Five years ago, Elia had promised herself that she would never be taken off guard by her husband again. Thus, when news of his victory over Robert Baratheon had reached her own ears, she had spent weeks lost in her thoughts as she grappled with each potential scenario of what might occur next. In a way, she had expected that he might return with a new mistress. After all, he had started a war over Lyanna Stark. What was to stop him from keeping her with him now that he was King and her betrothed was dead by his own hand? Elia had steeled herself for such a scenario. So much so that she hadn’t even flinched when Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark had arrived in King’s Landing together. It was only when she caught sight of the small bundle in the girl’s arms that the initial alarm set in, followed swiftly by humiliation and a deep anger that burned through her at a rate which would put her husband’s Targaryen ancestors to shame.Â
     How she had felt then couldn’t remotely compare to how Elia was feeling now. She could practically hear her heart drumming in her chest as an unsettling feeling swelled within her heart. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and her knuckles to turn bone white as she gripped at the balcony with a strength she had only known herself to possess when she had brought her children into the world. For a moment, she could only stare wide-eyed at the two children below her as the younger boy quickly overpowered his half-brother in the play sword-fight. Little Jon giggled in delight at his victory while Aegon merely pouted at the younger boy from his place on the ground, although he quickly jumped back onto his feet and demanded a rematch. Both boys were far too engaged in their little spat about whether they should attempt another round to bother paying any mind to the adults gathered around them, even as a cacophony of applause and congratulatory messages for Jon filled the courtyard. Elia, however, couldn’t ignore how the words, which had no doubt been whispered in secrecy since the day that Lyanna and Jon had arrived at court, were now being openly spoken.
                          “That boy is truly Rhaegar’s son.”
     This was precisely what she had been afraid of from the moment Rhaegar had returned with Jon and Lyanna. The history of the Blackfyre Rebellions had been as present in her mind then as it was now. She had known since the moment she had married Rhaegar that prejudice against her Dornish blood would always cause the rest of the realm to view her children as outsiders rather than heirs. Perhaps Rhaegar had willingly ignored how precarious Aegon’s position as his heir truly was when introducing Jon as his new son, an inadvertent rival to Aegon’s claim. One without the Dornish ancestry the bigots of the realm were so opposed to. But Elia wasn’t about to endanger her son’s birthright the way his father had. It was for this very reason that she couldn’t recall having spoken more than a few words to Lyanna Stark in the past five years. Instead, she had elected to ignore the younger girl’s attempts at friendship and dejected looks when Elia had refused to entertain such notions. However, in spite of the cold demeanour that she had forced herself to adopt for Aegon’s sake, Elia’s anger had only ever been directed at Rhaegar’s behaviour and oversights, never at Lyanna nor her son. How could she be angry at the Stark girl when she herself was still a child? Thus, even if she had never acknowledged him publicly, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to deny Jon the opportunity to interact with her own children as the three of them grew up together.
     Perhaps that had been a mistake and she was to pay the price for it now.Â
     Shooting the whispering observers a sharp look, Elia did her best to reign in the scowl that was threatening to creep onto her lips. Her body recovered faster than her mind and before she had even realized it herself, the maester was letting out alarmed reminders of her health as her feet flew over the stones of the Red Keep in an attempt to reach the children as quickly as she could. A snort quietly made its way past her lips. As if. She had survived both Rhaenys and Aegon’s births, Rhaegar’s repeated humiliation, and a year spent as his mad father’s hostage. Did they really still think that her health would be what killed her, when she had spent her entire lifetime managing it herself?Â
     A beaming grin broke across Aegon’s face as she came into view, but the excited greeting he had only half gotten out turned into an affronted cry as Elia clasped a chubby little hand from both Jon and Aegon into each of her own before promptly dragging both boys out of the courtyard, ignoring how the observers’ whispers only grew more fervent at the sight of her taking Jon away.
     “Mother!” Aegon’s whine fell on deaf ears as the grip on his hand only tightened when Elia felt him attempting to squirm out of her hold. While Jon had gone dead silent the moment Elia had grabbed onto his hand, Aegon continued to struggle the entire time it had taken for his mother to flag down his Septa and pass him onto her. It was only when she had started to make the trek towards Lyanna’s chambers with Jon in tow that she caught sight of the unsettled, questioning gaze in his grey eyes and it cut through the haze of panic and regret that had been clouding Elia’s head since the moment Aegon had fallen on his behind.
     Elia’s footsteps slowed to a halt as the beginnings of guilt trickled in for what she was about to do. Frowning, in one fluid motion she had crouched down before the boy instead, whose eyes immediately avoided her own as he now shuffled in discomfort in response to the unprecedented action from her. Briefly, Elia found herself once again searching for any trace of Rhaegar amongst the Stark features only to reach the same conclusion as she did each time that she looked at Jon. This time, Elia squeezed his hand gently as a soft smile worked its way across her face.
     “It’s almost time for your trip to Winterfell, isn’t it?” She reminded him kindly. Immediately, at the mention of Winterfell, the stiffness appeared to dissipate from Jon’s body as he now met her eyes. With a shy smile, he sent a little nod of affirmation in her direction. “Shall I take you back to your mother, then? She should be done packing by now.” Completely relaxed now, Jon nodded once more and happily gripped onto Elia’s hand as he practically skipped down the halls alongside her. Upon reaching Lyanna’s closed door, Elia felt her own body grow rigid. Each year, when the time came for the annual trip to Winterfell, it was usually the other way around. Lyanna would always bring Jon for an awkward, yet civil goodbye, while the children would hug and proclaim how much they would miss one another. However, it was quickly becoming apparent to Elia that perhaps that was another mistake. As Jon eagerly knocked on his mother’s door, Elia let out a nervous breath and prepared herself for what was to come next.
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