THE END OF AN ERA
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125 AC, Sunspear
Qoren Martell knew his time was coming to an end.
He had known it for moons now. In the beginning, just after the failed attempt on him and his family, he truly had believed the danger had passed. That they had emerged out of the conspiracy against House Martell without any losses. But their victory had been celebrated too soon.
It started off with him noticing how the wound on his shoulder didn't seem to heal. Qoren had been injured in battles several times before – never stabbed though – and he knew that while it could take time for skin to re-grow into a scar. Yet a little over a moon after the attack there was no progress. In fact, the wound looked as fresh as it had when the healer first stitched it together.
Being stabbed was a pain – he could have guessed that – yet what he'd never guessed was how it got increasingly worse with time. Qoren's assumption was that the striking throb of pain that shot through his entire arm when the blade pierced his skin in the sept was the peak. The days that followed there was a lingering ache that the healers assured would pass eventually.
Qoren truly became concerned when he noticed the switch in Jorario Nohiros, Sunspear's main healer's, demeanour during examinations. Instead of simply cleaning the wound and changing the bandages he'd spent what felt like hours simply studying the seemingly fresh cut with a deep frown. Every other day, he'd try a new herb or method that surely would speed up – or rather start – the healing process. Nothing ever worked.
At first, the pain was bearable, it simply felt like he had overdone himself in the training yard, but eventually it reached a point where he no longer could hide it. Especially not from Valyria who seemed to have noticed something was wrong from the start. Countless times had Qoren assured his fretting wife everything was fine but he should have known she always was right.
In the beginning, the deterioration of his health went slowly. Then it reached a point when it didn't seem to get any worse; he'd constantly be reminded of it by the shortness of breath and lingering aches that made it impossible for him to train or ride like he used to. For a while there he simply thought that it was as bad as it would get; that he'd live out the rest of his life with the proof of the attack like a man losing his hand or foot in war.
Now he truly wished that had been the case. Living out the rest of his life as a cripple somehow felt better than slowly feeling your body giving up on you. When Qoren visited King's Landing alongside Valyria and laid eyes on Viserys Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms, one of the most powerful men in the known world, he couldn't help but think it was a truly pitiful sight.
Back then he couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have your body give up like that. To slowly fade away. Now he knew how excruciating it felt to look at yourself in the mirror every morning and see the change; how his skin paled, cheeks grew hollow from his lacking appetite and his slowly thinning limbs. The solution was to avoid any mirrors.
Unfortunately, while he no longer could see the evidence of his nearing demise – his wife and children surely could. The twins quickly caught up on how he'd grow tired quickly and would wince every time he lifted his arm. He noticed how they became more helpful – not that they hadn't always been quick to assist him if he asked – but now they'd offer to carry things for him and make sure he never had to reach for anything.
Cassian also caught up eventually. The young boy took his lessons more seriously and without a complaint he'd listen to Qoren or Lewyn when they tried to teach him how to be the future Prince of Dorne. Valyria also told him about her conversation with Cassian in the gardens and how their son had seen through their attempt to discreetly prepare him for taking over the title a bit sooner than anyone thought.
Aelia was the only one who still couldn't see the seriousness of the situation. The little princess was nearly four namedays old, and whilst a clever little girl, the concept of death was not something she had grasped yet. All she asked was why he looked tired sometimes. Much like Daeron – whom Qoren had grown very fond of – she couldn't understand what her parents and siblings meant when they said Qoren was very sick.
It broke Qoren's heart to think about how he wouldn't be there to see his children grow up. Chances were that he'd never even see either of them reach their tenth namedays. He'd never see them get married or have children of their own. All he could do was make sure he left this world having given them the best opportunities in life.
"Time for bed," Valyria said, blowing out the candle that stood on the table in front of him.
During his visit to the Red Keep, Qoren had also gotten to witness firsthand how Valyria acted around the King. Despite how Viserys was old enough to be her father, the princess mothered him. She'd tell him not to drink as much and to rest whenever the king appeared tired. It was in Valyria's nature to care for others. Now she was doing the same with him. Had it been the other way around, Qoren knew his wife likely would have exploded with irritation if he acted the same way.
"I was finishing a letter," Qoren raised an eyebrow, showcasing his annoyance.
"You said the same thing two letters ago," Valyria pointed out, not letting his irritation bother her. "I'm tired now too."
"Then go to bed," Qoren told her, leaning back in his chair. A fortnight ago, when he found himself getting winded from walking between his study and bedchambers, Valyria and Lewyn decided it was better to simply move a desk and chair into their chambers.
