#elia week 2024

[chemtrailsoverthesun]

Thank you to @rinthecap for this Elia x Rhaegar art! So glad it was done in time for elia week ☺️

[archamion]

Day 01: Elia and her children

“Reunion” (somewhere in the afterlife) ❤️‍🩹

[dorneuniverse]

Elia Martell Week 2024: Free Choice

[dorne-source]

AU: Elia escapes King's Landing with her children

ELIA WEEK 2024

Elia and Rhaenys

[the-golden-viper-of-dorne]

Elia week 2024,

Elia and her nieces

@eliamartellappreciation @eliaweek @asoiafwomensource @1nsaankahanhai-bkr @elia-martell-creative-fest @saltywinteradult @forcesmuggler

[martellspear]

─── ELIA WEEK - DAY O2

Doran & Oberyn: I had a sister

[fandom-trash-goblin]

SHE WAS ELIA OF DORNE

Elia Week: Day 2-> Princess & Knight

Elia and Oberyn, Oberyn and Elia, two words melding together to make one entity. Joint at the hips, should have been twins, their mother had joked, and Oberyn had felt nothing but pride for it. It was true, after all, they were each other's soul. And yet, yet—        Oberyn could not save Elia. Doran says, it was not your fault, brother. The Lannisters will pay for it— but it was his fault. If a knight does not save his princess, there is no worth to him. Elia was dead, and the sky didn’t fall into pieces— only Oberyn did. And that was something he could not forgive, could not stop resenting. Oberyn had failed in saving Elia, so all that was left to him was justice, was — vengeance.

[tell-them-the-north-remembers]

ELIA WEEK DAY 1: ELIA AND HER CHILDREN

"What more do you remember ?"

He asked and she seemed more invested than ever, like the more he asked the more she remembered.

"I remember she said something. About taking your sister to the Water Gardens, once she was old enough to play."

He looked at her intently, curiously. He waited and waited to hear more of that day but she remembered no more...

The Water Gardens on AO3 ---> Read here!

[untilmynextstory]

Elia Week 2024

Day 4: Elia x Rhaegar, Betrayal

SUMMARY: Bruised and battered, Elia Martell watches as Rhaegar returns victorious from the Trident.

This piece was inspired by  Crooked Kingdom by @martellspear

In the early days of her marriage, Elia harbored a hopeful belief that love, though not a currency in her union, could still find a place. She yearned for friendship, respect, and perhaps a love that would be reciprocated. A love that may not burn hot and bright but hopefully steady. She understood that survival in the treacherous realm of King’s Landing necessitated a way to love her husband. 

After all, the Crown Prince should have been easy to convince herself to love. She remembered him from before when he had visited Dorne. She couldn’t deny the strange beauty he possessed, a beauty that seemed to have faded with time in her eyes. He was quiet, bookish, and respectful, traits that had once endeared him to her. He had treated her with respect and as an equal, a memory she clung to when her mother had informed her of their marriage, a memory that now seemed distant and elusive. 

Even during the first year of marriage, she had thought they formed a friendship. They could be companions. Love would come with time, as she could recognize the outside pressures, as his father would never allow them a time and place to nurture something distinctly their own. 

It was after the birth of Rhaenys that Elia's hope for love in her marriage was shattered. The love she once believed could grow and flourish had been petrified like elusive dragon eggs. This painful realization left her with a sense of profound sadness and resignation. 

She foolishly thought her husband had not inherited the Targaryan madness. She spent plenty of time with Rhaella, and despite the cage Aerys had her in, she was always very level-headed. She knew how to play the game of thrones better than the King and her son. 

Yet, she ignored the first tint of it from her husband. She had been recovering from Rhaenys birth. She remembered the comet and Rhaegar’s mutterings about a prince. She was so tired and hurting, but she had wifely duties. She remembered Ashara helping clean up the blood afterward, and she felt that was more prophetic than the scrolls her husband buried himself in. 

Any fondness had been hard to grasp, scattered like wind. She no longer felt the fire from his gaze or the warmth of his touch. Everything had turned to ice, colder than she imagined the Wall to be. By then, she didn’t know if she was even upset at what happened at that tourney. 

