Chapter Text
Rhaegar gripped the feather trapped between his index finger and thumb a little tighter and bit his bottom lip a little harder. The chance that someone walked into his study unannounced is scarce, thankfully. He was certain he looked more pathetic than he felt.
Tears flooded his eyes, they came easily these days. Rhaegar feared that if he allowed himself to weep, he would be unable to stop. He thought he had learnt to coexist with the gnawing sorrow etched onto his heart. It’s been there since he was a boy, and it grew as he did. The worst, oldest, and closest companion he had. A hauntingly comforting presence.
Guilt pressed down on his shoulders as a shroud made of the heaviest cloth in Westeros and beyond the Narrow Sea. If he cried, Dragonstone would have a new river.
Rhaegar dropped the feather, paying little mind to the ink splattering onto the parchment, placed his hands on the dark wood desk and pushed himself away from it. His head dropped backwards and he blinked. He should’ve died at Summerhall, be one of the babes his mother lost.
As Rhaegar took a deep breath, he turned his head to the side. Rhaegar promised himself he would no longer look for her, but he has never seen himself as a strong, determined man. It still stung to see Elia’s empty chair. And to know this was his own doing was a raw wound he did not know how to tend to.
Before Elia, Rhaegar never even considered marriage as something that could bloom into a friendship. He would never be cruel to his wife, but his expectation was of a cordial union and nothing more. However, all of his previous attempts to remain distant crumbled at her feet.
Elia is different from everyone else. She wanted to be near him, to hear what he had to say, and to learn about him. It was all foreign to Rhaegar, who was so accustomed to being left alone once he requested.
When his spirits were low and he considered walking into the ocean to never come back, she would sit by his side in silence until he spoke. And as they talked, the dread trying to devour him shrank into a little seed he could bury in the sand. Rhaegar loved listening to her voice, to her thoughts and to hear about her plans. Even if he rarely shared his.
Elia knew about the prophecy, about the three-headed dragon and Aegon’s dream. Rhaegar is yet to make her understand how urgent it all is. His wife is kind enough to not call him mad or dismiss his words, but he does not think she fully believes them. And if she does, Elia is far from agreeing that he is acting against the last seconds of the hourglass.
It's not her fault. Elia did not spend most of her life under the dark shadow of looming doom. Rhaegar is the key to save his family, the land his ancestors conquered and the life they know.
In truth, this – whatever it may be called – that he feels for Elia was not part of his plans. He was just himself anymore, part of him blurred together with her and he can barely tell where either of them ends or begins anymore. They became so close so fast, Rhaegar didn’t even notice it happening.
One day Elia was talking to him about the food she missed from Dorne and showing him her dresses. Weeks later, Rhaegar was excitedly waiting for her to wake up. His heart aches for her and allowing himself to get to that state was one of his worst mistakes.
He never thought he would have another chair on his study. A chair for his wife sounded even more absurd. Now, Elia is everywhere. She filled his life with an underserving happiness, he didn’t feel worthy because Rhaegar knows he cannot give her the same. And that love cannot overthrow the duty the Gods bestowed upon him from the moment of his birth.
Rhaegar knew he shouldn’t have allowed this relationship to become what it has. And now he must pull its roots from the earth, making sure there’s no chance of life left for it. It will be less cruel if she hates him. Rhaegar needs two more babes, and he isn’t certain she can bear two more pregnancies. He would rather have her hatred than to grieve her.
Elia should be there. She would, had Rhaegar not pushed her eye. He stopped seeking her, responding with the sweetness she deserved, and slowly withdrew from her life. Even someone as kind, loving, and gentle as his wife has the right to prevent her pride from bleeding out. Rhaegar knew he’d been piercing it with a poisonous sword. It was only a matter of time for her to drift away from him.
It's for the better. Rhaegar told himself. The more Elia despises him, the less it will hurt when he’s gone and she realizes he couldn’t forsake the prophecy.