Disclaimer: All belongs to the great G. R. R. Martin, although I wouldn't mind if he did, you know, actually write fast enough.

The Daughter of the Sun

"What is she like?" Rhaegar asked, a few days prior to Princess' Elia arrival to Westeros.

Ser Arthur Dayne, freshly relieved from his duty, looked at him and smiled. "It certainly took you long enough to ask, my lord. I was starting to wonder whether you actually want to know or not."

But Rhaegar was not in the mood to be teased. "Well," he snapped, "I am asking you. And sit down, if you please, I'll break my neck looking up at you like this."

Arthur's smile faded. He sat opposite to the prince and started to answer, then realized it all sounded hollow. What did words matter? The Princess would still be a stranger to Rhaegar. He'd have to get to know her himself. Arthur prayed to the Warrior he would spare the time and effort. "She's very beautiful, her looks is typical for a Dornish," he finally said. "And she's also very kind."

Rhaegar was still watching him expectantly. These were things everyone could say. Knowing Elia was not even needed for them. Maybe Arthur didn't know her that close. Of course he didn't. He was a warrior; she was a lady. Where could they cross paths, except for a formal occasion at Sunspear?

"She's the sun," Arthur finally said, leaving Rhaegar to make whatever he liked of that.

She was the sun. She radiated warmth, Rhaegar could tell by the very first moment their eyes met. Just for a moment, she was unable to hide her relief and he could not help but wonder what she had expected for her future husband to be like. He was not blind to the fact that his father's ways ran quite deep and could no longer be hidden but he had no idea that the rumour had reached as far as Dorne.

I am not my father, he thought. She shall be treated with all the respect due to her position. She should never suffer what my lady mother has to endure.

It was easy to be kind to her. She was so kind herself. Her smile was like a caress. He could have made a far worse match. Elia was elegant, her wit sharp, her manners beyond reproach. For all the wrongs his father had done, his choice of a future queen had not been one of them.

But it had not been Rhaegar's choice, either.

Sure, she was gentle and exquisite, her heart full of kindness. She was nice enough to look at. But she could not fill his heart the way he wanted it to be filled. And she was not happy. Maybe it wasn't in her nature to be; maybe she had never expected happiness. Each time he saw her, a thin pale thing drowned in her sea of velvets and Myrosh lace, he felt tenderness… and pity, for she was broken, had been ever since her premature birth. And he did not know how to mend her.

But it was not love. Elia was the sun, for she warmed. But she could not dazzle – she could only give a soft glow, like the moon.

It was not enough.

"How are you feeling?" he asked with concern as soon as they were served their first meal. This time, they would dine in private, for Elia's health had taken a turn for the worse.

She smiled and made something entirely unexpected: she took his head in her hands and leaned close to his ear to whisper him a secret that for a while they could keep to be theirs alone.

"I am well," she said, very softly. "Save for the temerity of a certain future subject of yours… He dares kick me in the belly."

At first, he did not understand. And then he did. He laughed aloud and looked at her.

She was shining.

The childbirth was too hard on her. It was a miracle that she even survived. No one thought she would. When her eyelids finally flutter opened, everyone gave a cry of joy and surprise – everyone but Ashara Dayne.

"I knew you'd make it, my princess," she whispered, leaning to wipe Elia's forehead with a wet cloth.

Did you truly? Rhaegar asked silently, for he had not believed it. He had been waiting, with grief and guilt, for Elia to die.

He said as much to Arthur as soon as they are alone. "Did she really believe it?" He still couldn't say.

For the briefest of moments, the Sword of the Morning smiled. "Yes," he said, "I imagine she did. The sun always rises."

For weeks, Ashara had to spoon-feed her like a baby. Elia hated it. As soon as she was able to rise from her bed, she tried to walk. Thanks to the Seven, she was not foolhardy enough to try it when she was alone. Ashara managed to catch her before she hit the floor.

"My lady, you need to rest," she said in a low, urgent voice. "You are too weak."

