Chapter Text
He had blood on his hands. Literally. Elia wanted to scream but could feel nothing but nerves. The mangled babe on the floor was stained on his hands. He grunted, a disgusting smile spreading across his lips. She could only guess what would happen next. Viper’s blood. Use it. A young septa, Dornish herself, had pushed it into her hands after putting Rhaenys to bed the night they learned the Lannisters were marching on the capital.
“Use it. They are brutal,” the young girl had whispered.
“How did you ever attain this?” Elia whispered back. She knew how intricate poisons were, coming from Dorne.
“You still have friends here, Your Highness,” the girl smiled as she slipped away.
One week on, and she was still wondering who that might be. The only friend she could think of was Jaime. Obi was way back home, and even he wasn’t crafty enough to pull this off. At the present, however, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she had it.
His pants were off. She couldn’t even look. She knew what was coming. Shaky hands brought the vial to her mouth, lips wrapping around the mouth of the bottle. She threw it back as fast as she could, just before his hand slapped her cheek, sending the bottle flying. The poison was supposed to set in quickly, that much she knew. She fell back and closed her eyes, counting the seconds until sweet death.
The past few months she hadn’t really been living, had been a shell of her former self. Worthless without her husband; her foolish, stupid husband. If only he could see her now. If only she could see him again, tell him none of it mattered, that she loved him and that he needed to come home. If only she could hold Rhaenys once more, could look upon Aegon. Could feel the warmth of the dornish sun against her skin, could go home. Hold Obi’s hand and laugh with him once more. Only 26 years to her name, gone in a heartbeat.
The world was fading, but not fast enough. She felt him climb over her, rip the bottom of her dress, drag her hips towards him. She thanked whatever gods were out there that her mind started to go as he dragged her. Not quickly enough, it would seem, though. Without warning, flesh paler than snow flashed into her mind’s eye. Pale eyes, a color she could not make out, stared at her dead on. Rhaegar, she thought, his pale, handsome face and lilac eyes for some reason in her head. How she loved him, how she hated him. Her life had been dedicated to him, she was always kind, always there. Had ripped her body apart to give him children, had never complained. At least, not until the disrespect started. Anger had pricked at her insides for nearly a year now, oozing through her pores until she was covered in it. She had swallowed it, had stayed the same, at least on the outside. No more, she thought. Was she not allowed one last moment to express herself?
“FUCK YOU!” She shouted, to the Mountain, to the Seven, to Rhaegar, to Aerys, she did not know nor did she care. It brought little satisfaction for what happened next
Her vision waned but not before her eyes were forced closed. Black covered her vision not by her eyelids but by thumbs.
“Die, Dornish whore,” The Mountain grunted, pressing his fingers into her eyes. She felt pain like she had never before, not even in childbirth. A raw scream tore out of her throat, and an instant later the poison finally worked. She was free.
The pale eyes stared at her again. A knowing smile showed too, pale blue lips spread in a grin.
—
A small piece of ruby had landed in his fucking eye. Why that was all he could think of, Rhaegar didn’t know. He clawed at his eye, desperate to get it out. His metal-covered fingers could pull off no such feat, however. He threw his head back, face going underwater. He lay like that for a second, holding his breath, before he felt blood flood his mouth. He lurched upwards, coughing it up. Looking downwards, he wanted to throw up as well. Pieces of what must have been ribs were poking through his stomach. The pain was blinding. The Stranger was coming for him soon, that much he knew.
He scrambled to remove his helmet, desperate for air. He stared up at the sky, knowing it would be the last time he would see it. Mayhaps this was what he deserved, with all the destruction he had caused. In the months leading up to this moment, he felt more and more unsteady, uneasy. Each night he wondered if it was all worth it. Had begun to think of Elia and their children every night. Had begun to miss her, even though he would see her again. She soon consumed every inch of his dying mind. He would never again hear her laugh, feel her gentle disposition and kindness. Would never play with Rhaenys again, never hold Egg. He only had once, after all. He felt the anxiety rise up in his chest. Felt the regrets play over in his mind. He knew one’s life flashed before their eyes, but all he could see and think of was Elia. He loved her, in his own way, that much he knew. He had never told her, though. Had failed to respect her. He wanted to hold her and apologize, promising to never leave again. He guessed he would need another lifetime for that.
And Lyanna, poor Lyanna. The girl who was wild, who only wanted freedom. He was stupid to try and use her that way. She had done this willingly, had enjoyed him (and he her for a bit), but he couldn’t fulfill his promise to her anymore.
He didn’t realize how much time had passed until he felt a foot dig into his stomach. He let out a guttural scream.
“Where is she?!” Robert yelled, “Tell me now, you bastard.”
He had spent his mind, was almost gone. Who? What? “El-El-Lyanna?” He panted, his lungs clearly failing.
“Answer me! ANSWER ME!” Robert yelled louder, fury in his eyes. Ours is the fury.
All Rhaegar could do was stare up at him. He watched as the hammer rose up, then all he could see was black.
He was sure he was dead. Yet, he saw a figure with flames in its eyes. It looked like a god. Balerion? He thought; from the stories he so loved.
“Your children are dead. Your wife is dead. You are no true dragon. But she is awake again. Go back, son,” the figure said, its voice an echo in his head. He didn’t even have time to process the tragic news as the world turned black once again.
—
Rhaegar’s eyes opened once again. Sunlight. He saw sunlight. Through a window, right above a worn wooden desk. His desk. He sat up abruptly. He was in his old room in the red keep. It was dawn, the usual time when he woke. He looked down at himself and realized he was naked. A million questions of how, what, and why flashed through his mind. He slowly looked around him, and nearly jumped at the sight next to him. Elia was asleep, dark hair spilled out around her like a halo. From the way her arms were bare, she was clearly naked too. Emotion struck immediately in his chest. Tears welled behind his eyes. She was so beautiful in the morning light, her face at peace as she slept. She always had been.
He slowly and quietly got up, surveying the room. He looked to his mirror, and saw a younger, different man. He admits he had grown a bit haggard as the months went on in the end, selling his mind to the prophecies.
He looked around the rest of the room and nearly gasped at what he saw. Elia’s wedding dress, thrown over a chair in the room, the white and gold gown a clear signal of what day this was. His own doublet was on the ground next to it. Their wedding. And this was the next morning. He was in shock, utter disbelief.
He sat down and tried to gather himself, his emotions still roiling in his chest. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed until he looked up at the exact moment Elia awoke. She stretched, long lashes fluttering open over her obsidian eyes. She reeled back, staring at him in disbelief, then the oh so important clothes he was next to. She was always quick, always smart. She must have figured it out.
The silence of the morning was broken with her scream.