Elia sat alone by the window of her chambers. The twilight filtered through the leaded glass, casting dappled shadows on her pale gown. Her slender fingers unconsciously traced the hem of her sleeve, her whole being frozen like a statue in waiting.
When the door finally creaked open, her body gave a slight tremble.
Rhaegar walked in, dragging his feet. His silver-gold armor was still stained with the dust of the tourney grounds. He removed his helm, revealing sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead. His violet eyes were filled with an unspeakable exhaustion—not just the physical toll of days of combat, but a weariness that seeped deep into his soul.
In a daze, he saw again Euron Greyjoy's calm demeanor after defeat: the man leading Ashara by the hand, accepting blessings amidst the cheers of thousands, as if winning or losing never mattered. The sunlight had been perfect then, gilding their smiling figures in gold.
And him? When he placed the crown of winter roses on Lyanna's lap, all he reaped was Brandon's fury, Robert's hostility, and a deathly silence from the crowd. Those accusatory and angry gazes were like lances, piercing through all his ideals and romantic notions.
Rhaegar closed his eyes wearily, not even noticing Elia sitting in the shadows. He simply began to slowly remove his armor, letting the pieces fall to the floor with dull thuds.
Elia's voice drifted softly from the darkened corner, like a barely audible sigh. "You're back."
Rhaegar seemed to only truly realize her presence then. He lifted his tired eyes, his gaze lingering briefly on her pale face. "I'm sorry," his voice raspy, "I didn't notice you were there."
A bitter curve touched Elia's lips, a smile so faint it was almost invisible. "It doesn't matter," she whispered, her fingers tightening unconsciously on the fabric of her dress. "After all, you have never truly noticed me, have you?"
Candlelight flickered in the room, casting long, dancing shadows of the two figures against the stone wall.
Rhaegar was silent for a moment, his armor shifting with a faint clink as he breathed. "If you mean the joust," he finally spoke, his voice unable to hide his exhaustion, "and the crown of winter roses..."
"Is there any other explanation for it?" Elia interrupted him. Her voice remained gentle, yet it cut like a finely honed dagger, piercing precisely into the unspoken barrier between them.
Rhaegar stood there, the candlelight casting deep shadows across his handsome face. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but the words dissolved into a near-silent sigh. Silence spread between them, deafening in its weight.
Elia's voice was exceptionally clear in the dim light, every word polished like ice crystal. "Your actions hurt many people."
Rhaegar turned his head slightly. "I didn't expect..." His voice was low, carrying a rare hesitation, as if the excuse lost its weight before it even left his lips.
"You simply didn't expect Brandon to react so strongly," Elia cut him off softly. Her voice remained calm but carried a sharpness it never had before. "But you never once thought about how I—your wife—would feel sitting in the stands watching it all happen."
"I am not just speaking for myself! I speak for Dorne, for the North, for the Seven Kingdoms! And for the families who have loved us!"
The familiar silence descended again. Rhaegar lowered his eyes, his habitual way of avoidance. The old Elia would have chosen to stand up quietly and leave, using the same silence to maintain the superficial peace of this political marriage.
But this time was different.
Elia did not leave. Instead, she took a step forward. The candlelight finally illuminated her face fully. On that visage which always wore a submissive smile, there was now a firmness Rhaegar had never seen.
"This time," her voice was light but pierced the silence like a blade, "I do not intend to be silent anymore."
Elia's gaze was like a calm lake, yet bottomless. "You like that girl, don't you?"
Rhaegar looked up, finally meeting her eyes. A ripple passed through his violet irises—guilt, yes, but also an unconcealed heat. He opened his mouth, yet remained silent.
Elia shook her head gently, a bitter smile on her lips. "Don't deny it! I saw the way you looked at her, Rhaegar. That admiration and love cannot be faked." Her voice was still soft but unyieldingly firm. "Stop being silent. If silence could solve problems, we wouldn't have reached this point today."
Long silence stretched in the air, broken only by the crackle of the candle. Finally, Rhaegar took a deep breath, his voice low but clear. "Yes." The admission seemed to drain all his strength, yet also offered release.
"She makes me feel... a palpitation I have never felt before." Rhaegar looked past Elia, as if seeing a distant scene. "We talked about music; she said the ancient harps of the North have a rhythm completely different from what I play. We shared stories of travel; she described how winter roses bloom in the bitter cold of Winterfell's glass gardens. Even martial arts..." His voice warmed. "She not only understands the spirit of a knight but has her own unique insights."
Once started, the words flowed like a broken dam, surprising even Rhaegar. He finally turned to look straight at Elia. "In front of her, I can be more than just a Prince, more than just an heir..."
He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realizing that these words themselves were a betrayal.
