elia martell (unbowedprincess) wrote in agos, @ 2008-09-30 00:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | elia martell, polonius haine |
Who: Elia, Polonius
When: Day 48 evening
Where: ??, Kings Landing
Rating: PG-13
Status: Closed
In the absence of her maester, the dreamwine fog was clearing from her but her side was aching and as much as she tried not to move it didn’t seem to help. She’d paced the room a thousand times already but that had worn thin. She wished she knew where she was-- they had taken her down into the dungeons and through so many winding tunnels she supposed she could have been anywhere in the city at all.
There were no windows to look out of, no servants. Only silence. Penrose had come and questioned her, then left again. Next was Polonius. Penrose again. Maids she did not know woke her if she slept- every hour or two someone entered and left again. There were candles, the bed was comfortable, the walls paneled. There was a bowl of fruit, a jug of water. Elia wasn’t in the mood to touch that yet though her stomach told her it had been a long while since she'd eaten.
“Do you remember anything of that night?” Polonius had asked, a thousand ways. She’d gotten sarcastic and then annoyed and then had given up even being angry. Elia settled back onto the bed, resolved to get at least a nap before the next whoever-it-would-be came to wake her up again.
She dreamed of the night that Aenyris had died, the night she’d fallen into her own bed and awoken to pain and blood and terror. In the dream, Elia woke to silence but there was an edge to her awareness, an alarm…. She wasn’t alone. The room was still but something was not where it should be. “Syrah?” she questioned, her voice thick with sleep. “Jaer, did you—“
“Neither, sweet princess.”
The voice was strange but held a ghost of familiarity. Elia sat up, her head spun and the wine clung to her like a muffling cloak. Her hand slid under her pillow and she fumbled for the dagger that should have been there.
“You won’t find it.” The voice was right.
Elia’s breathing quickened as her heart pounded. She tried to blink away the haze of the alcohol. “Who are you?” she asked the darkness. Something to her left moved, coalesced into the shape of a person- a man.
“A ghost, princess. Come to remind you of what came before.”
Her eyes narrowed and she swallowed her fear. She could scream and bring her guards… “What ghost?”
There was only the rustle of her sheets as she moved pretending to make herself more comfortable while her hand still sought the dagger that should have been there. The shadow remained still.
“The ghost of fallen stars.”
Elia’s lips turned up in a smirk. “You’re fifteen years late, ghost.”
“No. I am in my own time,” he chuckled.
A flicker of movement was all the warning Elia got. She dived to her left as the ghost came for her. The moonlight shone silver against the dagger in his hand and she screamed. She avoided the blow but fell from the bed, landing in a tangle of blankets and gown. A scream tore from her throat as the knife flashed again.
“It won’t help you. They’re all a-dreaming, sweet princess. The dreams of men and beasts.” He laughed at her and Elia kicked free of the sheets and came up into a kneel. One hand held the sheet as she glared up at him.
“Dreams end, spirit.” She flung the sheet at him and ran toward the door as he batted the blanket away but her movements were not fast enough- it was like she was running in the sand or caught in honey. Her legs wouldn’t obey her…
Somehow- gods alone knew how- he came between her and the only escape, faster than she could follow. “Stop running. I want your blood, not your soul.” That brought her up short.
“Fuck you, ghostling.” Elia stepped away as he approached, keeping clear of the dagger. No one was coming. That fact beat at her like a merciless whip. “If you want my blood, I would see your face.”
The ghost’s laugh was bitter. “You won’t remember it.”
“Try me.” She should have been faster, should have tripped him up, but things weren’t going in order somehow.
The bed was at her back. The window was four stories up- too high to jump. The sword she never used was in her trunk… but there was another dagger if she could get to the edge… This time there was no warning. The ghost leapt and Elia fell as he crashed into her. She turned and brought up an arm to fend him off as she fell onto her side. The dagger bit deeply into her wrist, so deep her stomach churned and it felt more like a burn than a cut.
