Do you feel the world/ Spinning like a top it ain't slowing/ Maybe, maybe not; there's no knowing/ If the world you're living in is bursting at the seams

-Elan Noon, Spinning

The first time Elia had been this humiliatingly unarmed had been when she was ten and three. That time she had attempted to train with one of the children in the water gardens. Her sister was a spearwoman who was in service of a merchant in Essos, but the girl had trained alongside her elder sister. The girl was quick and sharp with her strikes, and while Elia could keep up, the other girl would always best her.

"Princess, you must keep your eye on my spear and my feet," she clashed her spear with Elia's oncoming attack. "Most fighters will point their feet in the direction they want to go before they attack."

Elia took notice of this, the other girl's leading foot pointed slightly to her left, but Elia felt the spear strike her across her middle back.

The girl giggled, "you must also keep your eyes on my spear. A skilled fighter will catch you off guard if you only focus on one thing.

The Princess had fresh bruises blooming purple and blue behind her knees and on her arms. She screamed as she charged and for a moment she was not only keeping up with the girl, she was sparring. And it was a good match too. Elia was gaining ground and plunged her spear forward, the other girl spun on the heel of her foot and plunged her own spear forward.

She'd reached out for Elia's spear, easily taking it from her as she continued her tumble to the ground.

Elia hit the heel of the other girl's spear with her chin and fell to the ground. Blood mixed with sand and muddied in her mouth. She felt a gap with her tongue where one of her permanent molars should be. Shock, fright, and relief passed over her in quick succession after she spit out her bloody tooth.

"Princess!" The girl rushed to her sparring mate's side. The spears tossed to the side, an attempt to conceal her part in the Princess' disfigurement, or a way to get rid of hindering weight, she could not tell.

There was a sadness in Elia's eyes but a grin on her mouth. "It seems the Gods have deemed me unfit to wield a spear. It is good I have my spearmaidens then, to keep me safe."

The girl nodded. No punishment would be passed on her as Elia had made her swear to not tell anyone to spare her of the embarrassment of such a loss.

No such promises could be made now. The man took her coins and necklace, the very one Rhaegar had gifted her not even a moon ago. A thin silver dragon that coiled around the middle of her throat, it's tail resting on her collarbone.

Her kingsguard was still struggling with the arrow that had pierced through his hand and buried itself on a tree trunk.

She hadn't even been quick enough to unsheathe the dagger Mellario had gifted her many years ago. Before she could, the man had knocked it out of her hands with the edge of his bow. "There needn't be a struggle," he said calmly as he took her chest full of coins and the rings from her fingers.

For the sake of Rhaenys and the little one in her womb, she did as she was told. She didn't move and she didn't look him in the face.

"Your Prince spoils you," he let the necklace slither around his fingers. It was such a dainty thing and beautiful.

The White Bull continued struggling, shouting at the man to stay away from the Princess and all the ways he would make quick work of him.

"You have the coins and the jewels, leave now," Elia, emboldened by her predicament, ordered him.

The man fixed her with a blank gaze and walked closer to her, she pressed herself against a tree, discreetly placing a hand over her belly.

He stood in front of her, yanking her arm and pulling her twin bangles off, and as a final ungallant act, he pressed his cracked lips on her cheek, half his mouth over hers. And then he left. And the White Bull freed himself.

The Gods are either cruel or have a wicked sense of humor.

Word of the attack reached King's Landing the same day.

They questioned Elia and her kingsguard about what they were doing in the kingswood.

"Commissioning a new breastplate for Prince Rhaegar for the Tourney."

And when they asked why Elia had not commissioned it with the Royal Armorer, Elia simply said he did not work with black iron and she had a black breastplate in mind for Rhaegar. That was only the partial truth and the chest full of coins were a portion of Rhaegar's part in funding the Tourney that would be delivered to a messenger of Lord Whent.

But Elia could not say this, she wouldn't admit to it.

"Women and their peculiarities," Aerys scoffed. "Now we must put an end to this savagery. The Crown has already been defied once before and we made quick work of them. It will be done again, but this cannot be a repeating thing. The Crown cannot be seen as weak." In his mind, he knew they were after him, perhaps they were the same people from the Defiance of Duskendale come again to take his life this time.

He grasped his iron chair tighter, piercing his palm on it as many Targaryens before him had done.

While he dipped further into his paranoia, the Kinsguard followed a lead on the whereabouts of this Kingswood Brotherhood.

The Princess dismissed herself, her heart beating quicker than her steps and echoing in her eardrums. The court did not hold their tongues back as she passed them. Dangerous accusations crawled out of their tongues with the staunch sting of a bee and the venom of a cobra. "They are this way in Dorne, so carefree and loose," and "they do not see danger because they are the most dangerous things that crawl upon the sands in Dorne." And other comments infringing on her honor accusing her of promiscuity sunk into her heart with sharp teeth, tearing at the tissue and coming away with bloody chunks.

