Disclaimer: I still don't own A Song of Fire and Ice, or anything else that may have inspired this fanfiction (e.g. Mad Max Fury Road).

Author's Note: A huge thanks to reviews from magnus374 (thanks - I'm trying to go for a darker, ruthless Elia here - even nice, kind people reach their breaking points, right?), Frozen862 (I find dragons and direwolves and prophecies coming true equally unlikely but I suppose a certain amount of disregard for factual accuracy is required in most fantasy / scifi stories), Failed to De-Anon (I read all of your Elia stories to keep up motivation for writing these two chapters so quickly, especially when I'm meant to be doing work for my career instead...), JoshB / Josh1995 (Sorry if you aren't the same person - I thought the review sounded somewhat similar. I hope this is quick enough for you; sadly, it will be too much of a struggle to go faster than this with updates).

A huge thanks to Alucard Bellsing, Igor De Souza Santos, SergeantMatt, Zero Gawain, iron aegis, kestra17, primarius, and sperosvengence for adding this story to their favourites. A huge thanks to Albhwa, Josh1995, Kronos12, , Sabruur, SergeantMatt, ShinObi87, Zero Gawain, annabellecutie, baronnis, beast17, cooldude111, el ay rayn, kelevraxm, leezee, muggle628 and primarius for following this story. I hope all of you like this latest chapter.

Regency

Elia Martell tried to keep her face as stoic as possible but she suspected that Tywin Lannister's spear tip-sharp eyes saw the glee she tried so hard to hide. Nevertheless, she looked him straight in the face, eyes limpid and face as carefully blank as she could make it.

'You're not surprised,' Tywin Lannister's tone was even but Elia could have cursed herself for her stupidity. With such mistakes, she deserved to die.

She raised a single shoulder, the other far too sore from how she had fallen from Aerys' earlier attacks. 'I'm sure it was the red river. The last news we had, we heard that it was spreading through Rhaegar's forces. If it spreads through one side, it inevitably spreads through the other eventually.'

He continued to stare at her and she continued to stare back. She wouldn't back down from the likes of Lannisters, not when she had survived Aerys.

'Punish Clegane for not obeying orders,' he said as a non-sequester. There was a grunt of denial and she could see the tightened backs that told her that Lannister's men were not looking forward to disciplining that monster of a man.

'Do you intend to kill me and the children?' She couldn't fathom why that perverted monster hadn't done as he was tasked, if that were so. He had shown the same lust for violence that Aerys had delighted in.

'He wasn't meant to hurt you.'

Elia blinked at him, fought hard to not release that bubble of laughter building up inside her. 'These injuries were from Aerys, not him,' she spoke when she was certain she wouldn't come across as deranged. 'A tight grip and a couple of bruises on the arms are nothing.'

Tywin Lannister stared at her again and she stared back, this time because she truly couldn't puzzle him out. She had built an image of hate, of a man who would gladly destroy her over trivial slights delivered intentionally or unintentionally. This man, however, seemed far too emotionless to be led by petty revenge unless it suited his overall purposes.

'Punish him,' he finally said, eyes hard as the roughest volcano rock. 'I demanded no injuries, and bruises on arms count.'

He had neither acknowledged, nor answered Elia's question and she wondered if she should ask again. Once, she had had political savvy. Certainly not the best of puppet masters but nothing to be dismissed. However, those sorts of skills only worked with people of sound mind, and Aerys hadn't been that. She had been submissive and subservient, the only things one could be to a tyrant such as him, but she had no intention of being so again. Her death was still more or less guaranteed, she reminded herself, quashing the budding hope she could feel growing within herself.

'I suppose the most pressing question is who is to sit on that rather painful throne,' she'd said, once the giant man had been removed. She heard a choked back laughter, assumed it was the little blonde Kingsguard. She wouldn't recognise the laughter of any of the inhabitants of this stronghold; there'd been none these last few months.

'Rhaegar Targaryen is dead, so is Robert Baratheon,' Tywin Lannister repeated, as if the words would have additional meaning. Such dramatics. She could see how this man had once been fast friends with the equally melodramatic former king.

