ARC II: THE ERA OF EXPANSION AND THE ANNIHILATION OF THE GREYJOYS
Chapter 7: The Secret of Barrowton
POV: Elia Martell (285 AC)
When Tywin Lannister's troops stormed Maegor's Holdfast and the screams echoed through the corridors until they breached the doors of the royal chambers, I was absolutely certain it would be the end of my children and me. Even with terror freezing my veins, I tried to place myself between the monsters and my little ones, gathering strength I did not even possess. But my body had always been fragile, a weakened shell that could do nothing against the brutality of Gregor Clegane. The Mountain advanced upon me like a force of nature, and his eyes behind his helm carried not just the intent to kill me, but something far more vile and cruel. When he ripped my garments with violence and threw me to the ground, the despair was absolute. But the true horror came just after, when he temporarily stepped away from me and focused his massive gaze upon my baby's cradle. I wept and cried out to the Seven, begging that if I had to die there, my daughter Rhaenys and my little Aegon would have some chance of survival or of being rescued while those two executioners were occupied with me. By the mercy of the gods, my desperate prayers were answered with the clashing of swords and the providential arrival of the men of the North. Willam Dustin and his warriors invaded the room just in time, preventing the worst from happening and tearing my children and me from the jaws of hell.
Now, three years after that ordeal of blood, I have finally grown accustomed to the North, to its relentless climate of eternal winter, and to its people of few words but unshakeable loyalty. Shortly after Ned Stark's wedding, the young King Arawyn officially tasked Lord Willam Dustin with looking after our safety and well-being, which led me to live in Barrowton, the historic seat of the Dustin lands. To my utter surprise and relief, we were not sent alone into that grey immensity. Ser Oswell Whent and the White Bull, Ser Gerold Hightower, came with us as our personal guard, while Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy permanently abandoned the political patchwork of the south to swear their swords to the new Throne of Winter.
I had chosen not to reside in Winterfell during those first years because I did not feel psychologically well in that place. My late husband, Rhaegar, had brought so much sorrow, discord, and ruin to the stones of that castle that the mere mention of his name still weighed heavily in the air. Furthermore, although I knew rationally that she was not to blame for the crown prince's madness, I still did not feel comfortable in the presence of Lyanna Stark, nor she in mine. There was a silent, uneasy tension between us, something complex that we knew, sooner or later, we would need to sit down and talk through as mature women. But time still needed to do its work. Another crucial reason for my isolation was the trauma I carried. Despite being saved before Clegane could consummate his most wicked act, the close proximity of men and any sudden masculine touch still caused severe panic triggers and deep discomfort within me.
My current visit to Winterfell, however, had a noble purpose: the great Harvest Festival and, most importantly, a very special request that Willam intended to make directly to King Arawyn. Looking back, I never would have imagined myself capable of falling in love again after all the humiliation I suffered in King's Landing. But Willam Dustin's patiently gentle, respectful, and protective manner eventually won over the defenses of my heart. The genuine affection he showed toward my children from day one, treating them with the dignity that their own biological father had disdained in favor of bizarre prophecies, was what broke my barriers. When I realized the depth of my feelings, I did not hesitate to confess them to him. Though I am considered a reserved woman by the standards of my homeland, I am still a Dornishwoman; and when the women of Dorne feel passion for something, we do not shrink before destiny.
The request Willam so desired to make to the king was permission for us to formally marry. It was something I secretly wanted with all my soul, but which I had been steadfastly refusing out of fear. Not for lack of love, but because I knew I could not give him what a great noble lord needs most for the continuity of his lineage: an heir of his own blood. The maesters of King's Landing had been categorical after Aegon's birth, decreeing that he would be my last child due to my failing health. This, in fact, had been the primary argument Rhaegar used to justify his insane quest for another woman who could birth the third head of the dragon from his visions.
As I walked toward the royal solar, I passed through the stone corridors and spotted my dear friend Ashara Dayne, who fortunately had also come north to accompany her brother. I noticed immediately that she wore a perfect, mischievous smile on her lips, that typical countenance of a Dornish woman who is up to some mischief or hiding a very pleasurable secret. My curiosity only grew when I saw Ashara join Cersei Lannister a few paces ahead. In the beginning, having two of the greatest and most acclaimed beauties of Westeros under the same roof at Winterfell had caused minor friction and clashes of pride with the new lady of the castle. However, time had drastically changed the dynamic between the two. They had become extremely close over the last few months. Close—perhaps a bit too close, I thought with a knowing smile as I noticed the subtle way they looked at each other.
