teeth were no longer there. He was still broad of shoulder, and his blue eyes were as sharp as one of the falcons that graced his house’s sigil. Of the small council, Arryn was the member that asked after her thoughts most and was most like to act on them.
Beside him sat the Grand Maester. Pycelle was also old, though the years sat on him well. A great white beard that he cultivated carefully hung almost to his belt, and his expression was kindly as he bowed. Despite that, Elia knew better than to trust him completely. Oberyn believed Pycelle was for House Lannister more than the crown, and his history with Lord Tywin lent credence to that suspicion. For all that, the old maester served ably, and often asked after the health of the royal family.
On the other side of the table were two men she did not trust at all. Opposite Lord Arryn was Varys, the eunuch bowing deeply at the sight of Elia. He had remained master of whisperers against her and Oberyn’s wishes, but Rhaegar had argued that killing him was unnecessary, and that to attempt it and fail would have consequences that were best avoided. Elia had reluctantly conceded the point, and since the king’s coronation Varys had acted as loyally as any other man. Not that it eased anyone’s suspicions of the Spider.
The last man in the chamber was not on the small council at all. Seated next to the master of whisperers was a young man with dark hair and a pointed beard. His smile had always been too clever for Elia to be comfortable with, and the rumors of the man’s ventures had not endeared him to her. Oberyn thought him funny, while Rhaenys thought him smug. Yet all agreed that the man was cunning, if nothing else.
Petyr Baelish had come to the capital just a year passed, brought by Lord Arryn after skillfully overseeing Gulltown’s customs and tolls. The master of coin, Lord Gyles Rosby, had a cough that had been getting much worse over the past year, and the Hand had suggested that Baelish be employed to ease the ill lord’s work. As of late, Baelish was present at more council meetings than Rosby, and was openly whispered to be the man most like to be named master of coin should the current one resign or perish.
“Your Grace,” Lord Arryn spoke, bringing her attention back to him, “thank you for joining us. I hope we did not overstep in asking you here.”
“Not at all, Lord Arryn,” Elia replied as she walked forward to sit, choosing the chair between him and the Grand Maester. “And I hope I did not interrupt, I know that there are a great many things the council must see to in these dark times.”
“Of course not, Your Grace,” Pycelle intoned, his voice slow. “In fact, we were just finishing with the details for the upcoming celebration of the fall of Pyke. I am sure Prince Oberyn has informed you of His Grace’s victory over the ironmen, and the end of this ignoble rebellion.”
Elia frowned. “The former yes, but not so the latter.” She turned towards her brother, who was still standing behind her. “I expect you had good reason to do so?”
“Yes,” Oberyn replied, “the reason was the rebellion is not over, not truly. Even now, reavers are still being sighted on the coast, and the ironmen have a habit of forgetting what happens when they rebel every generation or so. I’m tempted to take wagers on when their next rebellion will be, and who will lead it, seeing as Greyjoy failed.”
“Fifty dragons that it takes at least thirty years, my prince.” Baelish’s eyes were sparking, amusement on his face as he spoke. “And fifty again that it won’t be a Greyjoy leading it.”
“You have a bet, Littlefinger.”
Littlefinger? That’s a name I haven’t heard before. Elia glanced back at Oberyn, who winked before shaking his head. He’d tell her more of it later, that much she knew.
“My lords, if we might return to our work,” Varys said airily, “I doubt the queen has come to listen to us wager on peace and war like this. Many would say that we have all seen more than our fair share of conflict in the last several years.”
The eunuch tittered at that. He was the only one. Baelish excepted, all the others in the room were glaring at him, Elia included. Does he truly think that funny? Or does he merely enjoy provoking those around him?
After a moment, Lord Arryn cleared his throat. “Yes, Lord Varys is right. I believe that you have reports from across the Narrow Sea.”
“Yes, my little birds have been singing to me from distant places. Apparently a khalasar is making its way toward Norvos, led by the son of a recently deceased Dothraki warlord. In Pentos, there is talk among its magisters of hiring him to aid them in shaking off the yoke of Braavos, though there are always-”
“If I may, Lord Varys,” Elia interjected. The eunuch pouted but fell silent as she turned towards the Hand. “Apologies, Lord Arryn, but I did not come here to listen to news from Essos. Prince Oberyn informed me that there had been a letter received from my husband the king, and if that is so I wish to know what it said, and why I was not informed of it sooner.”
