ii. gluttony

He has never been one to do things in half measures. When he spars, he doesn’t hold back; when he loves, he loves unconditionally; when he desires something, he can focus on little else; he wants what he has, and also what he cannot have.

And he also has a habit of acting before he thinks. Sometimes, it is to his benefit: telling Elia he loves her the first time is on impulse, and she says it back. Sometimes, it is to his detriment: he joins the Kingsguard because he was denied her hand, and before he knows it, he is locked in a lifetime of servitude. Sometimes, it gets him nowhere at all: he pleads with the king on this matter or that, and is dismissed at every turn.

It comes down like dead leaves, however, in the end. The gods deem his indulgences and impetuousness too much, and as systematically as he had built those up, they are taken away. His princess is taken, his titles and station are taken, his very life itself is taken, and he should have seen it coming.

iii. greed

He knows he should not desire all the things he does. He should not desire the prestige of the Kingsguard while also desiring the crown princess.

He should not enjoy owning the mythical Dawn, being the Sword of the Morning, while also wishing he could go back to his youth when he was Arthur, just Arthur.

He should not relish in being Prince Rhaegar’s closest confidant while also fearing what conclusions the prince comes to in his studies.

Except he does. He is contradiction in human form, and he can’t help it.

iv. sloth

Being on Dragonstone means it is dangerously easy to neglect his duties. The king is not here, nor the queen nor the heir to the throne; it’s his best friend, the love of his life, and the princely knight he’d squired for. If he doesn’t concentrate and remind himself constantly, it slips his mind that his sole purpose is to be a guard, to lay down his life if need be. It’s so easy to feel like just a regular man, the second son of Starfall, surrounded by friends.

Rhaegar shares his arcane theories and spars with him out in the yard like they’re playing a game, not practicing for battle.

Prince Lewyn ribs him good-naturedly, shares happy stories of Mistress Melessa, his paramour of longer than Arthur’s been alive, and of their two girls; it is away from disloyal ears, but only just.

Little Princess Rhaenys calls him Uncle Arthur and gestures to be let up on his shoulders, delighting in knowing nothing of her royal heritage.

And Elia...with her, it is hardest of all. He shouldn’t spend long hours conversing with her of mundane things. He shouldn’t call her Elia, she should always be Your Grace, and he shouldn’t feel the way he does.

But oh how it’s easy to forget.

v. wrath

Their arguments are as passionate as their love. No one can make her angrier than he can, get so far under her skin. No one can hurt her more than he can, because he is the brightest star in her galaxy.

When he leaves her with merely a note, no goodbye, she rips it up into tiny pieces, screams and sobs, tears her room apart. Never before had he left permanently. Always, always, they had worked it out, even if it took a week or more. They would fight, and then they would come back calmer and fix what was wrong.

But he’s no longer here. He has taken away her ability to fight and then to make up, and she hates him for it.

(Later, as Ashara soothes her furious sobs, she hates herself, too, because hate and love are two sides of the same coin and gods, she loves him still.)

vi. envy

Elia should not feel jealous of others; the Seven say it is a sin, and her mother says it is unbecoming of a princess. Yet all her life, she has felt that very emotion.

She envies her brothers, friends, and acquaintances who can play to their hearts’ content outside, who don’t need to worry if they skin a knee or roughhouse too hard. They can frolic in the rain without caring if they catch a cold, and they never are confined to a bed with wracking coughs and aching bones.

She envies Ashara and Oberyn for their unbridled vivacity, how easily they both grin and laugh and gallop their horses into a lather whenever they so choose. Oh, they have their sadnesses and anxieties like anyone else, but above all else they are confident and sure, and Elia is not. She worries and she rarely manages spontaneity, no matter how much she wishes it.

She envies the ladies of Dorne, for while most of them will wed for political advantage, at least they will be in their homeland, where she must go abroad. They can take a paramour if they so choose, whereas her doing the same would ruin her at best, get her killed at worst.

She envies the life she might have had, the man she loves at her side and a gaggle of children with his violet eyes and her brown skin. Her body would still rebel against her, but with family by her side and the sun of Dorne beating down upon her, she would be content. Instead, she gets a cold island and an even colder husband, her love at her side but not really, and her envy becomes insidious.

vii. pride

The history books would say he went down fighting in defense of the late crown prince, obeying orders until the very end. The history books would be generous, he thinks, because the history books won’t know the truth. That he did not go down fighting because of a persistent loyalty to Rhaegar, but rather because the thought of submitting, of kneeling before and putting his life in the hands of the man who stepped to his throne over the corpses of Elia and her babes, is revolting. Unbearable.

It is pride, selfish pride, that lets the crannogman with the poison darts be his downfall. Lord Howland and Lord Eddard could never tell anyone what truly happened here, anyway — Lady Lyanna’s tiny babe, should he survive, is of Rhaegar’s blood as well, and the Usurper would never abide such a thing — and so Arthur’s truth, too, is safe.