The Brightest Sun

Chapter 5

We need to go shopping," Harry had declared the day before, completely catching her off guard.

She had been with the children in the library that day; Lord Potter had given her a brief tour of his home before Teddy had enthusiastically rushed them to the library. The library was two stories high and nearly half as large as the Queen's Ballroom of the Red Keep, ash-coloured wood mixed with pale blue walls.

They spent most of their time the past week in there, Harry bringing in whatever work he had to do that did not require his solar and Elia browsing the many tomes House Potter had collected over the years.

Oberyn would enjoy this, she thought with a twinge of sadness. Her tempestuous brother would have enjoyed such open and unrestricted access to knowledge.

"Shopping," she repeated in surprise.

He was shifting in discomfort, face lightly flushed as he hurriedly said, "I can't keep transfiguring outfits for you…well, technically I could, but that's not the point. You'll need some clothes for yourself and the children, and other…things."

The portrait on the wall hacked a cough that barely disguised their laughter, and Harry Potter threw the lady a vicious glare as she smiled unrepentantly at him.

"Really grandson, you'll have to do better than that," she chided, purple eyes glinting in amusement.

Elia watched amused, as he seemed to struggle with his words, ever mindful of the children in his presence. Finally, he hissed something at the woman too low for her to catch before his ancestor threw her head back in laughter.

"Yes, well, ignore Iolanthe," he told her, green gaze pointedly staring at Elia instead of the still laughing portrait. "We can head out tomorrow after breakfast. Best to get it over with."

She had barely nodded her agreement when he sprinted from the room, the cackling of Iolanthe Potter ringing in her ears.

That was how Elia found herself walking into a seamstress's storefront, the cobbled and narrow roads reminding her somewhat of the Shadow City. There was no port in Diagon Alley as they were inland, but the buildings looked to be recovering from a war.

Harry had appeared in the dining room of Potter Hall with pale silver-gold hair and purple eyes to match Aegon, Teddy turning his hair the same colour with her black eyes, and Elia's heart had stopped at the sight, even as he explained his unwillingness to expose Aegon to more magic all at once.

Rhaenys had been delighted at the sight, assuming they were playing a game once he had shown her he could return to his features. He was uncomfortable traveling as himself in public, that much she had gleaned from the words of the portraits and his lack of visitors, and she had swallowed her unease at the sight of a near copy of Rhaegar but for some changes. If she looked closely, she could pinpoint the features of her grim host and settled at the thought.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, a concerned look on his face.

"I am well," she told him quickly. "Just slightly winded from the travel." Not quite true, but she had not fabricated a complete lie, considering the bizarre manner wizards travelled.

Harry had merely nodded, a soft huff of laughter leaving him, as he ushered them inside the store. She pointedly ignored the sight of her son in his arms, the resemblance bringing images of her husband to mind.

Steeling herself, Elia shook off all thoughts of Rhaegar Targaryen. She was Elia Nymeros Martell, Princess of Dorne, and no dragon would make her bow, bend, or break.

Harry had already spoken to the seamstress, three women converging on him and the children as they set Rhaenys and Teddy on a stool to be fitted.

Aegon remained in Harry's arms, the small boy gazing at the bright coloured fabrics that lined the wall as the seamstress made her way to Elia.

"What can I get for you today?" she asked in a drawling voice. Her hair was a chestnut mass tied up in an elaborate do that would not be out of place at court, blue eyes cool and assessing. Her face was slightly lined, and Elia guessed her to be around her mother's age. "Your husband has mentioned that you will need a complete wardrobe."

"I, yes, I will," she stumbled slightly, taken aback at her words. Gaze wandering to the three children and Harry, she could see where the assumption could be incorrectly made.

"The Dragon must have three heads!" a voice echoed in her head, a memory best forgotten, and Elia ruthlessly ignored it as she turned back to the seamstress, gaze cool and the mask of a royal princess firmly in place.

"Yes, a complete wardrobe," she told the woman, noting the number of things they would have to gather.

She barely paid attention to the time; Harry had at some point taken the children outside for food and brought her tea as they discussed the assortment of dresses and robes she would need. The lady, Madam Twilfitt she had introduced herself as, had been delighted at the thought of creating the dresses Elia had described to her, a bit of home making its way into her wardrobe.

The first stumble came as they finished and Harry attempted to settle the bill. They had required a signature for a bank draft alongside his seal, and Elia saw the women's eyes widen at what was written.

"Lord P—"

"I trust that this will not find itself known outside these walls?" he asked, brow arched imperiously.

The younger women had flushed, a slightly awed look on the face of the youngest, until Madam Twilfitt had swiftly intervened.

"That will be all ladies," she told them sharply, waiting until the girls had disappeared to the back.

"An elf will come for the rest of the order in a week's time," Harry told Madam Twilfitt, and the woman had simply agreed.

"A pleasure doing business with you," she stated, eyes glancing quickly between them in calculation before she regained her aloof expression.

They had left immediately after that; the interaction left Elia pondering the enigma that was Harry Potter. He had been so obviously recognized, and she could very well imagine exactly why he wished to avoid the public.

It was not until they had settled the children for bed that Elia approached Harry in his solar, the Potter busy at work with sheafs of parchment laid out on his desk. This room was done completely in tones of gold and silver, the furniture all coloured black. Harry had motioned for her to take the available seat, and she wasted no time mincing words.

"Lord Potter-Black, I thank you for everything," she told him, steeling herself. You are a Martell of Dorne, she reminded herself.

"It was my pleasure princess," he told her, green eyes dark.

"In future, my lord, I would appreciate if you did not wear that appearance," she said firmly, gaze unwavering from his own.

His head tilted to the side, a curious look on his face before he agreed easily, "Of course, no need to bring back ghosts."

There was a knowing glint in Harry Potter's eyes, and Elia had been thankful he did not push.

There would be time enough to discuss Rhaegar Targaryen, but she was glad she would not see his look-alike interacting with her children.