Elia was unsteady on her feet as the guards pulled her through the tunnels. Something about a feast? The Hand wanted her close by for this. Hester was gone as well, or maybe she was left in the room. Her side ached. A few more weeks, she reminded herself. The scar was small, but the blade had been sharp and the cut went deep. The dreamwine Polonius gave her was weaker than that the maester had kept in her hand, but it clouded her mind just the same. It didn't hurt so badly when she didn't move but the guards were in a hurry. They had come through the dark passages, winding and winding and no sense of time...
At last the ways evened out and even in her dreamstate Elia's blood froze. Close at hand, yes, but she'd be no more like to escape. Damn. The White Cloak who'd appeared from the shadows or maybe another door stopped short. "Princess--" Jonath Rowan, she realized.
"Ser, is that cell empty?" one of the gold cloaks asked, pointing at a door Elia hadn't seen. Gods, she needed to focus... Jonath was staring at her and the guards and his shoulders stiffened.
"The noble cells are--"
"Don't need those. She's to stay in one o' these for the moment."
"You can't be serious."
"As a headsman's blade, Ser."
"That one's empty." Jonath pointed. "I'm to guard the other for now."
Kingsguards holding a black cell? Elia's brow furrowed. "Ser Prosperyn... Jonath, is he to be here?"
"Not tonight, my lady." His voice was gentle.
"Well, let's have some cards and another lantern, then," the other gold cloak announced. "I've had none but this one to play and he's got naught but armor left to lose and that's only on account o it don't fit me."
Elia found herself deposited in a cell, though Ser Jonath's cloak was now draped over her shoulders. There was scarcely room even for one of her height to stand, but there were blankets and a cot, and she was awake enough at least to realize someone had made it more comfortable than the usual accomodations afforded. But she was in the Black Cells. For how long? She wrapped her arms around herself and slid down the wall until she was sitting on the rough stone. Tears threatened but she wouldn't let them fall. If they marched her out of here and took her head... Elia laughed then, softly and perhaps with an edge of tears but a laugh nonetheless.
“I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair…” Her voice was quiet, but the song helped ease the urge to scream.