Unbent, Unbowed, Unbroken: The Chronicles of Elia Martell, Finale
~283 A.L.~
It was raining the day she heard the news.
Elia hurried down the halls towards the throne room, her stomach twisting into knots at the hushed whispers and scurrying servants everywhere. They passed a pair of sniffling maids and she stretched her hand out behind her blindly. Ashara grabbed a hold of her hand and squeezed it once in reassurance.
Elia nearly stumbled upon entering the throne room, the shouts of the king echoing off the walls. The queen and young Viserys were already there, the prince wide-eyed as he watched his father rage and throw things around the room. The queen was shaking, tears trickling down her face and one hand cradling a reddening cheek.
“Gods be good,” Elia whispered, but she knew they would not be in this case.
Aerys turned and spotted her, violet eyes widening. “You! You little Dornish whore!” Elia scrambled backwards as Aerys flew at her, Ashara trembling behind her. She watched him approach her, uncomprehending what was to happen until she actually felt the palm of his hand upon her cheek. The blow sent her head jerking to the side, and the force of it knocked her to the floor.
Ashara screamed and tried to pull her to her feet. Elia heard other shouts, distinctly heard Viserys’s belligerent shout amongst the cacophony, and shrieked herself when she heard the sound of flesh striking flesh once more. The queen was cradling the stunned prince in her arms, cowering before her enraged husband, when Elia all but fell at her side. She pressed her hands to Viserys’s face, crying at the broken look she found there.
Aerys struck out again, hands grasping at her hair. Elia could not help the scream that erupted from her throat as Aerys jerked her back onto her feet. Ashara moved to help and the king lashed out at her as well. The queen begged for peace from her place crumpled upon the floor and Elia felt her breath stop at the maniacal gleam in the king’s eyes.
“My son is dead!” the king roared, pulling harder on her hair to bring her face that much closer to his. “Your craven uncle betrayed him and that bastard Baratheon killed him! My son is dead! And you, deceitful little Dornish bitch! You told them to let him die, didn’t you?”
He released her hair only to strike her again. Elia fell back to the floor and stayed there, a hand pressed to her injured cheek and wide eyes looking up at the king. She flinched when he moved, instantly grateful as he turned back to mount the Iron Throne instead of continuing his attack. Aerys collapsed in his seat, not noticing as his palm was sliced open on the edge of a sword and blood began to drip onto the floor.
Ashara crept forward cautiously, her arms going around Elia and trying to lift her up. They went slowly, as did Rhaella, all three watching the king for any signs of sudden movement. Elia stepped forward and helped the queen lift Viserys from the floor, not hesitating to wrap her arms around the boy when he buried his face in her skirts. Elia motioned for Ashara to help the queen, who looked pale and liable to collapse again, one hand pressed against the swell of her stomach.
“Rhaella!” Aerys barked, and all three women jumped. “Pack your things. You will take our son to Dragonstone right away.”
The queen looked to Elia, and the king let out an ugly laugh. “The bitch and her litter stay here. I’ll teach Dorne what it means to abandon their king. What are their words? Unbent, unbowed, unbroken? We shall see.”
“But the children . . .” Aerys turned his glare upon her and the queen instantly lost her voice. Elia swallowed her panic and nodded once to her good-mother before pulling Viserys away from her skirts. She knelt before the prince, dried his tears and tried to stop her own.
“Viserys, my love,” she kissed him gently on the cheek. “You need to go with your mother now. You must take care of her, and the babe when it comes. You must do this now, because your brother cannot do it any longer. Do you understand, my love?”
He nodded, though he cried still. Wordlessly, he took his mother’s hand and let himself be led away. Aerys glared at her hatefully as she curtsied before him, but did not move to stop her as she left the room.
“You must pack,” she ordered Ashara, once they were back in her rooms. Aerys had sent guards with a message that she should be confined in her apartments until such the rebels had been dealt with. The babe was with her and Rhaenys was to remain in her own quarters for the time being.
Ashara looked bewildered at the command. “Princess, I am not-“
“You are going home,” Elia interrupted, resolute and firm. “One of us should, and you are the only one able to do so.”
Ashara wept then. “I cannot leave you.”
Elia hugged her dearest friend close to her breast and kissed her once upon the brow.
“You must; there’s nothing left here.”
~0~
The lions were in the Red Keep.
She could hear the screams echoing off the walls, could hear the sounds of sword and axes clashing against one another, of doors splintering and crashing open.
War had come to King’s Landing at last.
Elia jolted awake in the middle of the night, the chaos of the keep soon spilling into her room. The maids started screaming and she had to slap one before they recovered their wits.
“Get the princess!”
And then they were moving. Elia could hear the ruckus getting louder and louder, knew that soon there would be lions barging into her rooms with bloody swords and dark intentions. Elia wrapped the squalling babe in blankets and lifted him into her arms. One of the maids stumbled back in the door and told her Rhaenys was not in her rooms.
“Her father’s room, quickly!”
The girl left and not three seconds later, Elia heard a blood-curdling scream. She stopped in the middle of her sitting room, the child clutched tightly to her breast, and listened to the sounds of footsteps just beyond her open door. Panic swelled for a scant minute, and Elia thought of her beautiful daughter and prayed the gods had seen fit to give Rhaenys an escape from this madness.
A shadow loomed in the doorway. Elia closed her eyes and her mind went to Rhaegar, her foolish, dead husband.
A reunion or a separation-which would be a kindness and which a cruel jape? I still do not know, my prince.
She opened her eyes, spied the beast of a man eyeing her from the corridor. Elia of Dorne lifted her chin, met the monster’s gaze with her own.
“My brothers will kill you for this.”
He stepped into the room.
~The End~