RunAway Gentle Dragon|| Naerys Targaryen

IX

"Aemon!"

He winces when she touches him, but he forces himself to smile. "My gentle dragon," he murmurs weakly looking into her eyes as tears spill onto his fair cheeks. She is sobbing when she kisses him. Her lips trembling against his own. They whisper that he will die. That he will leave her in this dark world. Something she could not bare to think of.

Aemon strokes her silver-gold with a weak hand. His fingers twist in her curls as she cries against his cheek. He enjoys her warmth against him.

The stranger. An old friend, would become her eternal enemy if he was to take her husband. Her dragonknight. She cries and prays. Her son stands alone in the corner. Afraid to come closer. Afraid to meet a dying man's gaze.

Aemon sudden heaves and vomits onto the ground. Naerys is barely able to evade it. She shudders when sees blood drip from his lips. She looks to the Maester and the old man shifts his gaze and takes Daeron away.

"Forgive me," Aemon gags, nearly dropping off the bed into the puddle of blood if he had not clung to sheet. "I will die before Daeron is a man."

"No!"

She flings herself to hold him. To stroke his silver-gold curls. His blood smearing against her pale blue dress. "You will not die," she says between loud sobs. "I won't let the stranger take you."

Aemon grits his teeth and cough, blood splattering onto the sheets as he cries in obvious agony.

When the Maester returns he is pale. Naerys dressed in soaked in her husband's blood. She holds him as he groans clinging to his stomach as he torn to pieces by agonizing pain.

"Small cuts will sooth his pain, but there is danger—"

"Do what you must," she says stroking Aemon's silver-gold curls.

The Maester bows and she sobs as Aemon cries. Each cut more painful than the other until his body calms, the vomiting ceases and her husband can sleep.

But she fear in secret he will never awaken again.

...
When she is changed into fresh clothing she seeks her son.

She finds him in the Sept with Baelor. The gentle elder prince teaching the younger prince the praises of the seven.

Daeron looks up at the towering statue of the mother with a babe in her arms, then to the warrior, and finally the father. "Can they same my father."

Baelor smiles, and nods. "They will if you pray hard enough, youngling," Baelor says sweetly, opening the seven pointed star. "If they are willing."

Naerys shudders before she quickly straighten and approach her son and cousin.

"Dear cousin! Have you come to pray with us?" Baelor says with a smile, but Daeron doesn't look at her. "I am sad to say I am not. i must return to my husband soon," she said looking down at Daeron.

Baelor tilts his head and soft eyes of lilac look at Daeron whom sobs quietly into his own sleeve.

"A pity."