Sure, she had her pride. She expected her husband to have a mistress at some point. No matter how discreet he could be, the walls talked in the Red Keep; she had prepared herself for that as a wife of a Prince and soon-to-be King. She couldn’t stand the cloak of pity and embarrassment his actions had bestowed on her. He forced her into the role of being the meek, spurned older wife. She already heard talk about how a Dornish woman couldn’t keep her husband.

Then she became pregnant with Aegon, and she regretfully thought she might die and Rhaegar could be happy with the wolf girl. Elia was not a fool to believe the two were not keeping in contact no matter how much he caressed her belly and played with their daughter. 

Then Aegon was born, and Elia felt relief that he had his heir. Then, relief turned to anger once she woke to find her husband gone from Dragonstone without a word. Their child was barely a week old. Ashara told her what the maester had said about the prospect of a third child. 

The dragon must have three heads. 

All Elia could do was laugh. Yet, her laughter turned to rib-cracking sobs as she mourned what would never be. Her husband didn’t care for her as his wife. She was only a vessel to be used for his prophecy - their children were just pieces to the prophecies he needed to fulfill. He only loved them for what they could do for him, not because they were part of him. 

She was truly on her own, both for herself and her children. 

The princess wasn’t surprised when word reached the island of the Stark girl disappearing with her husband or Aery’s summoning. His insults about her heritage and useless womb barely stung anymore. 

Nothing really hurt her anymore when it came to herself. The only hurt she felt were potential wrongs that may or could happen to her children. 

Elia looked at the desolate Red Keep. The sun was setting, cloaking the city in colors reminiscent of her house colors. When she could, she clung to any reminder of Dorne. It was Dorne who gave her strength. 

Elia didn’t know how the Crown would recover from this. She didn’t know how she would work to secure her son’s reign. The taint of his grandfather and father would forever stain him. 

She took a shaky breath, and she felt the wound on her head bleeding again. She moved to the small table that contained fresh water and cloth. 

She could still feel Ser Gregor's hands on her. Her dress was torn to shreds by him. She was surprised by being in his grip; she wasn’t crushed, and maybe the Gods were on her side that he was too slippery with blood. Grateful that Oberyn had shown her how to poison small knives. It was because of her brother she was alive. She remembered laughing and being dismissive when he had given her the knives, but she remembered the look in his eyes that made her go quiet and take him seriously. 

Oberyn had always been the one to treat her like everyone else - an equal despite her gender and health. He didn’t let her sickness hinder her despite all her scares throughout her childhood. But for the first time, she saw her brother fear for her being in King’s Landing. 

She hissed as she touched the sensitive wound, and at the same time, the door to her room opened with no preamble. She jumped, startled; her husband stood frantic in the doorframe.

It had been nearly a year since she saw her husband. 

She recalled thinking that when the raven arrived from the Trident with the words, he had survived his battle with Robert Baratheon. She recalled darkly wishing he was dead.  

Her eyes moved behind him, and she glanced at Jaime Lannister's apologetic gaze next to Arthur Dayne, the Sword of Morning. She thought his actions hurt the most. 

She wanted to tell Jaime to keep the door open, but Arthur closed it. 

She didn’t realize Rhaegar’s lips moved until he approached her. His hands encased her bruised and swollen face, and her gaze locked with his violet ones. She thought she was beginning to detest the color purple, but she was surrounded by them in the eyes of her children and her best friend. 

Her brown eyes appraised him. She thought bitterly that he didn’t look like he had gone through battle despite the dry blood flaking on him and his armor missing rubies, dented, scratched, and stained. Yet, his face showed no trace of a battle. 

“Elia?”

The sound of her name broke her out of her trance, and she winced. His touch burned. She realized he was like his father’s dreaded and beloved wildfire—all-consuming and only leaving ashes behind. 

She created space between the two of them. She could have snorted at him, looking hurt from her rejection. 

“Your Grace,” she replied hoarsely. She had only begun to be able to talk as the bruises on her throat faded. The Maester had been concerned they would have to fasten some type of neck brace due to her injuries. 

Rhaegar winced; she didn’t know from her address or realize the extent of what his actions caused her. 

She pondered the man she married. Everyone hoped this man wouldn’t be his father, but she thought bitterly that he was the same or even worse. 

“Elia…you don’t - you don’t have to address..we’re in private...”

She thought bitterly there was no such concept of privacy in the Red Keep. And now, with his actions, everyone would dissect their every move. 

She didn’t reply as she stared at him with unblinking eyes. She cursed her son for being saddled, being the image of his father. At least Rhaenys had only been given his purple eyes. 

