Chapter 14: Convergence

"We can't execute him, Prince Oberyn." Rhaegar's voice was tired, both from battle fatigue and from having to reiterate this point over and over again. "At least not yet."

"And why not," demanded the lean form of Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne. His exotic voice was only half as sensuous as the young woman currently seated in his lap. Ellaria Sand he had introduced her as, the newest in a long line of Prince Oberyn paramours. While she wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense, she certainly caught the eye.

Prince Oberyn seemed especially taken. Aelor knew the Dornishman easily grew bored, be it with ballads or bed partners, but this one seemed different. The girl was no older than six and ten, and despite the Red Viper's less than normal taste it was unlikely they had been intimately entwined for long, but Oberyn already seemed heavily invested in the bastard of Lord Uller.

Invested enough to insist, despite Rhaegar's protests, to bring her into the Small Council chambers for the war council. Or maybe that was because of Rhaegar'sprotests. As angry as Aelor was with Rhaegar's treatment of Elia-for less than chivalrous reasons, it seemed-he held nothing on the rage her brother had for the King. Aelor was going to have to make sure Prince Oberyn didn't kill Rhaegar in his wrath.

"Because we need the army of the Westermen." The King sat at the head of the table, an untouched tankard of ale beside him. "Over three thousand of them are still alive. I need those numbers to counter the traitors."

"They are traitors," Oberyn argued. "They were caught sacking your city, raping your women. They sent an assassin to do the same to my sister and her children."

"They didn't succeed."

"No thanks to you," Oberyn spat back, rage evident in both his voice and glare. Ellaria Sand placed a soothing hand on his chest, rubbing small circles as she whispered something in his ear. The razor sharp tension in the Prince of Dorne's shoulders subsided though his glare remained. Aelor was suddenly very glad for the paramour's presence.

"No, it was thanks to me, with the help of Lord Varys," the Dragon of Duskendale cut in from the other end of the table, nodding at the Spider. "And as much as I'd love to slit the throat of every Lannister in our custody, the King is right. Baratheon has forty thousand men. With those Westermen we'll have close to the same."

"Numbers do not win wars," said Randyll Tarly, "but they certainly help."

Oberyn eyed the others at the table, Varys, Tarly, Jon Connington, Ser Barristan and the Targaryen's. The Prince of Dorne had ridden into the city during the opening stages of the assault on the sept, and, upon hearing the sounds of battle, had of course had to join in. "What are our plans?"

Varys' tittering voice answered. "Baratheon and the others rebellious lords are slowly moving from Riverrun, though it is clear they have no intention of marching on King's Landing."

"Wise of them," Connington said, nodding. "They have no chance of carrying the walls with this many loyalists in the city. They'll wait for us to meet them."

"Which Your Grace has to do," Varys said. "My little birds tell me there is already talk of Targaryen weakness for allowing the rebels to remain relatively unscathed for so long."

Rhaegar nodded. "Jon is right; we have to meet them in the field."

"You won't be able to trust Lannister," Oberyn pointed out, eyes still full of an anger he was managing to keep in check with the help of Ellaria. Maybe that's why he brought her; to help him keep his head during the meeting.

"That's why we don't bring Tywin." Or Jaime. Aelor shared a look with his brother across the table. Rhaegar had gone to the black cells to speak with the young vow-breaker as Aelor had overseen the siege of the sept, and what the young Lannister had told the King had made Rhaegar Targaryen swear Aelor, Barristan and Alaric Langward to an oath of secrecy about the true reason behind the Mad King's death.

Aelor wasn't certain how they were going to handle that situation. For all anyone else knew, Jaime had been injured trying to protect the King and was recovering somewhere in the Red Keep. The truth-that Jaime had killed him when Aerys had ordered the city burned-made things much more difficult. We'll handle that once this war is won I suppose, though the Seven know how.

"Ser Kevan Lannister was captured alongside his brother," Aelor continued on, returning to the subject at hand. "He is loyal to his brother, but as such he cares deeply for his safety. If we hold Tywin on threat of death, Kevan will keep the Westerlandes in line for the remainder of the war."

"You can't be seriously considering allowing Tywin to live," Oberyn nearly growled, voice outraged. "The man is a dishonorable traitor!"

