Chapter Text
It’s done.
It’s Rhaegar’s first victory in years, but the cost was too great. He ought to be happier; all that’s happening is a consequence of his own decisions, and now there is, finally, a way to continue without further hurting Elia.
He felt as a man who abandons a ship amidst a storm, has swam too far to go back, and there’s nothing to see but blue. He cannot be certain that he will find land before drowning, but now it’s too late to go back; he doesn’t even know if the ship is beneath him with the fish or if it braved the storm. The deserter can do nothing but to keep moving forward, his decision is one of those that can never be reversed.
Elia has not spoken to him since they left Harrenhal. It’s been moons since her distance and silence were all he wanted: “It’s for the better” he would tell himself. Rhaegar had not considered that Elia had become such an important part of his life, a fragment of himself outside of him, that now it feels as though he lost the very thing that made him strong enough to leave his bed and exist.
Rhaegar spent years allowing the prophecy to steer his life. He was a mere puppet of the gods, a wooden doll chosen to be used as its maker desired. And it was perfect when he had nothing else to live for, there was no greater force moving him forward. That, until he welcomed Elia into his life.
How he regretted it.
When Rhaegar’s mother told him of his father’s plans for his future, the prince only saw the sweet, kind girl he played with whenever he was in Dorne. Rhaegar remembered how he loved her eyes, he could barely understand why. They were plain and brow. And big. That was his favorite part, they settled beautifully on her face. Almost as a portrait that was granted life. And Elia had beautiful long lashes, too.
Rhaegar remembers the first time he saw her.
Elia sat cross-legged with a doll in her lap. An orange carpet sat under her, and pillows of different shapes, sizes and colors surrounded her; the while sunlight caressed her little corner, as if he had picked exactly because of it. Elia was reading to her doll, gently playing with her hair.
“And that’s how Meria defeat-” a gasp interrupted her words when she saw Rhaegar.
He realized he had no idea of how long he had been there watching her. She was such an interesting person to look at.
“Prince Rhaegar!” She tried to stand, bashful, but Rhaegar gestured so that she stayed where she was.
He felt his cheeks heating up, readying himself for her to tell him to leave or for harsh words. It was senseless, his father had only done it once, and yet his chest tightened and he took a small step backwards.
“How would you know?” As soon as his words came out, Rhaegar immediately felt mortified. Of course she would know, Doran told him he might come across Princess Elia if he went to the library at that time. She’s a princess, certainly she has the same lectures from her septas.
Rhaegar almost apologized for the question but Elia was quicker. She lifted her eyebrows as a small smile formed on her lips and tilted her head sideways, studying him in the same way he had done to her. Elia pointed a finger at her own hair and then turned it toward him.
Rhaegar managed a small smile. He was holding his hands behind his back, fiddling with his fingers and wishing he knew what to say.
“Queen Rhaella is an expected guest and she has no other children, unless she is carrying one.”
“I’d like that,” Rhaegar blurted. He couldn’t tell who his words surprised more, Elia or himself. He was accustomed to having no one but his mother as his other half for conversations.
“Would you pray for a brother or for a sister, Your Grace?” Elia asked, gesturing for him to sit.
Rhaegar debated with himself for a moment and decided that he did not want to be a rude guest. He chose a red pillow and sat on top of it, positioning himself across Elia.
“Do you pray often, princess?”
“I asked first,” Elia smiled and Rhaegar flinched a little.
With furrowed brows, Rhaegar responded: “I’m the prince,” which he immediately regretted. He could almost hear his father’s voice yelling that he ‘is the king’.
“And I’m a princess,” Elia managed to reply. Rhaegar rarely looked at people’s eyes but for some reason, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. It took the blink of an eye for them to start laughing.
Rhaegar is certain that she started it, and he just followed along; the shade someone searches for during the hottest summer day. That became a common occurrence, he wanted to be wherever Elia was and would deliberately follow her anywhere.
It’s not that the Gods intertwined the threads of their lives, their paths did not cross. They were walking two separate paths with a great river between them. At some point, Elia decided that she wanted to continue her journey alongside him, and Rhaegar allowed it; everything had been on purpose, fate had no place in their meeting and the growing of their friendship.
It felt better when he had her by his side but, in truth, now he knows he should’ve told her to go back and stay there. Rhaegar does not know how to love, he realizes it now. There’s no place for it in his life, there never was. He’d been cursed since he drew his first breath.
Rhaegar can see Elia playing with Rhaenys. They are by the shore but still away from the sea foam’s reach. His wife did not even bid one of her ladies-in-waiting to tell him of their whereabouts, nor was he invited. Rhaegar has no right to this hurt, and yet it pierces through him and shatters him into a million little pieces.
It was his doing, his choices. He knew it would hurt Elia beyond repair, he did it. It’s hard to convince himself this is the right thing to do when all he wants is to run to her and ask her to forgive him. To say that crowning the Stark girl meant nothing, to tell Elia that hurting her is the last thing he wants and that he has a reason for everything that he is doing.
Elia would never understand, and Rhaegar does not fault her for it. His only wish is that his wife felt as loved as he did when they were truly together.
Rhaegar could not look at anything else. Elia is so close, he could go to the beach and join them. However, he no longer knows how to be in Elia’s presence. Invisible hands are holding him still, he cannot move to meet them or go back inside. He might turn into one of the statues guarding Dragonstone if he stays like this for longer.
It killed him that the mere thought of talking to Elia made his stomach churn. He didn’t know what to say, how to start a conversation or what to do when they were sharing the same space. But this is exactly what he wanted, Elia will never look at him the same way ever again. He’s the man who broke her heart, and that shall be enough to turn every good memory into ruins, her own Summerhall.
It’s done.