I brushed those thoughts aside and focused on the audience that was about to begin. Upon entering the solar, I found my Willam already engaged in a serious conversation with the young King of Winter. Arawyn was eleven years old, and his boyish features were beginning to give way to the sharp lines of a young man, though his eyes still carried that ancient, mystical intensity. As soon as he saw me walk through the door, the boy let out a short, mocking laugh, flashing his characteristic humor.
— Well, well, well... the Dornish princess has truly fallen in love with her knight savior. The bards and singers will love hearing about this in the halls.
I couldn't help but laugh along with him. After all, the story of a widowed princess being rescued from the clutches of a monster by a gentle lord and ending up falling in love with him was, indeed, the perfect material for an everlasting song. The king then softened his expression, adopting a more formal posture.
— Willam has just asked my permission to marry you, Elia. To be quite honest, I do not recall when the love or marriage of two adults became strictly dependent on the opinion of a king, but I do not oppose it.
Willam turned visibly red, adjusting his fur collar with an almost boyish embarrassment.
— Since the princess's safety and guardianship were under the direct responsibility of the Northern crown, Your Grace, I thought it would be prudent and respectful to obtain your blessing before proceeding.
Arawyn smiled and turned his piercing eyes back to me.
— And what is your word on this, princess?
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my own limitations.
— Marrying an honorable man like Willam would be a dream come true, Your Grace. But... there is a major hindrance. After Aegon was born, my body broke. I can no longer bear children, and I will never be able to give Barrowton the heir House Dustin needs and deserves. Perhaps it is a curse of Dornish women, just as it happened with Ashara.
The king analyzed me in silence for a few moments. His magical eyes gleamed subtly with the knowledge of the green sight, decoding the secrets of my flesh.
— You are right and wrong at the same time, Elia. It is true that your current condition prevents a pregnancy, but your case is not the same as Ashara's. Her womb was truly and completely sealed by the circumstances of the past, and she cannot conceive at all. You, on the other hand... your problem is not an inability to conceive, but rather that your body has lost the vital stamina required to carry a pregnancy to term. If you attempt to become pregnant through natural means, it will be a certain death sentence for both you and the child.
I lowered my eyes, feeling a pang of genuine sorrow at having my worst fears confirmed right in front of Willam. However, Arawyn began to move his index finger through the air in a fluid motion, as if drawing invisible lines of runes in the wind itself.
— I can resolve this with my runic magic, but there will be a condition that some of the more foolish lords of the south would consider a problem. From my perspective, it is no problem at all. I can use the power of the ancient runes of vitality to narrow and concentrate all the remaining fertility in your body into one single, final shot.
I looked at him, not quite understanding the medical and mystical terms of that statement.
— What do you mean by that, Your Grace?
— Giving birth is a divine gift granted to women. Even if your body is too weak to sustain an ordinary pregnancy, the essence of the gift still resides within you. I can gather every fragment of that scattered strength within your womb and ensure, through a protective runic jewel, that you have a perfectly healthy and safe pregnancy. However, after this birth, your fertility will be completely extinguished, and you will become permanently barren. And the problem I mentioned is that runic magic guarantees life, but it does not shape the child's gender. There is no way to predict or choose whether it will be a boy or a girl.
Before I could even process the magnitude of that miraculous offer, Willam stepped forward and took my hand firmly, looking straight at the king.
— The child's gender does not matter to me in the slightest, my king. If the gods bless us with a daughter, she will be the rightful heir to Barrowton and House Dustin all the same.
An involuntary, emotional smile spread across my lips. At that very moment, I knew with absolute certainty that I had chosen the right man to spend the rest of my days with. Cersei Lannister was certainly not the only lucky woman when it came to marriage choices in the North.
At the grand feast held that same evening, I sat proudly beside Willam at the high table. Near the end of the festivities, King Arawyn raised his goblet and officially announced our betrothal and future marriage. The news was met with loud cheers and shouts from the lords and warriors of the North; though, knowing the temperament of those people, their joy was as much due to their fondness for Willam as it was to the fact that they had yet another excellent excuse to drink and make merry until dawn.
As the toasts echoed through the hall, I felt a light tug on my skirts. I looked down and saw my little Aegon running toward Willam, wrapping his arms tightly around the Northern lord's legs and exclaiming with shining eyes that, from that day on, he would be his real father. My chest filled with a pure happiness I had thought lost forever. A story that had begun amidst the despair and blood of King's Landing was, at long last, finding a happy and worthy ending among the steadfast stones of the North.
I glanced to the side, looking for Ashara to share in that joy and to try and uncover, at last, the real reason behind that mysterious little smile she had been wearing earlier. But as I observed the silent complicity and physical closeness between her and the Lady of Winterfell in the corner of the hall, I allowed myself a highly amused thought. After all, that impressive skill with the tongue that Ashara had so clearly demonstrated since her youth in Dorne had certainly not come without a healthy amount of practical experience.