But no, this man was a few inches taller and a fair bit broader through the shoulders and chest, a beard growing on a face that, while still attractive, didn’t quite possess the haunting beauty that Rhaegar’s did.
…
“Aelor,” the Princess greeted, genuinely pleased to see her goodbrother had returned.
In Elia’s—private opinion, the Dragon of Duskendale was the only Targaryen with his head firmly on his shoulders.
Her husband’s recent lapse of judgment had only affirmed that belief.
Though he was often away at Duskendale, ruling as a lord should, he still frequently visited King’s Landing.
He had a soft spot for his niece Rhaenys and was enamored with baby Aegon, at times seeming to care more for the children of his brother than his brother did himself.
Aelor had also won Elia’s undying friendship when he’d viciously berated his elder brother at Harrenhal, his rage having been so great that one would have thought he was the woman scorned.
That fury had been terrible to behold; in those moments, with his violet eyes wide and muscled arms destroying everything within their reach, she had seen the only hint of madness Aelor had ever displayed.
Elia was glad she hadn’t been with him when he had learned of Rhaegar’s most recent transgression.
They stopped a few feet apart, Aelor bowing and Elia curtseying formally.
The Lord of Duskendale’s smile, however, was all warm familiarity, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.
“And how is my favorite Dornishwoman?”
Elia giggled girlishly, patting Aelor on the arm as he dropped his hand from her shoulder.
“I’m the only Dornishwoman you know.”
Aelor’s grin grew wider.
“Nonsense!
I’m rather well associated with your Vaith handmaiden, if you recall.
Talana, with the long legs and impressively flexible…
everything .”
The Princess scoffed a laugh, rolling her eyes even as her smile grew.
“Of course, how could I forget?
She went on about you for weeks, talking of how her dragon prince swept her off her feet.”
The dragon prince in question adopted a mischievous grin.
“If I recall correctly, she swept me off of mine.
”
They laughed for a good while, and Elia realized how nice it was to do so again.
Heavens knew there hadn’t been much humor in her life of late.
Even Aelor, who always managed to coax a smile from her, had been gone for some time.
She had heard he had arrived in King’s Landing the day the Starks had come demanding Lyanna’s release, and left that same night.
She couldn’t blame him.
Everyone in the Red Keep knew of the King’s obsession with fire, and how it ignited his baser needs.
The Queen’s screams were terrible to hear.
“How are the children,” Aelor asked, cutting into her momentary reminiscence.
The prince’s eyes lit up at the thought of his niece and nephew.
“Rhaenys is with Ashara, fussing over her kitten.”
“Ah yes, the infamous Balerion the Black Dread.”
Elia sighed in exasperation at the thought.
“A title most appropriate, I assure you.
Aegon is with his wet nurse.
I am on my way there now.”
“I’ll make sure to visit with them both while I’m here.
I bought a new doll for Rhaenys, all the way from Volantis.
It has obsidian eyes as black as Balerion and cornsilk hair.” Elia couldn’t help but think that Aelor was more excited at the prospect of giving the doll than Rhaenys would be at receiving it, and there were few things her daughter loved more than gifts.
“You certainly spoil her.” The reason for her earlier apprehension abruptly returned in full force, and her mirth dissipated rapidly.
“Not that I am not pleased to see you, but why are you here?
Your father just sent for you this past morning.”
Aelor’s smile faded instantly.
“It didn’t take a genius to know how Jon Arryn would react to my father’s demands.
I have already called my banners.
They are camped outside the city.”
Whatever hope Elia Martell had held out that maybe just maybe war could be avoided, leaving her and her children in no more danger than the eccentric King provided on his own, died in that moment.
“I see.
So you march to war then.”
Aelor nodded, face grim.
“I intend to scatter the Stormlord hosts before they can assemble.”
“The North was risen against us as well, as I’m sure you know.”
The dragonlord grimaced.
“The Riverlands will as well.
I offered myself in a marriage proposal to either of Hoster Tully’s daughters, and received his response mere hours before we marched.
He claimed his eldest was in grieving for her recently strangled betrothed, and that he would not consider offers for his youngest until Catelyn had recovered and was married herself.”
It didn’t take a superior mind to see through that.
“A farce of an answer.”
“Aye.
I imagine Tully has something else planned for his daughters, and I’d wager those plans have to do with the rebellious houses.”
Elia felt her worry grow.
Four of the eight regions—half of the realm—all in rebellion because I couldn’t please my husband.
She didn’t know whether to feel guilty or enraged.
“How many men do you have?”
“Six thousand, for now.
I’ll gather more.”
“Will the King allow you to go?”
Aelor shrugged.
“The King cannot stop me.
I will not sit by while he and my brother destroy a dynasty that took fields of fire and rivers of blood to build.”
Elia nodded softly.
“So you have had no word from Rhaegar either.”
Aelor’s eyes filled with a mixture of rage and pain.
“None.” Elia had nothing to say in response, and the Lord of Duskendale seemed to realize that.
“I will say my goodbyes to you and the children before we march.
I am on my way to handle my father now.”
Elia nodded.
“Good luck.
If you drive towards the Dornish Marches, you will probably meet up with my brother’s vanguard.
Oberyn is likely to be in command.
The two of you will make a force to be reckoned with.” She pulled her goodbrother into a quick hug.
“Take care, Aelor.
The King grows worse every day.”
Aelor nodded, kissing her hand softly.
“You do the same, Elia.
I will make this right, I swear to you.”
As the Dornish Princess watched the straight back of the Dragon of Duskendale stride away, she couldn’t help but wonder if, by the end of this war, there would even be anything left to make right.
…
Each time Aelor saw his father, he looked worse than the time before.
Aerys Targaryen once looked the part of a King.
His father had been tall, with a regal bearing.
He’d had a love for dancing, for masked balls, for feasts.
He had always been eccentric, even Aelor knew that, but the realm had prospered during the first dozen years of his reign.
Tywin Lannister was to thank for that, it was true, as the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands was as capable a Hand of the King as the realm had ever seen, but his father had at least managed to avoid plummeting the crown into despair.
The Defiance of Duskendale, however, the very rebellion that saw Aelor rewarded a keep and vassals, had driven whatever remnants of sanity Aerys Targaryen possessed into the darkest abyss of the Mad King’s mind.
His jealousy of Tywin boiled over, with Lannister resigning his post as Hand of the King, leaving Aerys to rule unchecked.
It was then that it had all gone to utter shit.
“Father,” Aelor greeted with a cheeriness he most certainly did not feel.
Aerys’ hair was long and matted, his fingernails even longer, curving like talons.
His once proud bearing had been replaced by a stooped posture, the crown upon his father’s head seemingly driving the incompetent king below it into the ground.
Aelor could even see a few fresh wounds the Iron Throne had inflicted upon Aerys, and the dozens of scabs from previous ones.
“Aelor,” his father croaked out, his voice cracking as if the man mistrusted language itself.
Aelor supposed that might actually be the case; King Aerys certainly mistrusted everything else.
“You have an army outside my gates.”
The Dragon of Duskendale sank to a knee below the Iron Throne.
“An army here to serve you, Your Grace.” Aelor rose after a few moments, knowing that if he waited for his father to bid him rise that he would be on that knee for hours.
Aerys didn’t seem to notice, still transfixed on his first statement.
“You have an army outside my gates.
I only summoned you yesterday morning.
How are you here?”
Aelor met his father’s eyes, no mean feat considering Aerys’ eyes were barely recognizable as human anymore.
They reminded Aelor more of a cornered predator than a King.
“I took the liberty of calling my banners days ago, Your Grace.”
…