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Chapter 18 (Different Stannis)
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 11:36:03 +0000 UTCThe gardens of the Red Keep bloomed with the last of summer’s roses, their sweet scent clashing with the distant stink of King’s Landing. Ned Stark walked beside Jon Arryn, his grey cloak brushing the gravel path, his thoughts drifting north to Winterfell. The South felt like a cage for him, every step tangled in politics and trickery. He yearned for home.
“So, you leave tomorrow?” Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King and Ned’s foster father, asked him.
“Aye, at first light,” Ned replied, his grey eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Jon glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “There’s a tourney tomorrow, you know, to celebrate the new king’s coronation. Stannis will choose his Kingsguards, too. Why not stay for it? Winterfell will wait as you left it. One day won’t change that.”
Ned’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “No, Jon, I’d best go. The South’s no place for Starks. Besides, you know I’ve never cared for tourneys.”
Jon chuckled softly. “Aye, I remember. You never liked them. But Robert dragged you to every one of them in the Vale, didn’t he?” The mention of Robert brought a fond glint to Jon’s eyes. Robert had loved tourneys, the clash of steel, the roar of the crowd.
Ned’s smile turned bittersweet, memories of his foster brother flooding back. “Aye, Robert loved anything where he could swing his warhammer and knock men flat.”
Jon laughed, the sound warm but brief. “That he did.”
But then Ned’s smile froze. His eyes widened, locking on something—or—something beyond Jon. His voice dropped to a stunned whisper. “Ashara?”
Jon turned, following Ned’s gaze. There, striding toward them like a storm given form, was a young woman in a deep violet gown that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Ashara Dayne. John recognized him immediately, the woman Ned had fallen for at Harrenhal’s tourney. Her face was set with anger, her dark eyes blazing, and the faint redness around them betrayed recent tears.
Jon glanced back at Ned, who stood rooted to the spot, his face pale with shock. Jon knew the weight of this moment. He knew of the vow Ned had made to Ashara beneath a heart tree, promising to wed her. He also knew Ned had broken that vow, marrying Catelyn Tully instead to secure Hoster Tully’s support in the rebellion. Jon had been the one to convince Ned to do it, arguing that without Tully’s forces, they’d have lost the war, and Lyanna—and perhaps Benjen—would have paid the price. Ned had resisted at first, torn by honor and love, but in the end, he’d agreed.
'It was the only way,' Jon told himself, trying to quell the shame that rose in his chest at the memory of urging Ned to betray his love.
Ashara reached them, her gaze fixed solely on Ned. She stopped a few paces away, her voice sharp with fury. “Lord Stark, I’ve been looking for you. The servants said you were in the gardens. I need to speak with you.”
Jon, sensing the storm brewing, cleared his throat. Ashara hadn’t even spared him a glance. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he said quickly, stepping back. With a nod, he turned and walked away, his steps brisk.
Ned faced Ashara, her tear-streaked, angry face cutting him deeper than any blade. Guilt churned in his gut. His voice came out soft, heavy with shame. “Ashara, I didn’t know you were in the capital.”
Ashara let out a bitter, ironic laugh. “Oh, didn’t expect me, did you? Thought you could slip back to the North without even deeming me worthy of a goodbye?”
Ned’s gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet her eyes. “Ashara, I’m sorry. I know how you must feel, and I’m ashamed. But I had no choice.”
Her laughter turned colder, her voice rising with anger. “You know what I feel? You know nothing, Ned Stark!” Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over. “I thought you were different from other men, but you’re just like them—a liar.”
Ned’s voice cracked with sorrow and regret. “Please, Ashara, try to understand. If I hadn’t married Catelyn, Hoster Tully wouldn’t have joined the rebellion. We’d have lost the war. I had to protect Lyanna and Benjen.”
Ashara’s expression didn’t soften. She knew why he’d done it, but the pain in her heart didn’t care about it.
“I don’t need your excuses, Ned. Nothing changes what you did. You broke your vow, and no words can undo that.” She paused, steadying herself, her voice shifting to a quieter, more resolute tone. “But I didn’t come here to talk about us. I came about my brother. I heard you decided to send Arthur to the Wall.”
Ned nodded slowly, recalling his conversation with Stannis. “Aye, that’s true.”
“Then go to the king,” Ashara demanded, her voice fierce. “Ask him to free Arthur.”
Ned’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. “But Arthur’s guilty. He must answer for his crimes.”
Ashara’s anger flared anew. “Guilty? He was doing his duty! He swore to serve the royal family, and he kept that oath.”
Ned’s temper rose, his voice growing harder. “Duty? His oath doesn’t justify what he did. He has to face justice.”
Ashara’s rage boiled over, her voice a shout. “And what do you know of oaths, Ned? You broke yours to me and abandoned me and our daughter!” The words burst from her, and then she froze, realizing too late what she’d revealed. Her hand flew to her mouth, but the secret was already out.
Ned stood as if struck, his face drained of color. “Daughter?” he whispered, barely able to form the word.
