CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
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When truth is buried, it grows.
It chokes. It gathers such an explosive force that on the day it bursts out, it blows up everything with it.

MILE ZOLA
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THE CONQUEROR, THEY CALLED THE first Targaryen king; they sung of his deeds and his dragon and of the Field of Fire, and yet with the years the world seemingly forgot of how vicious and dangerous the blood of the dragon could be.

     Every one of them is the flip of a coin, they say; and just like Volantene coins show Death opposite a crown, the Targaryen coin has greatness on one side, and madness on the other; and as the years went by and the Dragonpit emptied the coin started landing on the wrong side more often than not, until it comes the time of Aerys the Second, and the realm rebels.

     The War of the Usurper, they call it. It is a bloody affair the way most civil wars are, brother against brother and duty against honour.

Rhaegar has been absent from court for almost five moons and Astoria almost believes him to only join them again after all the battles have been fought. It comes as a surprise to her when Elia whispers, "He is coming home." Her tears are not able to hide Elia's hopeful eyes and for once, Astoria says nothing.

     The stories of Icarus boys always end the same: no one remembers that they flew, only that they fell.

HE HAD DREAMT OF SEEING Astoria again, night after night after night. Her laughter had comforted him when they had stolen Lyanna Stark away. Her smile had cured his longing for peace. Her touch had made him forget the blood that was shed.

Arthur Dayne feels like a fool when coming face to face with her, guarding Rhaegar. They had arrived mere hours ago but that time is already specked with disappointments. Aerys had not welcomed them home with open arms, instead with a snarl and a curse that would send lesser men running. "After fighting this war for you while you fuck that Northern cunt," he had seethed, "I am graced with your presence at last."

Even the queen had been distant and though happy to see her son safe, coldly detached in the light of his actions.

And while his other Kingsguard brothers were able to mask their true thoughts, Prince Lewyn had looked at Arthur with barely hidden anger. Arthur feels as if his insides burn at the shame he feels and now, looking at Elia makes the feeling worsen a hundredfold.

She cuts Rhaegar off before he can exhale, "You did me a great disservice. I am your wife, the mother of your children, the mother of your son and heir. I am the Princess of Dorne," she says, voice hard. "After Harrenhal I told you never to publicly shame me again. What you have done, that is something of the likes of Aegon the Unworthy."

     Rhaegar flinches. "I need to do my duty to my kingdom, to my people. I need to do my duty as their prince."

     "To do that, you have to betray your wife, spirit away a betrothed girl, and start a war? Have you forgotten your duty to your family?"

     "I wasn't the one who started this war," he reminds her paitently, with sad, sad eyes.

     "What did you think the Starks and Robert Baratheon were going to do? Smile and give you their blessing?"

     "She came with me willingly. There was no force in it. They cannot say that I forced her."

     "Oh, you must forgive me my folly, then." Elia smiles bitterly for half a second, until her face twists into a sneer. "She is four-and-ten! A child falling for your sweet songs and your even sweeter promises. I was that girl once. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world, to be wed to you."

     Rhaegar lifts his hand half way, as if he meant to touch her, and then he drops it, limp and useless. "Elia —"

     "Did you tell her that you loved her? Did you tell her she was the only one? Did you lie to her as you lied to me, as you are lying to me still?"

     "I told her what she needed to hear. She understands."

     "I pity her. At least I can see you now for what you truly are. She will, too."

     He seems utterly lost in that moment, disbelief and grief dueling for dominance. "Elia, be reasonable. Cruelty is not like you."

     "Reasonable?" she seethes, eyes angry and filled to the brim with fire. "You're asking me to be reasonable? Were you reasonable when you ran off with a betrothed girl of four-and-ten, leaving me and the children to the mercies of your father? You should pray to all seven gods that I don't decide to kill you in your sleep."

     "Please, not this. This is over the line. It's worth too much to me."

"Is it worth a realm, dear husband?"

     For a moment, he seems to be at a loss for words, then, he recovers, "When they write the history of my reign, sweet Elia, they will say it began today."

     This is the moment when Astoria snaps. "How dare you act as if you know how this war will end. How dare you act as if Robert Baratheon will not murder Elia and her children the moment this Keep falls," she sneers. "The singers will write about a dragon who fell in love and burned the world apart for it."

     To her surprise, Rhaegar seems embarrassed, if only for a moment before his mask of cool courtesy returns. "Please accompany the Lady Astoria to her chmabers," he orders Arthur cooly. "It has become late."

     She cannot help herself and adds, "Even dragons can fly too close to the sun."

She puts her arm in his, and together they sweep through the halls, Astoria's train heavy behind her, forcing her spine straight, her chest proud, her chin up, locking her squarely into place.

Astoria is acutely aware of his body moving next to hers, all encased in metal and armour on the outside but totally, completely Arthur underneath. She is struck by how much he hasn't changed. There is a scar that cuts through his brow that hadn't been there before and another across his cheek — no doubt he has more hidden beneath his armor — but his eyes, his lips, his hands are the same.

     She has thought of Arthur many times since he had left without a word, wondered how he was and if he thought of her as well; Elia encouraged her a handful of times to write him, Elia's idea of being bold, but Astoria had never put pen to paper, had no idea what to say to Arthur or even the reasons why she still thought of him.

     But when she sees that face, that frustratingly beautiful face, and when those violet eyes meet hers, Astoria's heart flutters like it had done moons ago when Arthur Dayne of Starfall had kissed her within the darkness of her chambers, and she had first tasted the sweet tang of citrus on his lips. Whatever shutters she had drawn closed on her emotions are flung open with a bang, and Astoria cannot help but curse him silently and blissfully in her mind as the ferocity of her want for him overtakes her body and leaves her trembling with a feeling that makes her glow with want.

     His eyes are haunted with the things they've seen and Astoria turns away from him when they arrive at her chambers. She cannot bear looking at him. "I don't know what to say, Arthur," she whispers, eyes downcast. Her anger has evaporated into thin air, leaving a hollow spasm in its place.

     He waits.

     "Even if Rheagar returns the lady to her family, the war will not end," Astoria decides on saying. "Not after the king murdered her father and brother. A blood debt must always be paid. There is no escaping that."

     "He didn't know. He didn't know that his father would go so far."

     "Are you defending him?"

     She does turn to him now. Half of her wants to slap him. The other half wants to kiss him until the pain of the last four months fades away.

     There is true shame in the violet eyes she knows so well, but it means little to her now.

     "Never," he says quietly.

     "Then why?" she hisses. Hot tears spring to her eyes, much to her chagrin. "What did Elia ever do to you? You have been friends your entire lives, Arthur, and you shame her like this. Tell me why!"

     It is when the tears start, that Astoria feels her resolve weaken. Some instinct makes her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The torches lining the castle's halls dip his complexion in orange light and the shadows beneath his eyes become more prominent. 

     Hesitantly — it is the only time she has ever seen him hesitate — Arthur steps forward, as if he is unsure of his own feet, as if he stands on a precipice, feet edging against a thousand foot drop. Her lashes graze the top of her cheeks as he brushes back a curl of dark hair, leans forward, and breathes against the curved rise of her lips, "May I?"

     Her breath catches.

     She nods.

DARLING, DEAREST, DEAD.

Elia Martell, sometime during Robert's Rebellion (probably): if i die i want rhaegar to lower me into the ground so he can let me down one last time