Lord Arryn looked uncomfortable. There is something that he does not want to tell me, Elia realized. The Hand replied, “Of course, Your Grace, I just thought it best if other business could not be seen to beforehand. I did not wish for the letter to take all of the council’s energies.”
“A sound idea. Yet if the king’s word is concerned, then clearly it takes precedence.” Elia’s voice was polite but cool, and Lord Arryn accepted the subtle rebuke with a bow of his head.
Arryn motioned to Pycelle, who reached into his robe and produced two different parchments. While they both bore the king’s three-headed dragon seal, only one had been opened. That one he put on the table and slid towards Arryn, who reached out to take it. Elia could practically feel Oberyn tense behind her, anger stirring at their implied disrespect. Elia shot him a quick look, warning him not to voice it. Better they condescend then deliberately obstruct me. Then again, they are probably doing so anyway.
“This letter was written to the Hand, who informed the council of it just before you arrived,” Pycelle intoned. His hand held up the other message, presenting it to Elia. “This was written to Your Grace and has not been opened.”
Elia took the letter but made no effort to open it. She turned back towards Arryn. “What does His Grace wish the council to know?”
“First, he made us aware of the ironmen’s surrender, or at least their nobles doing so. As Prince Oberyn mentioned, there are still reavers on the Sunset Sea, though it is expected that they will either return home or flee before too long. Other than a number of soldiers from the westerlands and the Trident, our forces are all preparing to return home.”
Despite her unease, Elia was relieved to hear that. “That is good to hear. King’s Landing has been too long without the king and his heir. It will be good to have them back. Perhaps we could plan a feast or other celebration for their return, to honor His Grace and his kin.”
Arryn gaze went to the table at that, and Elia’s relief went with it. “I am afraid that the king will not be returning with all he took with him, Your Grace.”
Baelish spoke at that. “His Grace has seen fit to assign his brother to the care of the Lord of Casterly Rock. Some might think it wiser to give Prince Viserys to a pit viper, but the king has chosen differently.”
“Lord Tywin has always been an able and loyal servant to the Iron Throne,” Pycelle rebuked the younger man.
“Right up until he marched on this city with an army. And the gates opened for him, strangely. I wonder who might have advised Aerys-”
“Enough, Petyr. Such bickering is of no use to anyone. The prince will be remaining in the westerlands. It is done and cannot be changed without provoking House Lannister, which will not be considered.” Arryn’s eyes went to Elia again. “As for the king’s younger son, he will not be returning with His Grace either. Lord Stark has been granted the wardship of Prince Jon for the foreseeable future and will take him to Winterfell.”
Elia’s breath caught for a moment. Rhaegar, is it truly so?
She realized that the Hand was still looking at her. So were all the others in the room. She drew a breath before addressing them, “If that is His Grace’s command, and Lord Stark had no objection, then it must be so.”
“Yes,” said Arryn, eyes never leaving Elia’s face, “I happen to know that Lord Stark has been hoping to spend more time with his nephew. This decision is undoubtedly a wise one, I’m sure most will agree.”
Elia nodded her head. “Of course, the wisdom of this is plain to see. Though I rather suspect that Aegon will not take it well. He is always insisting that he wishes to go on off on adventures, and hearing that his kin will be going to live with and learn from such great lords will likely irritate him to no end.”
Lord Arryn’s face had remained calm before this. Now it changed, to Elia’s surprise. The Hand looked...sympathetic. “Your Grace, I am afraid the king has decided that Prince Aegon will not be returning for long.”
Elia’s heart skipped a beat. For a few moments, everything ceased, all noise and sight and sensation. And while it did, a single thought raged in her mind, echoing more and more loudly until it felt as if her skull would burst as it raged forth- Rhaegar, what have you done?
Lord Arryn was still speaking, words about the Reach and the noble houses there, of how the king and his heir would return for the capital for a time before the latter departed, of how many details involving Aegon’s wardship had yet to be arranged. But Elia did not hear them, not truly.