"Mhm," Valyria pursed her lips in annoyance. She leaned against the desk just by his chair, "How have you been feeling today?"
"Not better, not worse," Qoren shrugged, taking her hand in his. "I guess that's the best we can hope for these days."
"Don't say that," Valyria shook her head. Deep down she knew it was true. Both of them did. Valyria wasn't the kind of person that turned to the Gods and prayed for a miracle; she looked at the facts in front of her and at the moment they told them all that he didn't have much time left. "What did Jorario say today?"
"The infection has gotten worse," Qoren confessed, knowing there was no use in lying to her. He didn't want to lie to her. There was no reason to lull his wife into feeling hope since it only would cause her more pain in the end. "And it's spreading."
Valyria nodded, clearly trying to keep her expression from showing much to not rub salt into his already infected wounds. Pity was the last thing Qoren wished for. He didn't want his wife and children to start their mourning long before his demise, nor did he want them to mourn him forever.
"Cassian joined me today when meeting with a few visiting lords," Qoren told her. "He did very well. I must admit, he is much more mature than I was at his age."
"His maturity came from me then," Valyria joked.
"It must," Qoren chuckled, wincing a bit when his shoulders moved. "I wish I could have gotten more years to train him, but one thing I do not have to fear is leaving Dorne to our son. We raised him well."
"He is still just a boy," Valyria pointed out. "A child."
"Dorne will be safe under your stewardship," Qoren claimed confidently, smiling lovingly at his wife. "You with the help of Lewyn will rule together until Cassian comes of age, and then you will continue to guide him when he takes his rightful place as Prince of Dorne."
"I can only imagine all of your ancestors rolling in their graves at the thought of a Targaryen being the regent of Dorne," Valyria snorted in an attempt to bring some humour to the situation. He appreciated it since the last thing he wished for was that his wife would spend their last moons together walking on needles around him.
"Perhaps it's time for the dragons and suns to unite for real," Qoren said quietly. "We are both of fire after all."
.•° ✿ °•.
Having someone you loved slowly wither away before your eyes, knowing there is nothing you could possibly do to stop it, was possibly one of the most agonising feelings in the world. Looking down at her husband's hollowed cheeks and glazed over eyes felt like an image from her nightmares; how a man so filled with life and happiness could succumb into nothing but a ghost of his former self.
For years she had seen the same thing happen to Viserys. It started with a few infected scabs from when he cut himself on the Iron Throne that now had evolved into lost limbs, greying skin and him seemingly ageing thirty years in the past decade. Yet, Viserys still lived after over a decade of fighting his growing illness.
Qoren's illness progressed in a different way. The poison worked much quicker than a lifelong illness. The Prince was still young and of good health when the poisoned blade cut his shoulder which according to the healers was the only reason he had lasted this long. Four moons.
Four moons of daily visits from healers that couldn't figure out how to heal him...
Four moons of watching a man she loved dearly barely being able to spend time with their children due to pains and fatigue...
Four moons of not knowing if she'd wake up one morning and he'd be gone...
Both Lewyn and Valyria tried very hard to not let their grief overwhelm them when they all gathered around Qoren's bed. They knew that if they broke down it would all become even more difficult for the children. At this moment - when watching their father lie on his deathbed - they needed their mother and uncle to lean on.
"His time is near," Jorario Nohiros whispered, walking up to Valyria who stood at the foot of the bed.
"There is nothing else you can do?" Valyria asked with the last living hope she held onto.
"No, I am afraid not, princess," Jorario shook his head, dark eyes downcast. "I offered him Milk of the Poppy for the pain, but he refused. I am sorry."
"There is nothing to apologise for, you have done everything you can," Valyria said, not capable of mustering a polite smile. "Thank you." The older man bowed in front of her and turned to send a sad look over at the prince he had treated since he was but a babe.
"Thank you for everything, Jorario," Qoren said weakly.
"It's been my pleasure to serve you, Your Highness," Jorario told him sincerely, offering his prince one final bow before leaving the room.
Aelia was crying, sitting on the bed beside her father. "I don't want you to leave," the little princess sobbed, the reality of the situation finally catching up with her.
"I will always be with you, my sweet princess," Qoren rasped out. At this point, he was too weak to sit up in bed. Instead he was lying propped up on pillows. Aelia climbed up to hug her father, who winced at the sudden force but said nothing as hugged his daughter for the last time. Meanwhile, Valyria walked over to wrap her arms around the twins who silently were crying over the loss of the man who had been like a father to them for a majority of their lives.
