#bygold

harsh winds whip against the window, accompanied by the tapping of winter rain, hard and cold. elia stares, barely able to discern the drops trickling down the glass in the dim light of their room. her skin feels warm, cheeks flushed from exertion, limbs still trembling lightly. she shouldn't be here. she should head back to her room on the other side of the hotel, just in case anyone from the agency is watching them. attachments are dangerous. bradly moore taught her that.

as if he read her thoughts, feels the distance she's desperately trying to put between them, bradly scores his arms around her middle and pulls her back flush against him. he lazily skims his nose along the side of her neck, pressing warm, tender kisses to the column, hums, " it's dark outside, and it's raining. my arms are much safer. "

elia sighs deeply. she closes her eyes and leans into his touch. what she wouldn't give to stay like this, to spend every night in his arms, to succumb to sleep next to him. she turns around in his embrace to meet his kisses. his mouth feels warm and familiar, his tongue tastes of remnants of whiskey and of her. " just for tonight, " she whispers between kisses. they both know she is lying.

clinking glasses, peals of laughter. elia brushes her lips over the rim of her crystal glass. the sweet orange smell of cointreau, its tangy taste on her tongue, warming her throat. she has been nursing her drink for well over an hour now. she knows what she's waiting for, even if she refuses to admit it to herself. she clamps a hand on the nape of her neck, rubs the skin there nervously, trying to ground herself. the slow jazz music in the background has started to irk rather than soothe her.

she sets down her glass with a definitive clunk. go to your room. get some sleep. she opens her purse and pushes a wad of bills over the smooth marble of the bar, giving a small smile of thanks. before the bartender can accept it, a warm hand slides over hers. fingers pluck the cash from her grasp, neatly tuck it back into her purse. " just put it on my tab. and get me the usual. "

elia looks up, startled, breath caught in her throat. bradly moore hardly pays her any mind. he doesn't sit down, merely leans over the bar, downs the drink set in front of him in one smooth motion. a minute passes before he finally looks at her. when he does, his green eyes are softer than usual. they exchange a long look, a look that tells her everything she needs to know. he too came here looking for her tonight. then he inches closer and moves his hand to her knee, fingers brushing the edge of her dress, slowly tracing a path to the inside of her leg. suddenly he hooks his fingers around the depression underneath her knee and jerks hard, pulling her closer to him. elia gasps as the barstool wobbles, instinctively grasping at his arm to steady herself. her cheeks flush with a telltale heat. she doesn't need to look in the mirror to know she's pink. " at the risk of being a cliché, " bradly murmurs, " do you want to get out of here ? "

she's momentarily struck dumb with surprise. it is difficult to reconcile the quiet, stern man she's gotten to know with the daredevil in front of her now. he is neither the soldier nor the trainer, but rather something more tender, more human. is this the man behind the mask ? it takes her half a minute to regain her courage. elia draws in a trembling breath and nods, placing a hand over his. her heart races in anticipation. " yeah. more than anything. "

can i get you something to eat, or drink ?

doe eyes glower, hostile and fierce and fiery as though he has said something rude. elia lets out a little huff. she knows it's not necessarily fair to respond this way to what appears, if anything, a genuine offer of kindness. but. but. if any two people have ever got off on the wrong foot, it is her and abraham march. he has distrusted her since the very moment sam plucked her off the road three years ago. she, in return, has not warmed up much to him either. she doesn't like the way he looks at her, for one, like she's a bad luck charm. or the way he always picks dean's side over sam's, even when he is clearly wrong. and although she cannot prove it, she's convinced he is the reason that sam and dean still refuse to take her on their hunts. but whatever her personal gripes with abraham, it is clear that both sam and dean love him. that makes him family. and maybe that's what truly bothers her. she's jealous.

sam and dean are off together on some mission. usually they would have taken abraham with them and left her in the bunker, but a mysterious illness has been plaguing her for the past few weeks. exhaustion, a slight nausea, dizziness, sensations normal to any sick mortal, entirely unusual for an immortal nymph. elia can't place it, though if she had to wager she'd guess that she's earned herself another olympian curse. regardless, sam's been so concerned that he wouldn't leave her alone for more than a few hours, constantly thumbing through books as if hoping to find some magic cure. it took abraham's reluctant offer to look after her to convince him to leave.

accented english flows from cherry lips. " i'm not a child. you don't need to babysit me. " another wave of nausea promptly rolls over her. she breathes in deeply to rid herself of the discomfort. " if you eat anything anywhere near me i will kill you. "

a cold chill runs through her. elia shivers lightly, her gaze fixed on the horizon. between the lush hills looms a castle, its walls golden in the light of the setting sun, its spires tall and old and beautiful. it is an awe - inspiring sight; highgarden, possibly the most coveted castle in all of westeros. but the sense of home or belonging she had been hoping for is nowhere to be found. instead she feels helpless and small, as if she's a child of just seven summers all over again.