“Blood for blood, princess.” He stepped back as she scrambled to her feet. He was toying with her. Tears of pain threatened but Elia held her ground and kept her injured arm close, the forearm raised nearly to her throat.
“Speak sense, whoreson.”
“Hear with your ears.” The tone of that caught her off-guard. Her eyes widened and the moment was enough for him. The assassin moved faster than any man she’d seen and suddenly he was at her side, she barely brought up her arm again as the knife arced toward her. Another scream, echoing hollow against the stones….
It was a parody of a lover’s embrace he pulled her into as the knife sank into her side. “Your prince does not protect his own, princess. Let this remind you.”
Elia’s vision was clouded but she looked up at him as she waited for the next blow. The moonlight touched the face before her, at last revealing him and she gasped.
“Tell your prince his debts are not yet paid.” The ghost smiled as the darkness claimed her. “Farewell, my princess. Until we meet again.”
The memory slid from her grasp again as she woke up. The face… it was gone, but the words lingered and spun around in her head endlessly. The door opened and she turned to find Polonius Haine looking at her with his stoic eyes.
“Bad dreams, princess?”
“And worse waking, my lord.”
The Master of Whispers ignored her slight. “What were your dreams?”
She cursed him silently. “An eternity in this dark cell.”
“Hardly a cell, lady. In any case, you would not look so ill-rested from that.”
She turned her head away and waited but Polonius showed no signs of leaving. “Is this why you forbade the dreamwine?” she asked after a long silence.
He did not change expression. “Perhaps. Have you remembered anything?”
“Only images, words… no face, no way to know the man.”
“Words? Asassins do not often speak.”
“This one did. He wanted my blood rather than my death. He—gave me a message, though I don’t know for whom.” What harm in telling him now? Her prince- Myrwin? Jaehaerys? Hell, even Sandro or Henry wore the title of prince in one form or another. The same could be said for Rhaeys wherever he was.
“What was the message?”
“Blood for blood, and… The debts are not yet paid.”
Polonius frowned. “I think I preferred this assassin silent.”
“Can you read this riddle then, my lord?” Elia watched him closely, studied his expression.
“Perhaps. We shall see, I suppose.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then someone will pay this debt.” Polonius shrugged. “Perhaps he will even tell them what it is before he cuts their throat.” He picked up one of the apples from the bowl and turned it in his hand. “Are you sure you did not see a face?”
“No. He was in shadow and I was rather preoccupied with his knife.” Elia rose and crossed her arms to face the spymaster. “Is my questioning complete now? May I be released?”
“I am sorry, princess, but I cannot say.” Polonius put the apple down and looked at her. “It may benefit the King Regent more to keep you close than to let you run free. You do get into such trouble and I’m sure Lord Penrose will be healthier for the lack of… worry that you cause him.” Elia’s eyes narrowed at that but she ignored that jab.
“You can’t keep me in the---where am I, even? At least tell me that.”
Polonius shook his head. “That would spoil the game entirely, I fear,” he said not unkindly. “I could arrange for you to have a guest perhaps if it would cheer you.”
Elia eyed him warily. “This guest wouldn’t have the last name of Clegane?”
He laughed. “Hardly, sweetling. I was thinking perhaps your friend Lady Isobel, or perhaps Lady Hester?”
Elia sat down again. “Hester?” she asked dazedly. “What in seven hells would you want with Hester?”
“Mayhaps you should both commiserate on the trouble your siblings do get you into some days,” the spymaster said with raised brows. “Truly it does seem to be remarkable.”
“You think holding me will force my brother to anything?” Elia rolled her eyes. “Are you all gone mad?”
Polonius shrugged. “Your brother has no love for the Starks, but perhaps he does for you. We shall see.”
You’ll see the point of my brother’s spear, Elia thought acidly. “Indeed, my lord.” Her smile was sweet.