'Yes, and that still leaves Stannis Baratheon and Aegon Targaryen as contenders for the throne,' Elia countered, blunt and striving for impartiality. For a moment, she felt the mantle of who she had once been; she took full advantage, clutching the babe to her chest artistically. 'An unknown boy-man that nobody knows anything about, and a little babe, ready to be nurtured and grown into who he should be.'

'With the Targaryen madness,' Tywin interrupted her contemptuously.

'He's half Dornish,' Elia disagreed indignantly. 'Besides, that Targaryen blood flows through the Baratheons too.'

'It still flows weaker in them. And they don't carry the tainted name.'

She turned around angrily. Her eyes fell on the dead old man and she approached him with curiosity. Was the delight she felt the same sick delight he had felt? Had his sickness of mind come from feeling so helpless, at the mercy of those around him?

'He couldn't even die like a man,' she said with disgust. 'He's soiled himself, not just the water but the solid too. Not worthy of a boy, let alone a man.'

'And you'd face your death better, I suppose?' Tywin asked her drily.

'I already have,' she replied, no fire in her statement, just the coldness of fact. She peered around curiosly, walked over to the dead pyromancer.

'Is there a reason you haven't taken his blade and covered it with Aerys' blood? Or thrust it into his dead body even?' She asked the Kingsguard who, for all his swagger and cockiness, now looked pallid in the flickering candlelight, muscles taut though he was leaning against the wall with feigned nonchalance.

'And why would I do that?' The smirk never left Jaime Lannister's lips, but his eyes were watchful and intense. Not as big a fool as he would have others believe, it seemed.

'So that you could blame the death of the King on the Pyromancer,' she asked him, and took back her previous assessment of his intelligence. That, too, of his father. Or perhaps lacking common sense would be the more accurate assessment, for intelligence and common sense was not one and the same and only the most foolish of fools would consider Tywin Lannister lacking intelligence. Unless…. Her eyes narrowed.

'Unless you're thinking that becoming known as a Kingslayer would free your son of his white cloak? You may get your heir back, if he isn't killed or sent to the Wall, which is what the righteous Starks and Arryns are more likely to do.' Shrewd black eyes stared into Tywin Lannister's cold eyes.

'I can't promise you your son back, of course, but I can offer you my daughter for your current heir. I can give you my word,' Her voice hadn't shaken. Nor did she herself shake, though bile rose within her throat but she knew she had hit her mark by the arrested gleam in Tywin's eyes. She had something she could offer him, something few other houses would ever offer him and they both knew it. It still fell on Tywin Lannister and didn't that sting worse than Aerys' fist?

Her eyes narrowed again and she took another gamble, threw her cards on the table. 'Of course, it does all depend on you, My Lord. You know that, so do I. Other than my daughter, I can promise you the Hand of the King. You were a greater ruler than Aerys ever was and all have always known it. I can't offer you the throne but I can offer you the next best.' Arrogant men loved to have their egos further rubbed. Elia had to take a chance that it would work on this one too. He stared at her throughout her words, stared at her afterwards and it was a fathomless stare. His muscles didn't so much as twitch and the air in the very room felt suffocating. The tension was palpable to all.

'You don't appear to be in mourning, My Lady,' Tywin commented at last and not by her appropriate title either. She couldn't tell whether it was insulting or complimentary in the Dornish ways. Insulting, she rather thought.

'Must we fabricate in the room where your son's sword is stained with the blood of the king he was meant to protect? I thought honesty would serve us better, or at least faster.'

He assessed her again, coolly and shamelessly and something that he saw or heard or witnessed, something, whatever it was, shifted the mockery in his eyes just a shade. Elia couldn't tell what this would mean.

'The men are on their way here, the Starks and the Arryns. The Baratheons, I imagine, are heading back towards their new Liege Lord. When they arrive, I'll arrange a parley to arrive at a peaceful accord. Take her back to her rooms, unharmed,' he announced to his men that remained in the Throne Room and Elia fought off a victorious smile. This may have bought her little more than a handful of hours but they were all that she needed. She knew her brothers well. Ten thousand men to fight for Aerys, to be a show of present for him. How many more were on their way for more tactical fighting? And how many would be on their way to her? If Oberyn was not there amongst the ten thousand given to Aerys, she knew he would be on his way to protect her personally, no matter the rumours that had him still in Lys and the few men with Oberyn were all that she needed to turn the tide, little doubt about that.