are you nervous ? the sound of ewyn's husky voice catches her off guard. elia looks back over her shoulder, startled, tries to form a response and fails. is it that obvious ? she wishes to ask. ewyn simply looks at her, softly, seeming to understand her wordlessness. he clucks his tongue and moves his horse forward, maneuvering himself next to her. he looks like a prince, elia thinks to herself. handsome especially in this warm light, his brown eyes lit up like gems. they are fixed on her, equal parts reassuring and concerned all at once. he nods at her hands. your hands are shaking.

she looks down, following his gaze. he's right. despite her tight grasp on her mare's reigns, her hands are still visibly shaking. she exhales slowly, trying to calm herself. " hmm, " she breathes, forcing a small smile. " i'm not sure nervous begins to cover it. i never imagine myself here. my whole life i was nothing more than the bastard daughter of an ashford girl. my mother insisted that i was the daughter of lord mace tyrell, right until the end. swore it on my life, on the gods... but i'm not sure i ever believed her. goodness knows no one else did. and seeing highgarden in front of us now... ser, what if they think me a fraud ? worse, what if i am a fraud ? there is no one to vouch for my mother's word. she is dead, as is lord tyrell. i suppose i... i'm just afraid that my being here will make things worse, rather than better. "

and in the back of her mind there is another thought, unspoken. it lies like a pit in her stomach. but what if it's all true, what then ? will i still be free to make my own choices ? " but i suppose there is only one way to find out, isn't there, ser ? too late to go back now. "

early morning fog rolls over the hills of her home, a wispy blanket of grey over lush green, covering the grass and trees as far as the eye can see. the cold clings to her skin, her woolen cloak, its dew fresh and sweet on her lips. in the distance a lone bird calls, its song filling the thick air. it is silent otherwise, every creature great or small clearly aware of their presence, and that of robb's men no doubt close behind them.

elia descends from nimwe, gently petting the mare's neck. she bristles and shivers underneath her touch, nickering softly – still alert after the gallop up the hill, a race lost to the northern king's larger, more agile steed. she gives the mare another reassuring pat before glancing over her shoulder in search of robb, a smile pulling at her lips. he's standing closer than she thought, head turning from the horizon to meet her gaze. she notices that his eyes are nearly the same shade as the sky, a shade of grey touched by blue. the silver is mirrored by the shining surfaces of his armor, gleaming in the light of the watery sun. it is easy to imagine why they called him the young wolf. he looks like one.

he takes another step closer. a twig snaps under his foot. although they are still a foot apart, elia has to crane her neck to keep his gaze. his brows knit in and he chuckles suddenly, reaching to pluck something from her hair, shows it to her; a crumpled leaf, no doubt caught there sometime during their ride. despite the stutter of her heart and the sudden flush of her cheeks, elia laughs and shakes her head, about to speak when he beats her to it. every time you smile at me, he says, slowly, thoughtfully, northern brogue rolling off his tongue, i get this flutter in my chest.

elia's smile falters and fades. silence falls between them. his words are not intended as flattery or seduction, instead enveloped with wonder and something not unlike accusation, as if the feeling has snuck up on him. and of course it has. his heart belongs to the past. it is buried somewhere in the cold dark earth of the riverlands, with his wife and child, his mother. yet here she is stealing it back like a thief in the night.

she recalls her grandmother's words the night before. olenna redwyne had stared at them all evening over dinner, taking small sips of her wine, intelligent eyes glimmering with some idea. her wrinkled hand, dripping with jewelry, had laid over elia's suddenly, a gesture of rare affection. my dear, why don't you take his grace out riding tomorrow morning ? the fresh air will do you well. and highgarden is so lovely in the early hours. you must see it.

the suggestion seemed innocent enough at the time, but clearly the queen of thorns had known something. is this why she sent them out together – in the hopes that something might blossom between them ? the thought perturbs her. what did her grandmother want with the king in the north ? elia cannot help but think of her dead half - sister. margaery would doubtlessly have understood. she would have known the importance of winning robb's affection. an assured alliance, at the very least. quite possibly a throne and title. indeed, margaery would have played this game perfectly, if her grandmother's stories are to be believed. she would have told robb that in that case, she would make an effort to smile more. she would have found a way to wrap him around her finger, slowly but surely. but she is not margaery. she will not play their game.

elia hesitates. slowly she reaches out to take his gloved hand, placing it over her chest so he can feel the unsteady patter of her own heart. her thumb reassuringly strokes his knuckles, tracing a familiar pattern. this, at least, is real. " i seem to suffer from a similar affliction. " a moment's respite, just the two of them in the clearing, their warm, huffed breaths clouding the air between them. a minute passes before she lets him go, bowing her head to break their gazes. " we should head back. your grace. "

before she can reach up in an attempt to locate anything, his fingers move to brush the loose strands of auburn hair falling haphazardly into her face. understanding finally washes over her features, and her gaze softens with unspoken affection as it meets his. " some day, huh? "