FIC: Linked Arms Like Fates, for shadow_truths
Recipient: shadow_truths
Title: Linked Arms Like Fates
Author: mississippienne
Rating: G for General
Pairing: Ashara/Elia
Word Count: 1012
Summary: Ashara goes to the rescue of a royal damsel in distress.
The door creaked on its hinge as Ashara pushed it open. "My princess?" she called softly into the gloom. When she heard no reply, she tried again. "My princess, are you here? Are you well?"
Are you alone?
It angered Ashara to see how small and alone her princess looked, sitting by Rhaegar's side like a ghost, silent amongst the bustle of King's Landing. There'd been a flury of fawning over Elia when she'd first arrived as Rhaegar's bride, but after a couple of years and a daughter the servants and courtiers who'd once jostled for her favor seemed to forget her very existence.
"Ashara? Ashara Dayne?" Elia's voice was painfully weak. Ashara creeped up to her bed to find Elia wrapped in blankets and propped up on pillows. She lifted her head to peer at Ashara with her large dark eyes, and smiled weakly. She raised her hand and then let it drop. "I... I am not well. I'll understand if you want to leave."
Ashara knelt beside the bed and took Elia's hand in hers. She gently rubbed warmth back into Elia's long, tapering fingers. "Leave my princess alone? How could I do that?"
"I never feel lonely when you're here," whispered Elia, and then turned her face away as though she'd said something she wished she hadn't. Ashara sat beside her on the bed and stroked her hair.
"Would you like something to drink? Eat?"
Elia wrinkled her nose. "I don't think my belly can handle food right now. Could you help me sit up?"
Ashara took Elia's hands and gently pulled her into a sitting position, then tucked pillows behind her to prop her up. Elia was pale, much too pale for a sun-loving Dornish woman, and Ashara wished that her princess would let her bring her something to eat. She settled for brushing Elia's long dark hair instead.
Elia watched Ashara, the curve of her cheek, the warmth of her skin, her glorious violet-colored eyes. After a moment Elia realized she was staring, and dropped her gaze in shame. Ashara was as beautiful as her husband, and like Rhaegar, the eye was drawn to her.
Like a work of art. A dragon princess. A tragic heroine. Ashara captivated.
Ashara laid the comb aside and ran her fingers through Elia's glossy, almost black hair. Elia tried to smile, but a fit of coughing overtook her. Ashara gently rubbed her back until Elia stopped coughing, then said, "This room is dusty. Don't you agree? Let me open a window."
She lept up and pulled open curtains. Elia grimaced at the bright light. Something glimmered on a nearby table, catching Ashara's attention.
"Your crown!" she cried, but when she went to place it on Elia's head, Elia shook her head.
"It--it gives me a headache," Elia told her. "It's too heavy." She laughed softly. "It'll be the death of me."
"But it's so lovely--"
"Put it on." Elia twirled a wisp of hair around her finger, a nervous habit. "I'd like to see you wear it."
Ashara blushed prettily and said, "I couldn't. It belongs to you." Who was she to wear her princess' crown?
Elia sat up in the bed, and took the crown from Ashara's hands. She turned it this way and that so as to admire it from every angle. "No, it doesn't," she told Ashara. "Nothing belongs to me." And then she laid the crown on Ashara's head, careful not to snag any delicate curls.
Ashara glanced over at the door guiltily, as though someone might burst in and snatch the crown from her head. "Just for a moment," she said.
Elia sat back, pleased. The crown rested more easily on Ashara than it ever had on her. She might've been born to be a queen. A pang struck Elia's heart, and she looked away quickly, so that Ashara would not see the wetness in her lashes. Silly girl, she thought. Always wanting what you can't have.
Ashara laughed and spun around, her gown whirling about her, the crown catching the faintest light and reflecting it again and again.
"You look beautiful," said Elia softly.
Ashara smiled at her, and held out her hand. "Dance with me."
"Dance?" Elia blanched. "I'm not much of a dancer."
"Please. For me." Ashara twirled again, her arms outstretched. "This is so magical -- I don't want it to end!"
Elia took a deep breath, then pulled back the blankets. She sat two trembling feet on the floor. Ashara took her by the arm and helped her stand. Their hands met, fingers entwined. Elia no longer felt so weak. Had she ever been weak at all? Suddenly it seemed like a distant dream. They linked arms and spun around like little girls. Then Ashara caught her up in an embrace and spun her across the room, her face flushed, her hair flying. She had been lovely before; now she was glorious. Elia found it hard to breath.
She pressed her face against Ashara's neck. Sweet-smelling hair caressed her cheeks. Something wet touched Ashara's skin. "My princess! Are you crying?" She held Elia's face in her palms and looked at her anxiously.
"It's not f-from s-sadness," Elia gasped, wiping at her eyes. "Or p-pain. I'm just so happy." She crushed Ashara to her. "I haven't been happy in so long..."
Ashara wrapped her arms around her and they sank to the floor, a heap of skirts and hair and long slender limbs. Elia huddled against Ashara's warm body. She's so warm. Warmer even than Rhaegar. Her husband rarely even needed blankets, he stayed so warm. Dragon-blooded.
Ashara was not a dragon, but she was as glorious as one. Her eyes held infinite compassion, and Elia felt a kinship with her that went beyond being women, or even Dornishwomen. As though Ashara had found that secret-self inside of her, as though their soul-selves had kissed and left one another fundamentally changed. Elia tried to tell her how she felt, but no words came out.
Ashara stood and offered her hand to Elia, who took it and rose to her own feet. "I-I would like to dress," she said finally. "Let's walk in the garden."