"Yes, he is," the King said. "But he is a Lannister, and both respected and feared by his bannermen. We need those numbers for this war. Once it is over we can deal with Tywin as we will with all of the rebellious lords."

"A name holds powerful sway," Aelor agreed. "It's why we have an army at all. It wasn't for love of our father that they remained loyal, of that we are all aware; it is because his name was Targaryen . For that reason Ser Kevan will lead the Westerlanders as we march on the other rebels; because he is a Lannister."

Oberyn was clearly not pleased, though he kept his displeasure to himself. He waited a long while before nodding. "My men and I are with you."

The Prince of Dorne had addressed Aelor, not the King, something Rhaegar had certainly seen. Rhaegar said nothing on it, however, instead rising, prompting the others to do the same. Even Oberyn and Ellaria. "Good. We march on the Riverlands on the morrow."

Aelor turned, striding from the chambers to start making the endless preparations necessary to move a host the size of the one in the city. More death and destruction on the horizon, it seems. Aelor didn't dread that thought. That once would have scared him, but it no longer did. T I suppose that means I am truly lost.

Not that it mattered; he had a war to win. A good man may have trouble doing what was necessary to achieve that, but a man like the one Aelor was turning into would have no problem. No, a man like the one Aelor was turning into would enjoy the process.

She was a Queen.

Word had reached them only a few days after reaching Dragonstone. Prince Aelor's men combined with Reachmen under Randyll Tarly had taken the treacherous Lannister Lion's in the rear, killing or capturing nearly all of their force. King Aerys had been killed, how it wasn't clear, but dead he was. That made her Aegon, still a squalling babe, the heir to a kingdom. And his father, melancholy betrayer he was, a King. A King who had arrived seemingly when needed most, to help save his city.

Rhaegar was back.

Aelor's brief letter, received only that morning, had barely concealed the second Prince's anger at his elder brother, though he did admit Rhaegar had arrived in time to save Aelor from an assassin. An assassin that had killed Elia's handmaiden and friend Talana Vaith as well as Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard in brutal, horrific fashion. An assassin that had been meant to do the same to her children.

Elia had held Rhaenys and Aegon close for a long while after reading that.

Queen Rhaella-Dowager Queen now, it seemed-had taken the news of her husband's death in utter silence, staring over the Narrow Sea for a long time afterwards. She'd not said a single word, not to Elia or Ser Manfred or Prince Lewyn, not to anyone. It had been an unspoken agreement to all involved to say nothing to Viserys, who had settled in well enough on the island of his ancestors though he avoided Ser Manfred like greyscale. The Dowager Queen would be the best one to handle the eccentric child, and Elia didn't envy her the task.

Rhaegar had sent her nothing, not an apology or a poem he so enjoyed writing, not a letter of any kind. Elia supposed Aelor may have something to do with that, his own letter hinting at it clearly, and Elia wasn't sure whether to thank him or berate him for it. While Rhaegar's betrayal, sudden an unexpected, still stung badly enough that the Dornish Princess doubted she'd ever forgive her lord husband, she still wanted to hear the reasons why from him. Why he'd done what he'd done, and why he'd done it to her.

The Stark girl hadn't come with him to King's Landing, nor had the three Kingsguard knights that had disappeared with him. Aelor hadn't mentioned her beyond that fact, seemingly pretending that if she wasn't discussed, she almost wasn't real.

That was utter horseshit. The girl mattered very much, obviously to Rhaegar as a woman he abandoned his marriage for and to Elia as the woman he left. Had the Stark girl gone with him willingly? Rhaegar didn't seem to Elia as the type to take a woman against her will-and Elia knew him as well or better than anyone else in either Westeros or Essos-but he also hadn't seemed the type to take leave of his senses and sink the Kingdom he was to inherit into a civil war. Yet here they were, wrapped up in a conflict that every region of the Seven Kingdoms barring the Iron Islands had become embroiled in.

Elia had her guesses for the reasoning behind Rhaegar's actions. She knew of the prophecy of the Prince that was Promised, how a woods witch had told her husband's grandfather, the second King Jaehaerys, of how he would be born of the line of Aerys and Rhaella. Rhaegar had confided in her that he had once thought himself to be the Prince that was Promised, but when a bleeding star had been seen over King's Landing the night they conceived Aegon, he had begun to believe it was their son.

