I b e g you-can we please get another chapter of the Queen Regent Elia Martell and Rhaegar at the wall-fic?😭❤️✨❤️ Pretty please?
It’s as she’s poring over the latest granary reports that her door bursts open—something that might have surprised her under normal circumstances, had she not been expecting this exact entrance for days now.
“Have you heard what they’re calling her?” exclaims Arthur, barely waiting until the door is closed to start in on his tirade.
Elia doesn’t look up from the reports. “Yes, Arthur, I’ve heard. I really don’t see the problem. She’s good at arms, that should make you proud.”
“She’s going by Mariah Morningstar.”
“A nice bit of alliteration, don’t you think? Rhaenys came up with it, I believe.”
With a sigh, she sets aside the papers and turns to him. He looks about two minutes away from having an apoplexy. “All right, perhaps it’s a bit on the nose,” she allows. “But she’s four-and-ten, we should be grateful she’s not sneaking off with stableboys.”
“On the nose?” he asks. “She may as well announce it to the world.”
Elia rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Arthur. We may never have confessed who her father is, but everyone at court has figured it out. She looks just like you, and we’ve shared a bed for over twenty years now. It’s not exactly a secret.”
“She’s too much like your brother.”
“She’s as stubborn as me and as dedicated as you. Maybe Oberyn enables her, but we’ve got only ourselves to blame for the rest.”
He slumps down on the bed, as tightly strung as a bow.
“Oh, relax. You’re going to get wrinkles.” With a sly smile, she abandons her reports entirely and climbs onto the bed. Slowly sliding his shirt over his head, she murmurs, “I know a few ways to help with that.”
“I’m not going to let this go, you know,” he warns, even as he flips her to her back and begins unlacing her gown.
“Yes, you are,” she laughs. “You will let our little girl have her nickname and you will continue training her just like you always have.”
He tosses her gown aside and mutters, “Maybe I won’t.”
“Then Rhaenys and Oberyn will take up the mantle.” She reaches up and gently cups his cheek. “It’s just a name, my love.”
He kisses her palm. “You’re right, I just…”
“It’s not a sin to worry about your child,” she says, “but it is a sin to leave your queen wanting.”
His frown turns into a smirk. “I can fix that.”