Her lips curved, and Ashara said, "Yes, my princess."
Title: Linked Arms Like Fates
Author: mississippienne
Rating: G for General
Pairing: Ashara/Elia
Word Count: 1012
Summary: Ashara goes to the rescue of a royal damsel in distress.
The door creaked on its hinge as Ashara pushed it open. "My princess?" she called softly into the gloom. When she heard no reply, she tried again. "My princess, are you here? Are you well?"
Are you alone?
It angered Ashara to see how small and alone her princess looked, sitting by Rhaegar's side like a ghost, silent amongst the bustle of King's Landing. There'd been a flury of fawning over Elia when she'd first arrived as Rhaegar's bride, but after a couple of years and a daughter the servants and courtiers who'd once jostled for her favor seemed to forget her very existence.
"Ashara? Ashara Dayne?" Elia's voice was painfully weak. Ashara creeped up to her bed to find Elia wrapped in blankets and propped up on pillows. She lifted her head to peer at Ashara with her large dark eyes, and smiled weakly. She raised her hand and then let it drop. "I... I am not well. I'll understand if you want to leave."
Ashara knelt beside the bed and took Elia's hand in hers. She gently rubbed warmth back into Elia's long, tapering fingers. "Leave my princess alone? How could I do that?"
"I never feel lonely when you're here," whispered Elia, and then turned her face away as though she'd said something she wished she hadn't. Ashara sat beside her on the bed and stroked her hair.
"Would you like something to drink? Eat?"
Elia wrinkled her nose. "I don't think my belly can handle food right now. Could you help me sit up?"
Ashara took Elia's hands and gently pulled her into a sitting position, then tucked pillows behind her to prop her up. Elia was pale, much too pale for a sun-loving Dornish woman, and Ashara wished that her princess would let her bring her something to eat. She settled for brushing Elia's long dark hair instead.
Elia watched Ashara, the curve of her cheek, the warmth of her skin, her glorious violet-colored eyes. After a moment Elia realized she was staring, and dropped her gaze in shame. Ashara was as beautiful as her husband, and like Rhaegar, the eye was drawn to her.
Like a work of art. A dragon princess. A tragic heroine. Ashara captivated.
Ashara laid the comb aside and ran her fingers through Elia's glossy, almost black hair. Elia tried to smile, but a fit of coughing overtook her. Ashara gently rubbed her back until Elia stopped coughing, then said, "This room is dusty. Don't you agree? Let me open a window."
She lept up and pulled open curtains. Elia grimaced at the bright light. Something glimmered on a nearby table, catching Ashara's attention.
"Your crown!" she cried, but when she went to place it on Elia's head, Elia shook her head.
"It--it gives me a headache," Elia told her. "It's too heavy." She laughed softly. "It'll be the death of me."
"But it's so lovely--"
"Put it on." Elia twirled a wisp of hair around her finger, a nervous habit. "I'd like to see you wear it."
Ashara blushed prettily and said, "I couldn't. It belongs to you." Who was she to wear her princess' crown?
Elia sat up in the bed, and took the crown from Ashara's hands. She turned it this way and that so as to admire it from every angle. "No, it doesn't," she told Ashara. "Nothing belongs to me." And then she laid the crown on Ashara's head, careful not to snag any delicate curls.
Ashara glanced over at the door guiltily, as though someone might burst in and snatch the crown from her head. "Just for a moment," she said.
Elia sat back, pleased. The crown rested more easily on Ashara than it ever had on her. She might've been born to be a queen. A pang struck Elia's heart, and she looked away quickly, so that Ashara would not see the wetness in her lashes. Silly girl, she thought. Always wanting what you can't have.
Ashara laughed and spun around, her gown whirling about her, the crown catching the faintest light and reflecting it again and again.
"You look beautiful," said Elia softly.
Ashara smiled at her, and held out her hand. "Dance with me."
"Dance?" Elia blanched. "I'm not much of a dancer."
"Please. For me." Ashara twirled again, her arms outstretched. "This is so magical -- I don't want it to end!"
Elia took a deep breath, then pulled back the blankets. She sat two trembling feet on the floor. Ashara took her by the arm and helped her stand. Their hands met, fingers entwined. Elia no longer felt so weak. Had she ever been weak at all? Suddenly it seemed like a distant dream. They linked arms and spun around like little girls. Then Ashara caught her up in an embrace and spun her across the room, her face flushed, her hair flying. She had been lovely before; now she was glorious. Elia found it hard to breath.
She pressed her face against Ashara's neck. Sweet-smelling hair caressed her cheeks. Something wet touched Ashara's skin. "My princess! Are you crying?" She held Elia's face in her palms and looked at her anxiously.
"It's not f-from s-sadness," Elia gasped, wiping at her eyes. "Or p-pain. I'm just so happy." She crushed Ashara to her. "I haven't been happy in so long..."
Ashara wrapped her arms around her and they sank to the floor, a heap of skirts and hair and long slender limbs. Elia huddled against Ashara's warm body. She's so warm. Warmer even than Rhaegar. Her husband rarely even needed blankets, he stayed so warm. Dragon-blooded.
Ashara was not a dragon, but she was as glorious as one. Her eyes held infinite compassion, and Elia felt a kinship with her that went beyond being women, or even Dornishwomen. As though Ashara had found that secret-self inside of her, as though their soul-selves had kissed and left one another fundamentally changed. Elia tried to tell her how she felt, but no words came out.
Ashara stood and offered her hand to Elia, who took it and rose to her own feet. "I-I would like to dress," she said finally. "Let's walk in the garden."
Her lips curved, and Ashara said, "Yes, my princess."