“What happened?” He asked. 

“The Keep was attacked,” she replied succinctly. She could tell he wanted more, but she had nothing to offer him. He clearly didn’t care about her well-being the year he was gone. 

His eyes flickered around the room. There was no crib or children's toys strung about. Gregor had destroyed Aegon’s crib while looking for him, and during the clean-up, the maids had placed the toys away. 

“Where are the children?”

Elia walked back to the window where she could hear the cries of widows, children, and broken people from Rhaegar’s heads being in the cloud. 

“Not here.”

“Elia -”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “It’s not like you cared the year you were gone. They are safe.” Away from you is implied. 

“I thought you would be in Dragonstone,” he argued weakly. 

Elia snorted. Her husband - king- was a naive boy, and she didn’t feel like arguing. 

He was quiet, and she prayed he would leave, but he didn’t. “I’m still their father.”

Elia hummed but didn’t comment further. 

Instead, she walked over to the letter she had received from a rider from Starfall. She passed the missive to her husband. She didn’t miss the shaking of his hands. 

“Your lover and her son are dead. Her Lord brother found her,” she sneered. It was one thing to have a mistress but to defile her homeland. She would never forgive him for what he has done to their children and the Realm. 

Those violet eyes became teary-eyed. Her once tall, lithe, strong husband looked pitiful in her eyes. 

“Elia, I didn’t - I just needed the third head,” he explained. 

She eyed Rhaegar and contemplated how she would spend her days—years—in his presence. She knew nothing would change with him and would prefer not to have him around moping about his life decisions. His family was a prophecy of what not to do. She wished he would have gleamed that in his studies, but hubris always seemed to get in the way. 

He flew too close to the sun, and she would burn him. 

“I would like to be left alone.”

“Elia, please, we need to talk.”

“It’s way too late for talking, your Grace.”

“Elia -”

“LEAVE!” she shouted at him for the first time in their marriage. They both seemed startled at her outburst. The door slammed open in response. Ser Jaime’s eyes were frantic as he assured her safety.

“His Grace is leaving, Ser Jaime,” she told him, leaving no room for argument. She didn’t look at her husband again as he reluctantly left her room. She didn’t glance at the other pleading purple eyes following her husband. 

Instead, she picked up the second letter that Ashara had sent in their secret code, promising to raise the boy as the twin to her newborn daughter in Winterfell with her husband. 

She burned the letter and inhaled the flames. 

[blue-rose-of-wolves]

Elia Martell week 2024, Day 2: Elia with her partners. Elia and Lyanna

@asoiafrarepairs @eliamartellappreciation @saltywinteradult @forcesmuggler @love-dragoneyes @irisewithsunyourisewiththemoon

[the-last-poet-in-westeros]

Elia week, Day 4. Elia and Rhaegar

@valyrianpoem @valyriansilk @oldvalyriansongs-blog @asoiafrarepairs @asoiafwomensource @eliamartellnetwork @eliamartellappreciation @saltywinteradult @eliaxrhaegar @songs-of-love-and-doom

[eliaweek]

2 days left until Elia Martell Week

— from july 1st - july 7th

— use #elia week 2024 when posting

[catofoldstones]

Elia of Dorne and Cassandra of Troy parallels

Daenerys IV, ADWD // The Oresteia- Aeschylus // Tyrion X - A Storm of Swords // Aeneid by Virgil - Book II // Cassandra’s monologue, Agamemnon by Aeschylus //Cassandra by Anthony Fredrick Augustus Sandys - 1864// Ajax and Cassandra by Solomon J Solomon - 1886 // Kassandra by Florence and the Machine

[the-golden-viper-of-dorne]

@asoiafwomensource @eliamartellappreciation @forcesmuggler @songs-of-love-and-doom @dornedaily @dorne-source @sunofdorne

[martellspear]

─── ELIA WEEK - DAY O4

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Elia & Rhaegar - loss of my life; betrayal

[fandom-trash-goblin]

DAY 1: ELIA & HER CHILDREN-> Unkept Promises

AU: the sundragons survive.

When Rhaenys was younger, her mother had promised her— I would be there to hold your hand, always, my sun-heart. Yet Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne and the would-be-queen had lied, because she lay dead in the crypts and not by her side. And now Aegon had no one but her, the two of them against the whole world.