How could they? How could they accuse her of such things? Did they not believe her or the White Bull that they had been ambushed?

She made way for her apartments and had not noticed Ashara trailing her."Princess Elia," she called out but the Princess was too distracted by her distress to notice her.

Ashara unbecomingly jogged to Elia's side and took her hand in both of hers. "You are hurt. I thought you said they hadn't touched you."

Elia turned to her, her eyes glossed over with tears unspilled. "Ashara," she said barely above a whisper. She looked down at their hands and noticed a blistering band forming below her knuckles where the bandit had struck her with his bow.

There was pure compassion in the younger woman's eyes when Elia looked at her. And there was guilt and embarrassment in Elia's.

Ashara wrapped her arms around Elia, allowing her to weep into her embrace. "Are you well?" Ashara asked, her voice hitching at the end, but she reeled in her emotions. She had always been a very sensitive person and she couldn't bare to see others in distress. "We should get to your chambers, patch you up,"Ashara offered.

Here her husband found them; Ashara wrapping a tear soaked gauze around her bruised hand. "Elia!" He exclaimed.

Ashara wanted to ask him where he'd been? Why had he not been there to protect his wife? But if his head is as filled with fantasy as her brother says, then there's no use. He says the silver Prince prefers the company of few in the rubble of Summerhall, where he makes up songs about ghosts and comes back to sing them to the people of Flea Bottom. But songs won't save you from the sharpness of the blade, nor the quickness of an arrow.

She scurried to stand and bowed as soon as he approached them. Elia didn't stand, she never did to greet him. She was his equal, a Princess in her own right and twice over through him. She also didn't wipe her fading tears. He kneeled before her and took her small frame between his arms. Just as Ashara had done, he let her cry into his chest.

Lady Ashara Dayne excused herself.

He inspected her for wounds or tears, and braced himself for the worst. "I am unhurt," the biggest trespass was to her heart. "He took the necklace. The one you gifted me," she grasped the air near her throat where the necklace had been.

"I can have another made for you, hundreds if it pleases you. It only matters that you are safe," he kissed her forehead then her lips. "That you are well," he licked his lips, a salty taste to them from her tears. "Elia I should've been there-" she cut him off.

"I am not safe in your country and your people disparage me as I pass them by. They say I caused this, that it is I who invites such dangers to mar the Crown," she could not help the hitch in her voice, but she would not allow herself to cry. 

His brows clenched for a moment before he spoke, "you are to be their queen, they would never dare."

"Some have a boldness to them, but at least my northland ladies have been kind to me, and their families too. But not even my dornish ladies are safe from the discrimination of court. Even my daughter." She paused and her chest hallowed as she took a deep breath.  "They voice their disappointment in her appearance." Rhaegar flinched. "Her dornish smell."

She smiled bitterly, "aye she smells dornish, sweet and warm."

He did not know what to say, had no words of comfort. A brief flash of him singing to her one of the ballads he'd been working on for her came to mind, but that was entirely ridiculous.  He could not calm Elia's concerns or tears with his harp like he could with Rhaenys. "This is a slight I can overlook only once. I am not made of steel. I cannot endure so many sharp tongues, especially those raised against my child."

"Elia, I will see to it that those who speak against you are reprimanded. No more gossips and," he faltered when he looked at her tear-stained face. Two dark pools absent of emotion, her lips tight and her back straightened.

"You have little power and words are wind. Do not speak of promises for things in the past. You cannot reach across time and correct this. Stand by me and let them see the support we have for one another. In time, their hearts will warm up to me. They could come to love me, as I believe you might."

Words refused to come out. But he did love her, he thought. He was never good at expressing his feelings. He had already professed his affections and love for her in the songs he'd composed for her. Perhaps he needed to be more clear. But Rhaegar Targaryen was never good at expressing his feelings and he would learn too late the consequences of that.

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The price for trespassing on the honor of the Targaryen Crown and the sanctity of the dornish Princess was a pile of thieving corpses. The Brotherhood was forcefully disbanded with the help of one Jaime Lannister, who had joined the campaign a squire and returned a knight.

He showed a valor and swift effectiveness that impressed even the stoic Arthur Dayne. His moves were certain, even if he stumbled through the fights. Was the sword too heavy or the boy too excited? His voice still cracked, on the cusp of manhood, but still a boy for another year or two.

The golden cub was more of a golden fawn that day. Quick and afraid. But his father had taught him once that fear and bravery felt the same, so he clung to that. 

Fear, then bravery, and fear again coursed through him as he faced a new opponent. Then he heard it. The screaming, no, shrieking, of one of the lords held ransom by the brotherhood. They were being cornered and the noblemen were the last piece they could gamble. A sword pressed against the lord's back and before the bandit could finish the job Jaime drew his sword and cut through him.

He urged the Lord to his feet and ordered him to stand behind him. 

