𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅 | Viserys Targaryen

THE PRELUDE

281 AC
STARFALL, DORNE

LADY ASHARA DAYNE SPENT A NIGHT AND A DAY CRYING, ALONE, AFTER THE EVENTS AT HARRENHAL. She wept more than she thought possible, and a few weeks after the tourney she realised that her actions had had longer-lasting effects. The aftermath was brutal, and Lady Ashara knew she should not have allowed herself to be seduced and romanced so swiftly.

It had always been so easy for her. She could have her pick of any man she wanted and she'd have them wrapped around her finger before she knew it – but she was a noble woman from an old, noble house, and she couldn't afford to be bedded by just anyone. Not when she was supposed to be 'pure' on the day she finally wed. There was no chance of that now. There was a bastard blossoming in her belly, and there was nothing she could bring herself to do to stop it.

But the man she slept with hadn't been 'just anyone'. He was the best man she knew, and dare she say it, she loved him.

Elia would never, ever forgive her. Ashara was supposed to be her best friend – they treated each other like sisters, and all Ashara had done to honour Elia's kindness was to betray her by breaking her heart. Ashara would not forgive herself, and if Elia had half the sense she was said to have, she would not forgive her either.

Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall cried into her plush pillows and curled herself up in her silk sheets, begging for her body to cave in on her, or for a hole to appear beneath her feet to swallow up her and her grief. Poor, poor Eddard. Ashara had liked him. A lot. But she had liked the look of the Prince of Dragonstone even more. She and the Quiet Wolf had shared an awkward – yet lovely – dance at the tourney, and Ashara liked to think she was capable of one day returning his affections. His quiet demeanour and nobility was what Ashara had liked so much about him, but she had ruined any and all chance of marrying some Lord or nobleman by sleeping with a man she most definitely shouldn't have.

And Ashara had the nerve to dance with Elia's brother, Oberyn, that same night she slept with her husband, Rhaegar.

The Gods had to believe her, she hadn't meant for it to happen! It wasn't her fault she was so taken by his handsome smile and hypnotic purple eyes. All along (although she didn't realise until now) she had been laughing a little too hard at his jokes, and was always so eager to hear news of him from Elia. Then at Harrenhal it took one smile, too many glasses of wine, and numerous stolen glances for Ashara to end up in bed with him by the end of the night.

And now she was pregnant – her belly had already begun to swell slightly with the future King of Westeros' bastard. Ashara liked to think that, for Elia's sake, he wouldn't father any bastards. She was a hypocrite and she knew it. She was a hypocrite and she hated it.

A knock on her door silenced her cries, and Ashara bundled herself up in her blankets and swiped the tears from off her cheeks. "Enter."

One of her handmaidens, Lylian, poked her head in her Lady's room and smiled upon seeing her all wrapped up. In her hands she held a tray which held a bowl of something steaming, and a warm drink.

"I brought you some supper, my Lady." Lylian set the tray down and lit a candle by Ashara's bedside. "Rabbit stew and some mulled wine. I heard the maesters saying the warm weather won't last."

And it hadn't. The temperature had already dropped compared to what it had been; a significant temperature change in Dorne meant it would be felt all across Westeros. Ashara pulled her furs tighter around her and tried to smile at Lilyan, although it came across as more of a grimace.

Lilyan was a typical Dornish beauty, with thick black hair and sun kissed skin, and wide brown eyes. She was far too pretty to be a lowborn girl through and through, and although she claimed to be girl born without noble blood, Ashara would bet on her father having been a highborn Lord. She was good, and Ashara could trust her with her life. Ashara did trust her with her life.

Just as Lilyan moved to leave, Ashara extended her hand as though fumbling around to grip the empty air, and Lilyan stopped sharply. "Please, wait! Don't go."

Lilyan turned back, thick eyebrows pulled into a frown, creasing her forehead. "My lady?"

"Don't... don't say anything. Just listen. Please, just listen."

Ashara didn't quite know where to begin. Her chest felt tight and her eyes were watering, and like she didn't quite know where to look or what to even say. She had come too far now; she couldn't go back. She couldn't back out of any of this.

Where to begin? When Ashara first realised she loved Rhaegar? The tourney? What happened after the tourney? It was all too much – there was too much going on, and Ashara didn't know where to begin or how to even word anything.

"I lay with Rhaegar."

Ashara wished she had said nothing at all after the words left her mouth. And the look on Lilyan's face confirmed all Ashara already knew. That she was a disappointment, a disgrace to her house, and a disgrace to her friend, Elia.

"My... my lady—"

"Don't," she snapped suddenly. "I know I made a mistake, I know I am undeserving of any and all forgiveness. Please... this I know."

I shouldn't be here, Ashara thought bitterly, although she was thankful she was back home in Starfall. A few weeks after the tourney, Ashara could no longer bare to sit and grin in the same room as Elia and Rhaegar and their children, knowing full well what she did. So she had made up an excuse, told them her brother, Ser Arthur, had been wounded in battle, and she left.

Ashara did not confirm when she would be back, but she said she would need some time to stay with her family, away from Dragonstone and back home in Dorne. Elia had begged to go with her to visit her own family, but Ashara had said she was a princess and needed to stay with her prince and their children. Ashara would return after she gave birth – without Rhaegar Targaryen's bastard.

Ashara didn't know what she would do with it – the baby – when it was born. The idea of throwing it into the ocean wasn't favourable, and she couldn't exactly present it proudly to her parents, parading it around court. And wouldn't someone recognise her if she were to give up the baby to some orphanage?

"You have to help me, Lilyan. Please, help me. I don't know what to do."

Lilyan's warm brown eyes softened as she approached Ashara, grabbing her pale hands in her own. "Are you with child, my lady?"

Ashara swallowed painfully as tears fell from her violet eyes. She nodded, and Lilyan smiled softly, cupping her cheek.

"No one has to know. No one will know," she assured the noblewoman. "I will be with you once the child is born. The ships from the port sail for Essos. The sailors do not have to know the child is yours, my lady. No one will know."

Ashara whimpered, "Please, don't tell my mother or my father. Nor Arthur or Allyria. Please."

"Of course," Lilyan soothed, pulling Ashara closer to embrace her. Her covers pooled on the floor and around Lilyan's ankles, and Ashara's shoulder shook as she sobbed.

Ashara wept against Lilyan's shoulder; the tight feeling in her chest worsened. Someone knew. Just one person, but someone knew. Ashara couldn't quite process the information. She began to wonder if throwing herself from the The Palestone Sword would do her any good. At least she would no longer feel the excruciating, harrowing guilt she felt, eating away at her chest and turning her insides to rot.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: quick chapter which explains everything. some of y'all guessed Alia's parentage, and here it is all written down. yikes! x