On the other side of the bed, Lewyn stood, a grim expression on his face. One of his hands rested on Cassian's shoulder. Daeron stood over by Serra who also seemed to be struggling against tears that threatened to escape her brown eyes.
Noticing the way her husband struggled to keep his eyes open, Valyria stepped forward. She ran a hand through her daughter's silver-gold hair, "Aelia, love," Valyria's voice broke and she took a second to gather herself, "come here." Gently she managed to pry the little girl from her father. The little Martell princess buried her face in her mother's hair, shoulders shaking with every sob. Valyria looked over at the twins, and gave them a nod in Qoren's direction. Both of them stepped forward towards the bed while she rocked her four namedays old daughter.
"I blame not being able to tell you two apart one last time on tiredness," Qoren joked weakly. Smiles cracked through the twins' grief stricken faces. "I hope you know I love you both like my own daughters."
"We know," they chorused. "Father."
Mindful of how their step-father clearly was in pain, the twins took turns in saying their farewells by giving him a kiss on the cheek. When they stepped back, Valyria handed Aelia over to Cyrenna and the three girls, alongside Daeron, left the room with Serra. There was no need for them to see it happen.
Cassian left his uncle's side to stand by his father's. "I'm so proud of you, Cassian," Qoren told him sincerely. "I've always been proud of you. I could not have asked for a better son." The young prince's lip wobbled as he desperately tried to not completely lose it and break down. "You are going to make a splendid Prince of Dorne, I just know it."
Those words made Cassian break and he stepped forward to hug his father. Valyria had more and more troubles keeping her own emotions at bay. She felt Lewyn wrap an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder in assurance. Father and son whispered something to each other before Cassian stepped back, going straight for his mother, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly. While Lewyn walked closer and kneeled beside the bed, Valyria held her son close.
"Take care of them," Qoren told his older brother. "Please."
"Until my last breath," Lewyn vowed, a single tear running down his cheek, into his beard. "I thought the perk of being the older brother was avoiding this. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, little brother."
"You always have," Qoren smiled weakly. "I could not have asked for a better brother."
After one last embrace, Lewyn stepped back, "Come here, Cas, we should give you parents a moment," he said, placing a comforting hand on his nephew's shoulder whilst leading him out of the room.
Only Valyria remained. Her feet felt like they were being weighed down by stones as she walked over to the bed and lowered herself down to sit on the mattress. Qoren gazed up on her through tired eyes; her hair was in a simple braid that had started to loosen up, so strands of hair hung freely down to frame her face.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you look?" he asked.
Smiling sadly, she said, "Once or twice. I believe that was the reason you married me in the first place."
"The best decision I ever made," Qoren smiled weakly. "Who said thinking with your cock is a bad idea?"
At his crude choice of words, she couldn't help but let out a small laugh, "Everyone at the time, I am sure." Reaching forward, she moved away a dark strand of his hair that clung to his sweaty forehead. "Choosing to marry you – it was probably the best decision I've made," Valyria confessed. The past decade had been the most peaceful years of her life. "No woman could ever have asked for a better husband."
Slowly she leaned forward and delicately kissed him, leaning her forehead against his afterwards. "I love you."
"I love you too, Valyria Targaryen," Qoren said, using the little strength he had left to clutch her hand in his. By now, his eyes were barely open. "Promise me one thing."
"Anything," Valyria said, "within reason."
"Don't – force yourself to be alone," Qoren asked, eyes dropping close every other second. "Find happiness – again." Then, in a mumble, he added, "And don't hold back. Take what is yours – be - be the Queen you – were bo-rn – to be."
"I will," Valyria promised, shocked by his words. It was not what she expected him to say and she did not get much time to ponder over them more. She felt his fingers loosen around her hand just as his eyes closed for the last time.
"Qoren?" she asked. There was no response. No movement. Nothing.
"Qoren?" Valyria tried again, placing a hand on his cheek but nothing. The sob she had tried holding in for so long shook her entire body. Clutching his hand tightly, she leaned forward, placing her head against her husband's chest as she cried. Countless nights had she fallen asleep to the soft beating of his heart and now the absence of the rhythmic heartbeats felt like a punch in the gut.
.•° ✿ °•.
If there was something worse than watching a man she loved dearly – the father of her children – slowly dying, it was seeing his lifeless body laid out on display for all of those wishing to say their final prayers to the former Prince of Dorne.
Especially when it was in the same place that they had been attacked in only moons earlier. Looking around, Valyria could see it all again; the men charging forward with their weapons, ready to kill them both. The fight that broke out afterwards. Dead bodies scattered on the ground afterwards. Only now, there was but one.
