"This was always going to happen. She's been dead since the beginning."
- Aeschylus
It is a child's dream to outwit fate, to somehow escape the great ending that awaits us all.
But Orianne Fernwood would burn the world if it meant a moment longer w...
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A hot, humid wind beat against the walls of the Red Keep, and torrents of rain pummeled the muddy stone, only interrupted by claps of thunder.
It was a welcome break from the constant sun that Orianne was slowly becoming accustomed to, the sound of stormy weather like a balm for any and all hurts. Though Orianne would have much preferred a cure for whatever was ailing Elia.
Princess Elia's ill health was no secret to the nobility of Westeros, but in her time at the Red Keep as Elia's companion, Orianne had yet to see any truth behind the rumors.
That was true until now.
Elia had woken in a weak state, a fever draining the princess' strength. Her bronze skin was ashen, and the sharply rounded features she boasted looked gaunt rather than alluring. The sight left a bitter taste in Orianne's mouth, a reminder of what her mother looked like towards the end of her life.
But there was a stark difference between Zephyra Fernwood and Elia Martell.
Elia's entire life had been plagued by ill health, weakening her body but not her mind. The fever did little to temper Elia and her sharpness. At first glance, she looked fragile, but Elia Martell was no withering flower destined for a short and shallow life. It was not a life-threatening sickness, or so Ashara assured her, just a temporary storm that would clear in time.
Despite the shared knowledge that Elia would recover, as she did many times before, it didn't stop her ladies from fretting. Elia's ladies kept her company throughout the day, trying their hardest to entertain her between bouts of nausea and splitting migraines.
The three most suited for the work, Morrigan, Orianne, and Ashara, spent hours sitting at Elia's bedside, unfazed by their lady's illness. But as the day passed and the storm outside worsened, Elia convinced Morrigan and Ashara that she would be fine and that Orianne was pleasant enough company until she felt well enough to sleep.
As the door shut behind Ashara and Morrigan, Elia released a long sigh, her whole body deflating. The princess sunk into her bed, golden sheets washing out Elia's gray skin, her inky ringlets spilling out over the silk pillows.
Orianne did her best not to stare, carefully keeping any look of pity or worry from her eyes. She knew well enough how infuriated Elia was, with herself, her body, the Maesters who ordered her to stay in bed, and the illness that weakened her body. Orianne couldn't imagine how frustrating it must be for someone as independent as Elia to be sequestered in her bed, forced to rely on others for her every need.
"I know you're worried," Elia's soft voice broke through the silence, "but this is nothing new for me. You must remember."
Orianne smiled, leaning forward to place a jeweled hand on Elia's, "That doesn't mean I can't be concerned."
"You and every else," Elia quipped a pinch of wit present, earning a soft laugh from her companion.
Leaning back to retrieve her sewing, Orianne met Elia's dark eyes, "It's only because we care."