While that was all well and good, he had named their son Aegon and their daughter Rhaenys. While Rhaenys had come first, yes, the significance of those names wasn't lost on Elia. If Rhaegar believed her son was the Prince that was Promised, he probably thought he needed the two sister wives his namesake had. He had a Rhaenys and an Aegon, all he needed now was a Visenya.

Elia couldn't give him that.

She relived the shame of being informed she couldn't fulfill her wifely duty nearly every night. It was a sad thing for a Queen to be unable to give her husband heirs. Granted, many would claim she had already done her duty, giving Rhaegar a healthy, growing son, but Elia couldn't help but blame herself for all of this. If she could have only given Rhaegar another daughter she might have been able to prevent all of this mess they found themselves in now. The idea that her husband would marry Aegon not only to his sister Rhaenys but also this mythical Visenya appalled her, as the Targaryen marriage practice was not well received even in the vastly more open-minded deserts of Dorne, but she would have had years to convince her husband against the idea.

But she couldn't give him a Visneya according to the maester's, and now here they were.

Elia tried to put it all behind her, an impossible task that she must at least strive at if only for her peace of mind. Rhaegar- King Rhaegar, first of his name- had sent one piece of parchment, a royal decree. Whatever she thought of her husband and his eccentric decision making of late, she found the declaration contained to be more than wise.

It had the workings of Aelor written all over it, and since the Dragon of Duskendale was the new Hand of the King-another wise move in Rhaegar's short reign-Elia was certain he had been adamant in its implementation. Rhaegar had seemed to agree, and the Dornish Princess was grateful he had.

Ser Manfred was standing guard outside the nursery on Dragonstone, dutiful as ever. The big knight, harsh and uncouth, seemed unaffected by and uncaring for damn near anything, yet he seemed to care for Rhaenys and Aegon in his own, awkward way, though the Seven knew he wouldn't admit it. Dragonstone was as safe as anywhere, only moderately defended but, as an island, obviously accessible only by sea. That required a navy, something the rebellious lords didn't possess. It was because of the relative safety of the secluded, sizzling piece of stone that Aelor had informed her the royal family would be there for the remainder of the war.

That sense of safety didn't seem to matter one bit to Ser Manfred Darke, however. He had been even more alert since reaching the Targaryen haven than he had been in King's Landing, no mean feat. "Manfred," Elia called as she approached, her uncle Lewyn behind her at her request.

"Your Grace," the big man greeted, face a scowl.

Elia no longer took that personally; Manfred always scowled. The Dornish Princess smiled as she stopped close to the door he guarded, Rhaenys' laugh penetrating the solid oak from the other side where she played with Ashara. "Do you have a family, Ser Manfred? I'm not talking about cousins or uncles or the like; I mean a wife or children." He shook his ugly head. "Do you have the intentions of starting one?"

Ser Manfred snorted. "Not buggering likely. I don't have the face, and even if I did, I don't have the desire.

Elia nodded. Good. "That's excellent, because from this day forward that's no longer an option." Ser Manfred's face stared at her unmoving, waiting for her to explain. Does nothing bother him? Elia shook her head at the boulder's uncaring manner, though she continued on. "Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard died during the Battle for King's Landing."

Ser Manfred's face twitched, the only sign the Dornish Princess had that he knew what was coming next. It was all she needed.

Elia smiled warmly at the man who had so competently gotten her family out of the capital. "If you have any objections, now would be the time." Ser Manfred didn't answer verbally, deciding to instead sink to a knee. Prince Lewyn stepped forward, drawing his sword and laying it on Manfred's massive shoulder.

Elia couldn't contain her glee, beaming as she spoke. They'll never write stories of his chivalry or demeanor, but he's as worthy as any man I know. "In that case, I, Queen Elia of House Martell, appoint you, Ser Manfred of House Darke, to the Kingsguard of King Rhaegar Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I don't know if those are the right words, but I suppose they are close enough."

Manfred rose, face once again impassive. "Does this mean I have to stop buggering cursing?"

Elia couldn't help but laugh. "No, Ser Mandred. No it does not."

"That's good," came a quiet voice from the other end of the corridor. Rhaella Targaryen stood there, belly round with child, face calm. "Because you're going to want to curse up a maelstrom."

"Your Grace?" Prince Lewyn asked, stepping towards her in concern.

The Dowager Queen stared into Elia's eyes. "There are longboats on the horizon."