A/N: Fair warning, the updates on this are pretty sporadic. There's not a set schedule but there are chapters posted in batches with a break between.
A series of connected drabbles, in which Elia Martell and her children find themselves in the home of Harry Potter post-war.
So more of a slice-of-life look into things instead of a large story.
She woke to the soft feeling of a new featherbed, the stuffing made as if meant just for her.
It took her but a moment to recall her last and she jerked awake, hands reaching out wildly. Rhaenys was sleeping next to her, the little girl stirring as Elia scooped her up into her arms. Her heart was hammering, and only at the sight of Aegon sleeping in a crib next to the bed did she feel some of her tension dissipate.
She had thought them dead; burying her face in Rhaenys's curls tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as she imagined the fate they might have had, the fate that might still await them.
They were in an unknown room, certainly nowhere in the Red Keep that she could recall. The bed was made of a dark wood – ebony most like – with deep grey hangings that had been drawn back. The walls were painted a grey colour, and the furniture was a pale blue, one she found reminded her of the sky in Dorne.
Gently laying Rhaenys down, Elia made her way to Aegon. He was sleeping; her precious little boy slept as if he were in her arms, and she smoothed the wisps of silvery hair before making her way to the window. They were facing a forest, the woods stretched out endlessly as far as the eye could see.
She had not been undressed, her clothes from that night still with her – Aegon and Rhaenys wearing their bedclothes as well.
A small mercy, she thought.
Gripping the edge, Elia felt herself shudder, tears filling her eyes at what nearly happened. They had been left alone; her husband off with a woman child for the better part of a year while she had recovered from the birth of Aegon. Her children left at the mercy of her goodfather. Elia had never felt as hopeless as she had when the screams began and the realization that she and her children would suffer for Rhaegar's actions.
Oh Rhaegar, she thought. Was your prophecy worth it?
A sharp knock on her door jolted her from her reverie, and she was met with the sight of an unfamiliar man entering the room. He was not quite as tall as Rhaegar had been but he had a certain presence to him, something that drew the eye and forced you to acknowledge him. He stood with the stance of a warrior – eerily akin to Oberyn – black hair tousled and sharp green eyes.
"You're awake," he said. His accent was unlike anything she had ever heard; it sounded a bit like that of the Stormlanders, but with a hint of the Crownlands and something entirely different.
"You are?" she asked eyes assessing him. She moved closer to her children, body taut with tension though he did not move from the door.
"I should be asking you that, considering you somehow found your way past my wards."
Blinking in surprise, Elia considered what he had told her. He did not know who she was – surprising for someone of Westeros, so she would have to rule that out. He did not look or sound like an Essosi, though the faintly tanned skin may suggest Braavos.
"I am Princess Elia Nymeros Martell of Dorne," she said warily.
"And I'm the bloody King of England," he muttered.
"You do not believe me," she noted, a frown on her face.
"Would you believe yourself?"
Chin raised, Elia felt her back stiffen in anger. "I've no need to lie about my title but if I had I would think to hide it."
"Huh, never figured a princess would make it to my house. Harry Potter, Your Highness," he quipped sarcastically; sketching the most atrocious bow she had ever seen from someone with the noble bearing his features suggested.
"How did you get here?" His face had hardened, cold green eyes piercing hers.
"I do not recall," she murmured, hesitating at the sudden change. He was no longer the sarcastic lord, instead turning into a battle-hardened warrior who could kill her as he pleased.
"You managed to get through centuries old wards on a whim?" He asked disbelievingly.
"I do not know these wards you speak of but I assure you, my lord, I did not enter your home willingly," she snapped coldly. "There was an attack on our keep, the city sacked. One moment Rhaenys had entered the nursery, a man chasing after her. The next I recall is waking here."
Lord Potter's eyes had strayed toward the bed where Rhaenys slept unaware, eyes softening with unknown emotion.
"It's just the three of you?" he asked softly.
"Yes, just we three," she replied coolly. He seemed to come to some sort of decision, eyes lingering on Aegon in his crib.
"Get some rest princess," he said quietly, "you and your children may stay here."