Elia's voice was as light as a whisper to herself, yet every word was distinct. "I have heard things. Your father said I can no longer bear you children, and he hopes you will... take another wife."
Rhaegar's head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes. "How did you..."
"Your father never liked me," Elia interrupted, her voice heartbreakingly calm. "Disliking me is fine; I don't care. But he dislikes little Rhaenys. He says we smell of Dornish sand, that we disgust him. You have always known this."
Rhaegar's fingers clenched unconsciously, nails digging into his palms. "I'm sorry," his voice low and hoarse. "I failed to protect you, failed to uphold your dignity."
Elia shook her head gently and continued, "I also heard that your father wants you to marry the Stark girl. He believes only the child of Ice and Fire can save this world."
Rhaegar stared at his wife in shock, his face draining of blood. He opened his mouth but made no sound—this secret was supposed to be known only to him and his father.
Elia gave a small, bitter laugh. "Don't be surprised. Your father often raves in the corridors, talking to the walls." Her gaze grew distant. "He has said these things many times. Stone walls may keep secrets, but they also inadvertently leak them to those who should least hear them."
Candlelight danced in her eyes, reflecting a heartbreaking clarity. "Now, please tell me, Rhaegar—was your choice today an impulse, or was it to fulfill that prophecy?"
Rhaegar was silent for a long time, long enough for the sunlight outside to shift. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and raspy, but undeniably clear.
"Not impulse. Nor for the unknown prophecy. It is because... I love her."
Elia laughed softly. The sound carried indescribable complexity—relief, heartbreak, but at least she finally had an honest answer.
"Then, if you are destined to marry her," Elia's voice was as calm as a windless lake, "the current me becomes the obstacle between you."
Rhaegar opened his mouth but didn't know how to respond. Guilt and confusion warred in his eyes, as if realizing for the first time the consequences of his choice.
But Elia had already stood up. The candlelight outlined her slender but upright figure. Her eyes were unusually calm, her tone firm as steel.
"If there is no love, please allow me to leave! Rhaegar, let us get divorced."
Elia's words echoed clearly in the room, like a thunderbolt tearing through the night sky, shattering all established reality.
Rhaegar's voice held struggle and hesitation. "You can still keep the crown, enjoy the honor of being Queen..."
Elia let out an extremely faint laugh, filled with bitterness and mockery. "Then where do you intend to place the girl you love? Make her your mistress? Have an affair with her, and let her bear you a bastard spat upon by others?" Her gaze was sharp as ice, stabbing straight at Rhaegar. "And me? Alone in the depths of the Red Keep, guarding an empty bed, wearing a hollow crown, going mad, and dying in loneliness?"
She took a step forward, the candlelight dancing on her resolute face, her voice becoming solemn and clear. "Rhaegar, you have already hurt me. Please put away your self-righteous 'mercy'."
"Do not use such a laughable method to hurt another girl!"
Rhaegar seemed struck in a vital spot by these words. He lowered his head deeply, hands hanging limply at his sides. Shadows hid his face but couldn't hide the pain and regret radiating from his bones.
Elia's voice was calm as water, yet carried an unquestionable finality. "Tonight, I will leave with my brother, taking my daughter Rhaenys back to Dorne."
Rhaegar squeezed his eyes shut, his throat bobbing. "Rhaenys..."
"This is not a negotiation! Rhaegar!" Elia interrupted him firmly. "You know better than anyone your father's attitude toward Rhaenys. You know what she will face if she stays in King's Landing. With me, at least she can grow up in a place full of sunshine and love."
She paused, her voice softening slightly. "Rhaegar, I have lost my marriage, lost my love, lost my dignity. Then at least please let me keep my child. Or consider it the final compensation for your betrayal. However, I allow you to visit her in Dorne anytime. When she is older, she can return to see you whenever she wishes."
Rhaegar's voice was barely audible. "Is there anything else I need to do?"
"Since the chains of marriage were forged by the Iron Throne, naturally they can be melted by it." Elia looked out the window at the endless night sky. "Before you plan a future with that girl, please have the High Septon handle the divorce and announce it to the Seven Kingdoms."
She turned toward the door. There, Oberyn had been waiting for a long time, holding the sleeping Rhaenys, his sister's few personal belongings carefully tucked in his arms. Just as she was about to step out, Elia looked back one last time.
In the flickering candlelight, she saw Rhaegar slumped on the floor, those violet eyes that always held melancholy and ideals now empty. Elia spoke softly, without resentment, only relief.
"Rhaegar, I sincerely wish you and your love happiness in the end."
Her figure merged into the shadows of the corridor, her final words drifting away like a sigh.
"Farewell. May we never meet again."