A figure approached them, a twisted smile on his face and an erratic swing of his sword. There was no logic to his movements but there was a brute force to every one of his strikes. This was the one they called The Smiling Knight. The one who'd been terrorizing nobles. "Greed will be the undoing of this kingdom. All you highborn pricks only hoard and hoard and-" Jaime dealt him a powerful blow. Skill overpowered strength and the Smiling Knight fled.

After everything had happened, he fell to his knee at Ser Arthur Dayne's command, a glimmer of a smile peered through the dornishman's helm as he said the knighting words. "Arise, Jaime Lannister, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

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"They called it 'The Pact of Ice and Fire', an allegiance between Cregan Stark of Winterfell and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of Dragonstone." Elia read to Rhaenys.

They had arrived to Harrenhall at midday and were resting from the long travel before the welcoming banquet. Accommodations were made and although the stops were infrequent, Rhaegar made sure Elia had a soft bed to sleep upon every night so that her health might not dwindle. With this in mind, they had arrived a week before the tourney began.

The girl rested on her lap against her mother's chest and the book hovered in front of both of them. The book had been a gift from Rhaegar during their courting years.

"Dragonstone, hmm?" Rhaenys babbled, putting her palm over the illustration of the Lord and the Prince. "Dog," she pointed to the wolf arched below the two figures. "Dragon," she pointed to the beast arched above the figures. 

"Yes," Elia hummed approvingly.

"Who?" Rhaenys asked, pointing to the man with the Stark coat of arms on his clothes.

"Cregan Stark," Elia replied.

Rhaenys laughed, "no,  Lulu," the nickname she had given her kingsguard uncle. Elia supposed they did look alike with their long dark hair.

"And what does it say about the pact?" Asked Rhaegar from where he sat across the room.

Elia fixed him with a look of amusement, "gossip from the Fool. Support for the Black Queen during the Dance and support for the North for..." she did not know how much the kingsguard in their apartments knew about the prophecy. She wasn't sure if she could be open about it with anyone but him.

"It has not come to pass, the support for the North, I mean," Rhaegar added. "But in the future we must bring them closer to the Crown and tighten our alliance with them."

Elia blew out a slow breath, "of course. That is where the threat will come from."

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The festivities for the tourney were two days away when Varys went to see the King.

The only man who had the King's trust was the Spider, everyone else was out to get him, even his once dear friend Tywin. But even he turned on him. Everyone wanted his crown. His son. His queen. And countless underlings at his court.

His eyes widened, blood red as Varys spoke to him of the plans for a Great Council that would take place in Harrenhal. Rhaegar's plan to overthrow him and place himself on the throne. Aerys tittered, surprised that his dull-witted son had it in him to take on something like this. He could admire his gall later, now he had to make arrangements to attend the tourney.

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Prince Oberyn Martell had arrived on the first day of the tourney. He had caught up with his sister and shared the wonders he had seen since they had last spoken.

Rhaenys had opened up to him almost immediately. He bribed her with sweets and blade tricks and the young girl hardly left his side after that.

"Father would like to see you and your little one whenever convenient. But you know he dislikes this place," Oberyn said, spinning the sheathed blade to entertain his niece.

She sighed, "He will see us in Dragonstone or we will see him in Sunspear."

It should be soon, she thought. Although if things didn't go as planned, they may never see each other again. He might never meet Rhaenys and that was a devastating thought. "I will write to him after this event is over."

The glow in Oberyn's eyes dimmed and Elia could not recall him looking so earnest. "Your plot...father knows. Doran trusts your efforts but not the success of your Prince. If it comes to civil war, Dorne will side with its Princess, but there are armies more powerful still and we cannot sacrifice the lives of our kinsmen for a poorly executed plot. Dorne could not withstand another Targaryen invasion. Dragons will dance once more and hundreds will suffer for it. You must move carefully."

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Rhaegar had agreed with his host that the council would take place the night before the last day of the tourney. Then he would summon the great lords and they would discuss the best course of action to move forward.

For now he tried enjoying the games unfolding. In between archery matches the acrobats and fools entertained the people as the participants readied themselves.

Rhaenys pointed at the woman contorting herself and clapped. Rhaegar wondered how much she understood about what was going on and if she had noticed the change of environment.

In truth the girl was hardly ever allowed outside. Her lessons, her playtime, even her meals were all indoors and the only time she experienced the outside was when she poked her head through a window.

On their return to Dragonstone, he would make sure that changed. 

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It was just after the dinner feast when Rhaegar had brought his harp out to play.

Near the fireplace he began to tune his harp, strings silver like his hair. Rhaenys heard the sound of the first notes and her attention was immediately to her father. The crowd that had remained was full of mostly familiar faces. Elia and her ladies, Rhaenys, his cousin Robert, and the Stark children. 

It was not a song that he played in public and he could only recall having played it for a handful of people, all of them known or related to him. The Ghost of High Heart's most favorite song. The song about her Jenny.

His voice was mellow and bounced off the walls of Harrenhal. He played and his eyes