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CHAPTER SIXTEEN. ━━━━━━━━━ If ye break faith with us who die, We shall not sleep, though poppies grow.
JOHN MCCRAE,IN FLANDER'S FIELDS ━━━━━━━━━
ASTORIA STROLLS ALONG THE BALCONY of the Old Palace, silks sweeping against her legs, arms bare to the warm night air, and watches the children of the palace play in the courtyard below as the sun dips under the horizon, setting the sky ablaze.
The journey to Dorne had taken half a moon but to Astoria it seemed like a lifetime. Aegon hadn't stopped crying as if he knew of the danger his mother and sister were in and Astoria herself had been restless.
To see the familiar landscape of Dorne, the shapes of Sunspear's buildings, had filled Astoria with lightness and joy. And yet, returning to Dorne felt odd without Elia to greet her. Astoria hasn't been here in three summers and Sunspear is colder than she recalled. As the vessel docked softly in the bay, she gazed out at the ocean. Sun barely peaking over the horizon, the Summer Sea may be the most radiant thing she has seen. When she was last making this trek, crossing quarries and spice peddlers along the sandy mountain passes, Astoria had been younger by six years. Bright eyed and heavy hopes for tragic loves like she'd heard songs of, the girl had set off to live a life that would leave a trail of broken hearts and a string of lovers in each of the Realms. Instead she returns with Elia's heart crushed beneath her fingers.
It is warm and colourful; the air smells of spice and the salt of the sea, the fruit from the many trees in the palace gardens; the men and women wear colourful silks that skim their limbs and flutter like flags in the wind; the food is hot, the wine thick, and the pastries sweet enough to make her tongue ache.
Instead of Elia, it had been Oberyn to meet her at the docks, face sullen and sad. It had been a dangerous idea, coming to Dorne with Aegon but Elia has insisted on it, if only for a fortnight. Should the Red Keep fall and Elia perish, Doran and Oberyn would have to know of her son's survival, needed to see him with their own eyes.
"Our family stood, when all the other kingdoms fell," Oberyn says after Astoria presents Aegon to him, his small hands gripping at her dark locks. "Our House stood firm and persevered when the Targaryens rode dragons and burned entire villages to the ground. We are not conquered, not like the Starks, or the Lannisters, or the Tullys. And yet they all look down upon as, as if we are not worthy."
She doesn't know why his words make her cry in earnest, but suddenly Astoria is sobbing, her hands tangling in the back of his shirt. Oberyn stiffens only for a moment before wrapping her tightly in his arms, shushing her as if she is one of his girls. Astoria cannot remember the last time she ached this sharply, and she is not certain she can bear this strange pain.
"When spring comes, we'll be at the Water Gardens together," Elia declares, her voice thick with emotion, her fingers twisting into the back of Astoria's gown. "You swear it?"
"I swear it," Astoria immediately replies, throat so tight, she can scarcely breathe.
It is a moon later that the news come of the dragon's death at the Trident but she cannot find it in herself to care. It is of no concern to her what happens to the man who brought so much sorrow upon the Seven Kingsdoms. Only of her friend who is alone in King's Landing, a hostage in everything but name.
But she knows that once Rhaegar has died the war is over. None of the royalists will lead their soldiers into certain death in the name of a mad king. From the beginning of the rebellion, they followed Rhaegar into war, not Aerys.
The days ticks by.
The world, in many ways, begins to grow less vibrant.
A thousand miles away, Elia pours herself a glass of wine with an unsteady hand.
THE MOUNTAIN OF A MAN breaks through Elia's door, and her son is hidden, her son is safe, they will not hurt her son —
She cannot allow herself to think about her daughter, her joy and her pride, because Elia cannot save her. Rhaenys is hidden underneath the bed and Elia will fight, fight, fight for her to live but this shadow looming in the dorway is a monster masquerading as a man.
The worst, of course, had been when they understood that Lord Tywin had not come to help. In that moment, Elia had never felt so cold, Elia had never felt so alone, so very far away from Dorne and home. A small, selfish part of her wishes for Astoria and Ashara to be by her side, the other part recoils at the cruel thought. But she does not want to die just yet — not just yet, not before she's felt the Dornish sun on her skin, smelled the oranges, sat in the Water Gardens. Those are old pleasures, foolish in the face of her death, but Elia has always loved tales best when they finish where they began, like a circle.
Elia feels her stomach lurch, feels her throat beginning to constrict, but she lifts her chin, stands up brave and thinks, I am a Martell of Sunspear.
