PERZYS ĀNOGĀR | v. targaryen ( s.u )

( CHAPTER ELEVEN, XI. )

CHAPTER ELEVEN, XI.
❝ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL❞

Wyl, 301 AC

Maehera hadn't expected to have to leave so soon. Just the previous night, Viserys had announced that his plans were complete. They were bound to leave the next morning, at first light.

Maehera didn't to want come, travelling with two young children wasn't the best thing. However, Viserys had insisted, and as his wife, Maehera had to go with.

Neither of the children were old enough to understand where they going or what was going on. Maehera was thankful that they wouldn't understand. They wouldn't understand the state of turmoil the country was in, they wouldn't understand why soldiers would keep coming back less and less, more injured by the day and they wouldn't understand the fear their mother secretly held that Viserys may not come back from battle one day.

Viserys was sure that they would win. He had Unsullied soldiers and all of Dorne by his side. And besides, he was the rightful king, Fate would be on his side. He reassured himself of this, like a mantra, as he climbed on top of his horse, ready to start riding into battle. He quickly looked back, watching Maehera help their children into the carriage. As if on cue, her worried and sorrowful eyes met his eyes. And for the first time, worry flooded through him, the same kind of worry Maehera held been feeling. He worried about what might happen to his family if he lost and it renewed the determination in him.

They set up camp just south of the northern border of Dorne that night. Their tents were surrounded by the beginnings of fertile, green land mixed with remnants of sand that they had carried with them from the deserts of Dorne. The Targaryens' tent was amongst those of the Unsullied, a quiet area as the residents of the other tents quietly trained. The other area of the camp was alive with activity and noise as Dornish soldiers drank and laughed.

The Dornish bastard stood guard by the cribs of the young Targaryen children, her watchful purple eyes carefully watching for any shadows that might indicate movement outside. She could hear the soft, padded footsteps of Maehera Targaryen before she could see the silver haired queen enter.

Maehera looked at the dark haired stranger with worry and alarm, not expecting any one to be in the nursery. "Who are you?" Maehera asked, trying to keep her voice from wavering and strong.

"Mecca Sand, my queen. King Viserys hired me to protect you and your children," the purple eyed bastard replied. She watched as lighter purple eyes scanned over her, assessing her.

Maehera walked closer to Mecca, "I trust you'll do a good job of protecting my children," she said, looking into the crib with a soft expression on her face.

The silver haired king sat amongst the light hearted Dornishmen, along the edges of the group. The light of the fire barely reached his face, the warmth enveloped completely however. The Dornishmen took no note of him, and he made no attempt to make conversation with them.

There, on the outskirts of the group, was where Maehera found her husband after leaving the young prince and princess under the watchful protection of Mecca Sand. She sat next to him, solemnly watching all the faces of the soldiers. They were all laughs and drunkenness now, but how would the mood change when the war started, when their numbers dropped.

"Is this a good idea?" Viserys asked her, his voice slurring slightly.

Maehera turned to face him, shocked. Never had she once heard or seen him doubt that this, this war, was anything but the rightful path. As she looked into his eyes, so full of self-doubt, she felt her heart twinge in sorrow for the once so confident dragon.

"Of course, it is," she said.

author's note ⎯
personally, this last scene has me dead but i hope you enjoyed this chapter !