Ashara’s tears fell freely now. She hadn’t meant to tell him, hadn’t wanted him to know about their stillborn child. Her voice trembled as she continued, unable to stop. “After our night at Harrenhal, when I returned to King’s Landing, I found out that I was with child. Then I went back to Starfall.” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to go on. “She was born dead, Ned. A little girl, with the cord wrapped around her neck.”
Ned’s breath caught, the weight of her words crashing over him like a wave. He hadn’t known, hadn’t even suspected. Grief and guilt tore at him, sharp as a blade. He stepped toward her, his hand reaching out instinctively. “Ashara, I didn’t know. I—”
She recoiled, slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch me! I don’t want your pity. You can’t fix what’s done.” Her violet eyes met his, fierce and unyielding. “Just do one thing, Ned. Tell the king to free Arthur. I’ve already lost too much, and I can’t lose him too.” After a pause, she added softly, almost pleading, “Please, Ned.”
Ned’s heart ached, torn apart by love, shame, and sorrow for a daughter he’d never known. He could barely speak, but he managed two words, his voice hoarse. “I will.”
Ashara’s voice broke as she whispered, “Thank you.” She turned, her gown swirling, and walked away.
Ned called after her, but she didn’t look back. Her figure vanished into the garden, leaving him alone with his regrets.
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The late afternoon sun streamed through the high windows of Elia Martell’s chamber in the Red Keep, casting a warm glow.
Rhaenys sat on a cushioned chair, her tiny feet dangling. She wore a gown of Targaryen colors, black and red. Her dark curls were braided neatly, adorned with a small silver clasp that glinted in the light. Her wide, curious eyes followed Ashara’s every move, captivated by the older woman’s elegance.
Ashara Dayne stood near Elia, adjusting the final folds of her friend’s gown. Her own gown was a deep, rich violet, the color of twilight, clinging softly to her graceful frame. A silver necklace with a star-shaped pendant rested against her collarbone, catching the light as she moved. Her long, raven hair fell in loose waves, framing her warm, mischievous smile. She stepped back to admire her work, her violet eyes sparkling with pride.
Elia Martell stood before a tall, gilded mirror, her reflection radiant in a vibrant orange gown, the proud colouring of House Martell. Golden threads formed intricate patterns along the hem and sleeves, shimmering like sunlight on Dorne’s sands. Her dark hair was swept into an elegant updo, with a few soft curls framing her face. She turned slightly, her movements graceful, and her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she met her gaze in the mirror. She looked every inch a martel princess, a strong, poised, and breathtaking one.
Ashara stepped behind Elia, her smile widening. She glanced at Rhaenys, who watched them and said with a playful, “What do you think, Rhaenys? Doesn’t your mother look beautiful?”
Rhaenys clapped her small hands, her face lighting up with joy. “Yes! Mama’s so pretty!” she chirped, her voice bright and earnest.
Ashara turned back to Elia, her tone teasing but warm. “Truly, Elia, you’re stunning. I wager King Stannis won’t take his eyes off you all day. He’ll probably want to steal another kiss.”
Rhaenys giggled, covering her mouth with her hands. Elia’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she shot Ashara a mock glare. “Ashara, enough! I told you, there’s nothing between Stannis and me.”
Ashara laughed, delighted by her friend’s embarrassment. She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Oh, of course, nothing at all. And that love bite on your neck? Clearly, the work of a very bold mosquito, not a certain king.”
Elia’s eyes widened, her blush deepening. She stepped closer to the mirror, tilting her head to inspect her neck. Sure enough, a faint mark lingered just below her jawline, barely visible from a distance but unmistakable up close. “Oh, gods,” she muttered, “I need to cover this.”
Ashara chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, my dear. A touch of face powder, and no one will notice a thing.”
Before Elia could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the door. A guard’s voice called out, “Princess, your brothers have arrived.”
Elia’s face lit up, surprise and joy mixing in her expression. She didn't know that Oberyn and Doran had arrived in the capital. Without hesitation, she hurried to the door and threw it open.
Doran Martell stood there, his calm face softening at the sight of his sister. Elia threw her arms around him, her voice thick with emotion. “Brother! I missed you so much.”
Doran, usually stoic, allowed a rare smile to break through. His eyes glistened as he returned her embrace. “I missed you, too, Elia. I’m relieved to see you safe.”
As they parted, Oberyn Martell stepped forward, his arms wide and his grin infectious. “Elia, my sweet sister!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a fierce hug. Then stepped back, cradling her face in his hands, his dark eyes searching hers with concern. “Are you well? Don’t hide anything from me.” His voice lowered, a dangerous edge creeping in. “If anyone harmed you, I swear I’ll—”
Elia cut him off, her tone firm but gentle. “Oberyn, stop. I’m fine, and so are the children. No one hurt us.”
Oberyn’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and his grin returned. “Good. We were all sick with worry.”
At that moment, Rhaenys and Ashara stepped into the doorway. Rhaenys peered at the newcomers with curiosity, her dark eyes wide. She didn’t remember her uncles or cousins, having been just a newborn the last time they met. Oberyn’s face lit up at the sight of his niece. He strode over and scooped her into his arms, laughing. “Rhaenys! Look at you, all grown! Last I saw you, you were no bigger than a watermelon.” He gazed at her fondly. “Now you’re a beautiful little lady, just like your mother was at your age.”
