The Chambers of Princess Elia Martell

Rhaegar swallowed, seeking moisture to whet his throat as he approached the door to his wife’s chambers. The fair haired youth in the white cloak stepped aside with a bow, letting him pass. The pair of Dornishmen that stood watch did not move so easily, their dispassionate eyes watching him as they would a viper. Men who he would have shared a drink and a jape with not a year past. Gargalen and Jordayne were loyal to their Princess, and he could not fault that.

”Elia. It is me.” He called, trying to make his voice tender as his hand hesitated over the door to her chambers. ”May I enter?”

Rhaegar waited for a moment for his wife to be seated before taking a cautious step into the chamber, wearing a frown at the room’s apparent emptiness. Jordayne gingerly stepped forward to shut the door behind him, giving the two their peace.

”Where are your handmaidens? The children?” With another step to close the distance, the Prince dropped to one knee beside her, placing his hands on the arm of her chair.

”I am sorry.” He murmured quietly, unable to meet her dark eyed gaze with his own. ”Are you safe? Has my father…” Words trailed off to leave the question unspoken. What Aerys could and would do was not worth thinking about. It was with good reason that he had chosen to dwell with his own family on Dragonstone, and he had learned many years ago that the walls had ears in the Red Keep.

“Worth every life a thousand times over.”

Rhaegar whispered in reply, eyes wet with tears. He shook his head, rising from where he had knelt. How could he make her see, without her thinking him mad? Madder than father, with those voices in his head telling him of enemies in every shadow. Perhaps he was mad. Dreams drove men to madness.

“I did not do it for myself, though I will not say I do not love her. It is for all of our sakes that what is done has been done.”

His violet eyes glimmered sadly as they met her own. He dabbed at them gently with a sleeve. 

“I would do it again, if fate called me. But I still feel sorrow. Regret for what hurt I have caused those I love, and for what pain I have brought to the realm. I have allowed this madness to go on for too long. By my life, it must end.” Hard words, harder than iron or steel. The eyes changed swiftly to a look of determination, boring into her as if to pierce her very soul. There was a wildness in them, a hint of a fire long suppressed. “I came to ask for your forgiveness, or at least mend between us the bond that I have strained. Whatever I have done, I would see no harm come to you or my children.”

The Prince folded his arms across his chest.

“Where are they? Deliver your tongue lashing if you must, but I wish to see them.”

Rhaegar sank into her chair as if struck. He lifted his head as if to speak, but it was as if his mouth was held in a vice, or an invisible hand stole the air from his throat.

"I am here now." He eventually managed, flexing the fingers of his right hand. The Prince of Dragonstone was not known for his temper, considering it the sign of a weakness, a loss of control. Yet here he was, dangerously close to losing control. Losing his mind, even.

"It is not yet too late to set things right. Not too late." The brightness of hope glimmered behind his eyes as they raised to meet hers. "I can mend this, Elia. See us all safe from this madness. I can." His voice was fervent, desperate to convince both her and himself.

"You know that I dream, Elia, but you do not know the full of it. For years, I have dreamed of things I can scarce understand. I have dreamed of my own death. From my body flies a dragon with three heads, ridden by a man with a flaming sword, who fights an army of ice and death. I have seen the Wall fall and the night close in. I have heard voices of men long dead and not yet living."

Words came pouring out of him. First a trickle, then a flood. He gripped her hand hard, as if she were his anchor in the storm. Like a ship crashing amidst the waves, he shuddered.

"At first I thought I was mad, as my father is." The Prince laughed bitterly at that. "Perhaps I am. But these dreams mean something, Elia. The Dragon's blood runs thick. Daenys the Dreamer and Aegon saw..." The words fell away. Some things were not meant to be shared with anyone, and though his father had forgotten, Rhaegar would remember until his dying day. For a long moment, he said nothing, holding his breath within him as if he might drown.

"Forgive me." He exhaled, slumping further downwards, and his grip on her hand weakened. "I have no right to burden you with this. It is my weight to carry. I have neglected what lies before me for dreams. For nothing."

Slowly, he nodded. There was one more thing he had withheld, but that could wait for his return. If he returned. He and Lyanna had agreed to keep their secret at least until the fighting was done.

What have I done? The memory of her tears burned more painfully than any dream of dragonfire, as did the thought that another Stark might die by his hand.

"I dreamt of a blue rose, a wolf. Of ice and fire." He murmured, as if in a trance, violet eyes far away. "When I saw, I knew..."

Her words shook himself from his stupor. He rose a little in his chair.

"Plan. Yes. Father will not let you leave. I do not think he will harm any of you, so long as your brother sends his banners north." Doran had been slow. But that was his wont. "I know not the intention of my cousin and his followers. At the worst case, they will kill me and Father, and rule through Aegon. Harming you would anger Dorne. Would be too great a risk."

Rhaegar did not intend to sound cold, only honest. For a long time he sat there silently, as if it were a great puzzle that vexed him.

"We will not find a solution with Father on the throne." He finally said, so very softly.

”Your brothers are good men. We shall need them both.” Rhaegar did not need to be told that he had slighted them both by publicly spurning their sister. But Doran was a man who always saw things with reason.

”None at court would defy him.” He agreed, standing to pace about the room. At least they were alone, safe from the eunuch’s spies. He had been thwarted by those Little Birds last time at Harrenhal.

”Lannister could be the counterweight.” Rhaegar turned back to look at her directly. ”Lord Tywin has the influence and the men. If there was something in it for himself.” His thoughts turned to Jaime, the youngest to ever wear a white cloak. Though it had been one of his father’s slights, the young Lannister wore it well, and was almost the equal of Dayne and Selmy with a sword. Lord Tywin had been furious to lose his prized heir.