She lurched to her feet. “My lords, I must attend to other matters. Please carry on without me.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked towards the door, wrenching her shoulder away when Oberyn tried to place his hand on it, the letter Pycelle had given her crushed in her grasp.
Her body was moving on its own, acting on instinct to take her elsewhere. Her mind was elsewhere, dwelling on a memory that was now playing itself out before her eyes, as if it hadn’t already happened.
It had been the night before he left when she had confronted Rhaegar. He had seemed confused when she’d asked for leave to speak plainly, but puzzlement had given way to shock as she had begun.
“Your son cannot return with you, Rhaegar,” Elia had been quiet but firm, her eyes hard as she stared into his, “I will not have it, no longer.”
“What has come over you?” Disbelief and pain had been apparent in Rhaegar’s voice, as if to undermine her determination. It did not do so, indeed it had only served to steel her further. Her husband had attempted to continue but Elia had cut him off.
“You have insisted that my son and your brother will accompany you, along with him. They cannot return together, not if you wish for me to remain in King’s Landing.”
“Are you-” Rhaegar’s face had grown hard as well, the pain vanishing as if he had pulled a veil over his features. “Jon is as much Targaryen as any of his siblings, or mine, or me.”
“He may be, but he is not my son. You have raised him alongside my children for seven years, Rhaegar, seven more than any mother should have to raise the child of her husband’s lover.”
“I have told you, we said our-”
“I am not speaking of your vows, damn you!!” Elia had shouted those words, forcing Rhaegar to swallow his as her anger burst forth for the first time. “When we first wed, I knew that you did not love me, despite the vows we shared. How could you, when we barely knew each other? I thought that with time love could be forged, especially if children came of it. And when Rhaenys and then Aegon were born, you did grow warmer. But there was never love.”
“But then you found it didn’t you, Rhaegar? Not with me, but with a woman you had never met, had hardly even heard of! And you and she rode off and left while I and your children lingered in the shadow of your father, who was always of half-a-mind to kill at least one of us! All for Lyanna Stark!”
Rhaegar had grown paler as she spoke, but his face flushed then, eyes flashing at her words. Yet he had not spoken, allowing Elia to release her words, to let her rage surge outwards.
“We faced the consequences of your actions, along with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms! And when it was all over, after your daughter and son had been forced to flee through the Sack of King’s Landing and I had nearly been fed to your father’s flames, only then did you see to us. Before sending Eddard Stark to see to his sister, the woman you started a war for!”
Elia’s had stopped shouting then, but her voice had carried on, a whisper that the wind could have obscured. It had been silent though, so her husband heard her.
“And she died. As if the gods were writing a song themselves, the woman who ended the Mad King’s reign died in the birthing bed. But not without giving the new king a son, one whom he then brought back to raise as his own.”
“I am Dornish, some whispered. They are strange about marriage and bastards, they said. Perhaps the king brings him because he knows she does not mind raising his son by another woman alongside her own. Well, I am Dornish, Rhaegar, and do not fault children for their parent’s actions. I would not have said a word had the boy been given to the Faith, or the Citadel, or even sent to live with his mother’s kin, in the gray wastes of the North. But you insisted he be raised here, alongside my children, the ones who nearly died so that he might be born.”
“No longer. Send your other son elsewhere, be it Winterfell, or Oldtown, or Asshai-by-the-Shadow. But do not bring him back to live with our children.”
She had stopped speaking then. She had more words, more she wished to throw at her husband, to make him see what he had done, to her and their children and even to himself. But the rage that had sustained her had burned itself out, leaving her shaking with the force of it.
For what seemed like an eternity, Rhaegar had looked at her, sorrow and anguish in his gaze. Finally, he had spoken, in a voice that broken by pain and sadness. His words had confused and angered her, but he had turned and left their chambers before she could respond.
“I wish that you could understand, Elia.”
That had been the last time Elia and Rhaegar had said a word to each other before he and the others had left for the west. She had not regretted saying them.
And now, she was being heeded. The son of Lyanna Stark would not be returning with Aegon, Rhaegar had given her that. But while he gave with one hand, her husband had taken with the other.
And once more the cry rang in her mind, strong enough that it left her lips, though only as a whisper. “Rhaegar, what have you done?”