Rhaenys blushed, mumbling a shy “Thank you.”
Elia’s gaze shifted to the others in the group. She noticed a striking woman with olive skin and dark, flowing hair—Ellaria Sand, whom she didn’t yet know. Beside her stood four young girls. The tallest, Obara, was about ten, with a fierce, boyish energy and short, dark hair. Next to her was Nymeria, pale-skinned with long black braids, her sharp eyes taking in the room. Then there was Arianne, with the classic Dornish beauty of her father—tanned skin, dark curls, and a regal bearing despite her youth. Finally, the smallest was Tyene, a golden-haired girl with bright blue eyes and an innocent smile, clutching Ellaria’s hand. Elia has met all of them before, except Tyene, whom she knew from Oberyn’s letters.
Elia smiled warmly, opening her arms. “Won’t you give your aunt a hug?”
The girls rushed forward, their laughter filling the room as they enveloped Elia in a tight embrace. She stumbled slightly, chuckling as she steadied herself. “Look at you all,” she said, brushing a hand over Arianne’s curls and kissing Tyene’s cheek. “Each one more beautiful than the last.”
Oberyn, still holding Rhaenys, stepped closer and gestured to Ellaria. “Elia, meet Ellaria Sand, the woman who stole my heart.”
Ellaria stepped forward, her smile warm and genuine. She dipped her head respectfully. “Princess, it’s an honor to meet you. Oberyn told me so much about you, and I was eager to meet you.”
Elia returned her smile, her eyes sparkling. “And I’m delighted to meet the woman who tamed my brother’s wild heart.”
Ashara, who had been quietly watching the reunion with a fond smile, stepped forward. “It warms my heart to see your family together again,” she said softly. Everyone nodded, exchanging warm greetings with her.
Elia clapped her hands lightly. “Come, let’s sit. I’ll have the servants bring food and wine. We have hours before the coronation, and I want to hear everything.”
Doran nodded, his expression approving. “A fine idea. It’ll give us time to catch up.”
The group settled around a long table in Elia’s chambers, the servants bringing platters of spiced meats, fresh fruits, and Dornish red wine. Laughter and stories flowed freely as they shared tales of their time apart. Elia glanced at Rhaenys, who giggled with her cousins, and said gently, “Rhaenys, why don’t you take your cousins to the nursery? You can show them Aegon.”
Rhaenys’s eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly. “Come on!” she called, leading the girls out with a skip in her step.
Once the children were gone, Elia turned to Doran, her brow furrowing slightly. “Doran, where’s Mellario? Why didn’t she come?”
Doran sighed, “I left Mellario and Quentyn in Sunspear. I didn’t want both my children on the same ship, in case something happened. Quentyn’s too young to be left alone, so Mellario stayed with him.”
Elia nodded, understanding his caution. “A wise choice.”
Oberyn leaned forward, his voice dropping to a serious tone. “Now that the children are gone, we can speak freely.” He looked at Elia, then Doran. “Elia, I already told Doran, and now I’m telling you, if you want, we can help you escape, and we can fight to put Aegon on the Iron Throne.”
Elia’s eyes widened, her breath catching. “Escape?” she echoed, stunned. The thought had crossed her mind before, but she had dismissed it as impossible. “No, Oberyn, escape isn’t the answer. Stannis has six kingdoms behind him. It would only put Rhaenys and Aegon in danger.”
Doran nodded, his voice calm but firm. “I told him the same, but he won’t listen.”
Oberyn’s eyes flashed with frustration. “I know you’re scared, Elia, but think of Aegon. The Iron Throne is his by right, and instead, they’re sending him to the Wall.”
Elia’s voice rose, sharp with anger and pain. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I wanted to send my little boy to the Wall, where he’ll freeze or die by wildling hands? But there’s no other way. Escape would mean starting a war we can’t win. My children barely survived assassins once, I won’t risk their lives again.”
Oberyn clenched his jaw, muttering, “Those damned Lannisters. I’ll kill them all myself.”
Elia glared at him. “Enough, Oberyn. I know you care about me and my children, but we lost the war. We have to accept it. I spoke to Stannis, and he might allow Aegon to become a maester instead of going to the Wall. It’s much safer.”
Oberyn fell silent, realizing he couldn’t sway his siblings. He slumped back in his chair, defeated.
Doran spoke up, his tone measured. “What did you think of Stannis, Elia? Is he a man we can trust?”
Elia hesitated, then answered honestly. “He isn’t a bad man. I had nothing ill to say of him. He treated us well, Rhaenys loves him like an uncle.”
A knock interrupted them. A guard stepped in, bowing. “Princess, the coronation will begin soon. I’m here to escort you.”
Elia nodded, rising. “Very well. Let’s fetch Rhaenys and the children, then head to the ceremony.”
Comments
Aeden Emrys
... Did Elia remember to cover up the little love bite from our MC on her neck?
