CHAPTER TWENTY.
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The strength of a kingdom comes from its King,
The strength of a King comes from his Queen.

CODY EDWARD LEE MILLER
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RHAEGAR GETS SICKER WITH EACH PASSING DAY.

"The King is dying," the servants whisper and Elia knows it to be true. She is surprised at how sad this makes her. Rhaegar might be mad but he had carved out peace for his lands after Aerys. He had given her a queenly future. He had given Rhaenys and Aegon to her. And his madness had never rivalled his father's, so she counts herself lucky.

The whispers become louder with every sharp decline the king's health takes. People say that his peace could die with him. He had favoured the North above all else and why should it not be someone else's time in the sun? Without dragons, House Targaryen had been reduced to the likes of other noble houses, after all. They had only allied themselves with the Starks and the Martells in the last centuries. Lady Clarysse would have consolidated their power and wiped out any thoughts of rebellion that may be brewing in the minds of the lords. Not even Tywin Lannister would dare march against them then. But Rhaegar had humiliated the Reach and made them their enemy instead. Not even the match between her nephew Quentyn and Clarysse is able to quell her fears entirely.

There are still Danaerys and Viserys residing on Dragonstone to be used for alliances but Elia had seen the looks between Dany and Jon. Jon may quietly do his duty if forced but his aunt would surely not. And Viserys would rather secure the crown for himself than wed for the sake of peace.

The more the rumours grow, the more Elia realises that she needs to act. Each night now they wait. The king is fading, his heartbeat weaker each morning. Rhaegar Targaryen would be dead any day now.

Aegon looks far less confident than he normally does, as heir, but Elia imagines that he thought, as they all did, that he would have longer before his ascent.

"I'm not ready," he whispers to her, though he has to know that his mother cannot help him. There is only one who may help him shoulder this burden and Rhaegar had taken that away from him. But perhaps there is something to be gained by his father's passing? Elia intends to find out.

The king will see the winter if he is lucky.

Autumn, if the death is swift.

     And so Elia must act now. There is no time to lose. Elia knows that there is one thing she can do to protect their future – Aegon's, Rhaenys', her own. Jon's and Lyanna's too, no matter that they're not of her blood.

"I asked you once whether you loved the Lady Clarysse," she says suddenly. "Do you remember?"

Aegon furrows his brows.

     "So is that what it is — love?" asks Elia.

     "I think so."

     Elia's mouth opens and closes around a response she thinks better of giving. Instead, she says, "You best know so, Aegon, because I don't intend to suffer this much trouble over anything less than love." She does not say, if you don't love her, what I'm about to do will be worth nothing. No, she does not say that.

"So I ask you again — do you love her?"

He swallows. His eyes are solemn. "Yes."

Elia nods. She believes him.

THIS IS THE END, Clarysse knows. She had begun packing her belongings slowly. There is no sense in lingering in King's Landing. But even now, after she had wished to leave for weeks, it is painful to imagine her goodbyes. She does not allow her handmaidens to help her in the task, they are too efficient, too quick.

A pair of emerald earrings are clasped in her hands when there is a knock on her door. The sound is quiet and tentative, no one that she knows.

A servant steps into her chambers after she bids him entrance.

"The queen wishes to see you, my lady."

"Which one?" she asks, simply to buy herself time in the face of an unexpected summons. The next minutes pass in a blur and Clarysse is wondering if Prince Quentyn has perhaps decided against marrying her too and now Elia must share the news with her first in private.

When the queen welcomes her to her solar, she decides against that theory. There is no joy in the Dornishwoman's eyes but there is no pity either.

They sit in comfortable silence on the chaise as servants pour them tea. The spicy, aromatic smell of cinnamon calms her nerves slightly.

"When I was a child, my septa taught me about Aegon's Conquest," Elia starts conversationally. "The dragons won the war for them. It's how the Targaryens kept their power. Once the dragons were gone, it made them vulnerable."

It takes Clarysse a moment to understand her meaning. "House Targaryen needed no alliances then." They do now, goes unspoken.

Elia carefully takes a sip of her tea. Her lips twitch as if she wants to smile but knows she shouldn't. "Indeed. You are very clever for your age."

Clarysse inclines her head. "Thank you, Your Grace."

     "It can be a dangerous thing in this world, being a clever woman."

     "It is a dangerous thing in this world to be any sort of woman."

     This time Elia does smile, but it is full of the same pain Clarysse recognises from inside her own heart. "I fear that is a lesson we both learned the hard way, Lady Clarysse." A pause. "Now tell me truly, my girl. Were you in love? Did the rivers run red for your love?"

     Even the thought of it, the truth of what he's become, makes her want to weep until she laughs – or laugh until she cries. One of the two.

     But she can't. Gods, she can't.

     And isn't that strange, to still – not pray, exactly. To still cling to it with everything inside of her. Clarysse exhales another breath, eyes trained on the woman she was supposed to become , who has the same look as —

She swallows the thought of him with one shameful word, "Yes."

"And you love Aegon still?"

Just the sound of his name is enough to breathe life into old memories. Callused hands grip her hips,
lips bruise her flesh, her name a whisper from his lips. And then there are his eyes, lilac and lovely. She yearns for him, she grieves for him, she curses him.

All she can hear is her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She can hear is slow down and speed up. She can also hear it break. Again.

But she answers anyway. "Yes."

Elia nods, pensive for a moment before she casts a glance her way. "What about my nephew?"

"Perhaps I will grow to love him," she breathes. "Perhaps not."