Breathless, Elia relaxed in the cool cocoon of her bed. But she could not and should not hide forever. "What I need is to stand up," she said, "and shut the mouths of all the courtiers who are already burying me. And you shall help me, dear friend."

So, twice a day they made a round of Elia's bedchamber, Ashara holding her tighly by the arm and Arthur waiting in the adjacent room lest the Princess crumbles and Ashara could not take her back to her bed.

No one of their Westerosi attendants should know how faint Elia really was. Weakness was not a luxury the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms could allow.

Rhaegar had stopped coming to her bed long before Rhaenys' birth and he was reluctant to resume his visits. While that might have pleased her in the beginning, now it started to worry her. They still needed another child. The kingdom still needed an heir. And Elia needed not to be presented as the sickly wife, too weak to fulfill her duty. That might be a danger not only to the Martell-Targaryen alliance but to Elia's person. Aerys' madness was growing by mere hours and he was never too fond of his daughter in-law to start with. The Queen tried to protect her but she often needed protection herself. The King blamed Rhaegar's marriage to Rhaella. Had it not been for her inability to bear him a daughter, their blood would not be thinned out by the Dornish girl, he said. And now it seemed the same thing would happen again.

No, Elia needed to have a son.

"You are still too weak," Rhaegar said when confronted.

"I am not," she denied and she felt she was telling the truth. "I was weak and ill but I am not anymore. What, my lord, would you have everyone whispering behind my back that you are neglecting me? Would you shame me so?"

So he resumed his marital visits and he was overly tender and cautious. As if he's afraid he'd break me, Elia thought bitterly. As if I am so mpossibly frail.

Rhaegar heard the music as soon as he entered Elia's chambers, sultry tones that made his blood boil and his head swim with pleasure. Prince Lewin Martell who stood duty in front of his niece's door, silently removed himself, erect and obliging as usual but there was some tension in his face that Rhaegar could not make out.

Each step brought him closer to the unfamiliar tunes.

Elia's private solar was brimming with colours, overly heated and illuminated by the fireplace, the candelabras, every singe candle there was. The heat made the smell of flowers even stronger, and it was strong enough even without it, for there were flowers in vases, ewers and just each utensil fit to contain them. The table was laid out with dishes Rhaegar had never seen before and judging by the variety of spices he spotted, he had no wish to try them. Wine sparkled in tall goblets.

In the corner of the room, a musician played the sensual tune Rhaegar had heard from the other side of the door. In the centre, Ashara Dayne was dancing to the rhythm, swimming in the bright green silk of her dress and a gauzy veil. Next to her, Arthur, for once not in his white cloak, whirled Elia so fast Rhaegar thought she'd lose her balance and fall down but she didn't. She just laughed and Arthur spun her around again. Rhaegar had never seen her like that, smiling uninhibitedly, brilliantly, shining in her Dornish silks and veils.

Then, the musician saw him and the music suddenly stopped with a false tune. All three of them froze and turned to Rhaegar, Elia still at the end of Arthur's outstretched arm. Their faces suddenly lost their entire colour. "Welcome, my lord," Elia finally said. "We were just…"

She faltered, not quite knowing what to say. "Out with you," Ashara hissed at the musician who gratefully scuttled out.

"I wanted to make a Dornish evening, my lord," Elia finally said. She seemed to shrink and fade in front of him and Rhaegar hated it. "I was too exhausted too long and I wanted something to remind me of home. I arranged this and I ordered Ser Arthur to indulge us. I hope I didn't offend you in any way."

But she did. Up until now, he had always thought her tranquility, her lack of visible passions to be just a trait of her temper, something that had nothing to do with him. But maybe it was Westeros and its melancholic prince that could not warm the heart of the princess of the desert sun.

"You should have invited me along," he said and made himself smile to show her that he wasn't angry with her.

"Would you have come?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

A. N. So, that was the first part of my take on the whole Rhaegar/Elia relationship. Really, I am fed up with everyone in the series implying it was somehow Elia's fault that Rhaegar caused the whole Lyanna mess. If only she wasn't so imperfect... Well, Rhaegar was full of imperfections, so maybe one of them was underestimating his wife, I say.