Dressed in his finest garments of yellow and orange – the only spot of colours amongst the dark fabrics of the mourners – as he laid upon the altar. The rich silks covered up the scar on his shoulder but one could see the upper part of the stitched up cut peeking out behind the fabric. His hands were clasped together over his chest and per tradition he held a sword pointing down.
Two funeral stones had been placed over the closed eyes, each painted to resemble open eyes. It was one of many traditions Valyria never understood. Supposedly, it had the symbolic meaning of reminding the faithful not to fear death cause it wouldn't be the end; when someone closes their eyes in this world, it is to open them in the afterlife.
The Targaryen tradition of cremating their deceased family members with dragonfire suddenly felt preferable. Thinking back to Aemma's funeral, when the Queen had been wrapped up in fabrics, covered from sight before being burned by dragonfire, she couldn't help but wish it was the same now. Being forced to look at her dead husband like that felt cruel. She could almost convince herself that he was asleep. That he'd wake up soon with a stupid grin. But that would never happen.
Valyria stood by the altar, dressed in a black dress of dornish fashion – albeit a bit less revealing than usually. Her silver hair was pulled into a braided bun at the back of her head. It was the only light colour on her person and Valyria covered most of it with a black lace that rested atop her head. Through the thin holes of the lace, the light strands were visible, but it was mostly obscured by the dark fabric.
She had lost track of how many nobles had given her their condolences about twenty well-wishers ago. Standing beside her husband for one last time drained the energy out of body and mind; by now every single word came out without any thought. Everyone said essentially the same anyway.
Lewyn stood nearby the entire time and by the time the ceremony was about to start, the children had all arrived as well. The Martells stood in a row, Cassian and Aelia flanking their mother's sides, as they watched the septon recite a few blessings.
For the second time in her life, Valyria was widowed. Only she could not even compare this feeling to how she had felt when Lucian died. Or rather, what she hadn't felt.
Valyria Targaryen, the former Lady of Casterly Rock, stood dutifully by her husband who lay upon an altar. Beside her, Ceira Lannister was crying softly for the death of her eldest son. For all the western bannermen, it was clear who out of the two women that were the most distraught over Lucian Lannister's death.
The young widow of four-and-ten was saddened over losing her husband, she had not really known him. His death had been sudden and unexpected; killed by outlaws when he was out hunting alongside his guards and two of his companions. When the news reached her, Valyria was stunned but she could not bring herself to mourn him much more than she would if one of her handmaiden's passed; in fact, she'd probably be more saddened by such death because at least she spoke with her handmaidens.
Only a few tears could be seen running down her cheek at the funeral; tears that she practically had to force. Valyria nearly felt more bad about not feeling much than she did over her late husband's death. Less than a year of marriage and the two had only spoken when necessary. No one knew if their relationship could have blossomed into at least a friendship; what Valyria did know was that she pretty much was burying a stranger.
Therefore it felt weird how everyone seemed to be directing their condolences towards her. They were all sorry for her loss. Many claimed that her husband would be missed. It struck her how she probably knew Lucian less than many of the people offering their support. She felt like an imposter. Ceira, Jason and Tyland were all mourning the loss of a family member - of a brother or a son that they had known and loved for years. But their grief was pushed aside in favour of hers.
All Valyria had done to be there was her duty. She married Lucian because that's what she had been told to do. Stepping into the marriage she knew exactly what was expected of her. While it was not something she wanted, Valyria said her vows with the knowledge that the man before her could be the man she spent the remainder of her life with, for better or likely for worse.
Watching the Silent Sisters drape a black, see through blanket over her husband, Valyria couldn't help but think about how lucky she had been the second time around. Much like her first marriage, this one had been founded on duty. The only reason she agreed to it in the first place was to stop the war in the Stepstones. To unite Dorne with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.
Yet over time it blossomed into so much more.
For nearly a decade, Qoren had been her best friend and greatest confidant. The person she shared her thoughts and burdens with. Her pillar to lean on when everything else in life was spinning around. Vows upheld by duty turned into a love that she'd never forget.
When the ceremony was over, Valyria looked at her husband one last time before it was time to leave the sept. It was with heavy footsteps she claimed the stairs leading up to the double doors. They opened, and the blazing sun momentarily blinded her as she stepped out alongside her children.
Her life would never be the same again. In less than a decade, Valyria managed what her ancestors had failed for a century. She brought Dorne closer to the rest of the kingdoms.
___________
And that marks the end of Act II😞☀️
Be prepared for Daemon P.O.V next week