Elia and her children were still struggling through the dark passage.
Unfortunately, at some point, the soles of her shoes had worn through.
As a lady of the court, her usual activities were limited to gardens and halls; her shoes were made for comfort, not for arduous travel.
Elia's calves ached unbearably, and her arms—one holding the baby, the other the candlestick—had long since gone numb.
And just then, a gust of foul wind blew from somewhere within the darkness, snuffing out her flame.
"Mother, it's so dark... I'm scared," Rhaenys whimpered.
"Hold on to my clothes. Don't be afraid," Elia whispered, trying to soothe her daughter.
In truth, her own strength was nearly spent. Every step forward felt like pushing not only her exhausted body but also cutting through a suffocating sea of darkness.
She threw the extinguished candlestick aside and fumbled ahead, one foot in front of the other.
"Waaah—Waaah—Waaah—"
Suddenly, the baby in her arms began to cry.
Only then did Elia remember—it was time for the child's feeding. Back in the Red Keep, there had been a wet nurse for such needs. But now, her own milk had long since dried up.
Hearing her son's cries, Elia's heart twisted with anxiety.
Then, like a flash of lightning through her mind—
This was precisely the time the wet nurse would come to feed the prince. If she found the room empty, if she raised the alarm...
......
At Maegor's Holdfast, outside Elia's chambers.
"The little prince isn't hungry today. The princess has already gone to sleep. Come back in the afternoon," Nymeria said stiffly at the door.
"But that won't do, my lady. The little prince feeds at the same time every day. Why would today be different?" the wet nurse insisted, reaching for the door.
A guardsman stationed nearby, one of those placed by Aerys' orders, had already noticed the disturbance.
"I said the little prince isn't hungry! Must you disturb the princess's rest?!" Nymeria snapped sharply, trying to wave the wet nurse away.
She knew she could not conceal the truth for long—her only hope was to buy Elia more time.
"Just let me have a look at the little prince. If he's truly asleep, I'll leave right away," the wet nurse pleaded.
"No! The princess sleeps lightly. If you wake her, who'll take responsibility? Off with you!" Nymeria said anxiously, her eyes darting toward the approaching guard.
The guard was already walking toward them.
"Let her inside," he commanded, leaving no room for argument.
"I told you! The princess is sleeping! You northerners just don't understand plain words, do you?!" Namelia shouted back in desperation.
To Dornish folk, all the other Six Kingdoms' people were simply 'northerners.'
But her protestations were far too obvious. The guard roughly shoved her aside, then stepped to the door and called out:
"Your Grace! Your Grace!"
He called several times, but no answer came.
"You fool! If you wake her, the princess will have your head!" Nymeria yelled, but the guard's face had already darkened.
Grabbing Nymeria in one hand, he gestured for his men. Several guards rushed forward, forcing the door open~Inside, there was no one.
.......
Meanwhile, at the Tower of the Hand.
Since the last Hand had been dismissed, Aerys had appointed a firemage as his new Hand.
Other charlatans like Gaelys and Belrys had also become royal confidants.
At this very moment, the firemages were enthusiastically discussing defense plans with Lord Lucerys and the captains of the City Watch.
"Your Grace, the rebels will not reach King's Landing for at least two more weeks. We have ample time to prepare the wildfire..." one firemage said eagerly, trying to sell the king on their schemes.
Yet most present looked grim. History did not favor kings who dabbled with wildfire.
King Aegon IV had once tried to build wooden dragons with wildfire to conquer Dorne—only to set himself on fire and become a laughingstock.
King Aegon V had tried to hatch dragon eggs using wildfire, leading to the tragedy at Summerhall. Now, King Aerys II had summoned firemages to his side again.
The king himself sat dazed, his eyes vacant, muttering incomprehensibly as if lost in some dream.
"Your Grace!"
Suddenly, a young firemage, recently inducted into the Kingsguard, rushed into the hall. His face was pale with urgency.
"Your Grace, disaster! Lord Varys has been killed!"
The name sent shock through the room.
It took Aerys a long moment before he seemed to comprehend.
"Who did you say?!" he roared.
"Varys, Your Grace! Master of Whisperers. He was shot with an arrow!"
Aerys's eyes bulged. He slammed his fists down, shouting, "Seize them! Seize everyone remotely involved! Seize them all—!"
The king's manic outburst left all present trembling.
And then—worse news arrived: Elia had escaped, taking the royal grandchildren with her.
.......
Nymeria was quickly dragged before the Iron Throne. Like Grand Maester Pycelle before her, she was drenched head to toe in wildfire.
"Speak! Who told you about the secret passages?!" Aerys bellowed from atop the Iron Throne.
"I found them myself," Nymeria answered, fearless and unflinching.
........
"Mother, I can't walk anymore..."
Rhaenys sobbed, sinking to the ground.
"Just a little further," Elia urged, desperation tightening her throat. "Once we reach Dragonstone, you'll be able to ride dragons."
She had said this countless times already.
But Rhaenys no longer believed it. She didn't know how far they had walked, nor how close pursuers might be.
Elia wanted to keep moving—but she herself was nearing collapse.
Each step sent stabs of pain through her thin legs. And she had to care not only for the son in her arms, but also her exhausted daughter.
The scene brought back memories—of playing by the fountains with her brother Oberyn.
How he had once pushed her into the water, how she had nearly drowned, and how Doran had beaten Oberyn so badly he couldn't get out of bed for a month.
Just as Elia's body and spirit both teetered on the brink, she suddenly heard footsteps behind her.
She turned—
A young man approached, carrying a bow on his back and a torch in hand.
......
"Viserys, let's go. Dreams aren't real. Rhaenys and the others are still..."
Rhaella tried to comfort her son.
She wanted to say 'safe in King's Landing', but the words caught in her throat. She wished she could have taken Elia and her children with them.
After all, it was her own son who had abandoned Elia.
As Rhaegar's mother, Rhaella felt guilt. And beyond that, pure-hearted compassion made her long to save Elia. But orders were orders, and no one could disobey Aerys.
Viserys, however, still hesitated.
He wanted to wait a little longer.
His decision to rescue Elia was not purely out of pity. There were political calculations too—holding Elia could give them leverage with Dorne.
Unlike his father, Viserys preferred a more dignified form of power.
Still, if Elia failed to arrive soon, he could not linger. If Aerys changed his mind and summoned him back, the consequences could be dire.
At that moment, Ser Willem knocked on the cabin door.
He entered, carrying a black dragonbone bow.
___________________
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